Reception

I was having a good day until I got to work.

Someone who is afraid of losing their job is pulling together a group of people to brainstorm ways to reinvent their position into one that can be better protected. The reinvention could affect mine by taking over some things I do, so imagine how pleased I am. I was asked by a superior to be part of this group, and I suppose it’s best to be on the inside when intrigue is afoot. For some reason the meeting is taking place offsite to keep others from knowing it’s happening. All will be revealed in time, I suppose. If there’s good news it’s that Eve is part of the group too.

I finished editing the photos I’ve been working on this week and distributed them as needed. And I emailed IT (an offsite group) about Henry’s website. I haven’t heard back. I didn’t expect to given how difficult it was to track down an email address within the group. He sounded let down when I told him at the end of the day that we were still waiting.

At least I was able to leave all this fun behind earlier than normal. I used a little vacation time so I could go home, change clothes, redo my makeup (eye shadow and lipstick even, ooh) and get to Blaine’s office before 5:00. He didn’t like that I was using vacation to accommodate him but I didn’t consider it a big deal.

As requested, I sent him a text from the lobby of his office building just before getting onto the elevator. When I pulled open the door to his firm’s office he was there, leaning against the reception desk and talking to the receptionist. I immediately noticed his suit was dark gray and thought the color of my dress would look nice next to it. Then I thought OK, I’m getting used to seeing him in a suit but then he stood straight and his jacket adjusted into place, the perfect amount of shirt cuff showing, an art deco design on his tie—and there it was, that feeling that corkscrews through me and makes me want to both stare and touch. I did neither.

Blaine introduced me to the receptionist (Tricia) and his assistant (Shelley). He showed me his office, and I checked out the view from the windows that run the width of it (a rooftop, sky and in the distance a beautiful church steeple). He came and stood beside me, leaned against my arm. “You look especially pretty today.”

He’s definitely worth a couple hours of vacation.

We walked the few blocks to the building where the reception was being held. Under other circumstances I would have looked forward to seeing the venue—a private club that’s a big deal among those in positions where being known and seen are important. Under these circumstances, I wanted the next couple of hours to pass quickly and benignly.

A weird thing about me is if I’m among total strangers where there’s no expectation of social interaction, I can be chatty and quite comfortable. But, put me in a room where the expectation is to mingle, and I’ll shut down. Go blank.

Oh, I was in a fine state of mind when we stepped off the elevator and into a crowd of people working their way into the lounge where the reception was being held. As Blaine introduced me to the guest of honor, his wife and their children who were part of the receiving line, he kept his hand on my back, a gesture I always find comforting.

Once inside there was room to spread out. I accepted a glass of wine and declined hors d'oeuvres. Some were being circulated by waiters and others were available at different stations around the room. The room was beautiful, full of polished woodwork and large banks of windows on two sides.

Plenty of people approached Blaine. He always introduced me and I noticed he would point out a potential connection if he could, either through the type of work I do, my alma mater, my interest in local history, etc. It was always enough to give me something to say beyond Hello. After awhile I noticed that Blaine didn’t seek out anyone to speak to, and after people moved off he would draw in a small breath and let it go, as if to relax. Once I caught on to that I asked him if he liked this sort of thing. He tilted his head in the way that means the same as a shrug. “Not really.”

We were approached again but this time by someone who knew me. I hadn’t expected to see her but wasn’t nearly as surprised as she was seeing me there among some local elite. Her husband is highly regarded in governmental circles so this sort of event, or at least this sort of crowd, is typical of her social life. I know her through my last job. In fact, she’s the one who put me in touch with Henry when she found out he wanted to hire a communicator. That came up after I introduced her to Blaine and we exchanged how-we-know-one-another stories.

Blaine was pulled away to be in some pictures. I decided I had earned some non-social time. I went to the memento table and pretended to be engrossed in the pictures and awards and other mementos of a long legal career and, more recently, local political service. It’s the sort of thing that makes me feel I’ve wasted my life. Without a family, I certainly had the time to devote to my career but for many reasons that wasn’t going to be my path. I don’t mind. But if I ever retire a clipboard can serve as my memento table.

When Blaine found me again, he had two plates of hors d'oeuvres. “I didn’t know what you’d like so I took a chance on tequila lime shrimp, spinach stuffed mushrooms, and that thing.” He used a cocktail sword (probably not what they’re really called) to point at tiny eggroll. “I asked if they had anything with Brussels sprouts; they don’t.”

“Then what are we still doing here?” I cracked.

“A plate of desserts and then let’s get out,” he said conspiratorially.

And that’s how it went down.