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| Alarmingly Strange Stories |
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The Escape |
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| . We both had to work next Friday. Denise was great on the floor, borderline magical. She had shown up on time, and had an energy about her. I left my department alone for a while and just stood there, watching. She even managed to sell a Goth Chick a pink tank top. I doubt the girl would ever wear it, but she did buy it. Cindy left her alone, too. After work, Denise walked up to me. "Are you going to the party tonight?" She beamed. "Party?" "You mean they didn't tell you about it? Mark's having a party tonight at his place. I'm sure he'd love you to come." Mark was one of my employees - one of the best guys we had on the floor in Men's Wear. I didn't want to tell Denise that I hadn't been invited to a party in years. "Sure, I'd love to go. Do you want me to pick you up?" "Okay," she scribbled her address on an old receipt, "come by about eleven or so?" "Great. I'll see you then." "Great," she walked away. Turning, she added, "don't be laaate," she giggled. Her place was a wreck. The dishes hadn't been done in what looked like years, with pizza boxes lying on the table since God knew when. And, of course, she wasn't quite ready when I got there. I sat on the edge of the couch watching an old TV that didn't even have cable. "Nice place." I hollered toward her room. "Thanks. Check out the balcony. There's a great view of the pond." I took a look outside. Her design table was out there, and it was the only part of her apartment that was clean. The desk faced out past the line of pines to the misty pond. I'd only seen landscaping that good on golf courses. "Are you ready?" She was standing right behind me now. "Yeah." We were among the last to arrive. I had always imagined Mark living in almost monkish seclusion; he was so professional at work. I was surprised to see the bar lights flashing neon red and blue across the off-white carpet. People were gathered in groups around the card table set up in the kitchen and around the keg on the balcony. Some others played video games on the television. Most of the people there I knew from work. But they were all different, looser. "Hey! Denise!" Mark yelled as he walked up, "Glad you could make it. Who's thi.... Hey, Mr. Erickson, what are you dong here?" "I came with Denise. This is a nice party, it's good to see everyone having a good time," we shook hands. "Yeah. I'm sorry this place is such a wreck, but you now how parties are." "It's cool." I smiled. I unbuttoned the top button of my shirt to relax, "so, how much for the keg?" "Don't worry about it. Just have a good time, all right?" "Yeah. Thanks." I walked over to the balcony. I'm not sure, but I think Mark was asking Denise why she brought me as I left. I tried to mingle. I got a lot of "I'm dong fine, sir's," and "How's the store holding up?" but the small talk sucked. So, I stopped trying and just watched everyone. Denise checked back with me every now and again, each time more tipsy. But she was happy. She kept telling everyone about how her career was about to take off, and they were all glad to hear it. There were a few times when I thought the whole lot of them would break into a song. It was unreal. I stopped drinking after my second while the music pounded my back against the railing. I was surprised the cops never showed up. People started dancing: trying to dance anyway; they were pretty bad off. A girl, Cheryl, think was her name, sauntered over to me at one point. She reached around my waist and ran her fingers through my hair. Her body smelled like the perfume we sold to all the teenagers, but her breath smelled like beer. "I've been watching you, watching me. Do you wanna dance?" She slurred. I gave my apologies and she stumbled off to the kitchen table, muttering something about asshole. I just wanted to go home. After a while I found Denise talking to a couple of guys on the couch who were waiting their turns for the video game. She looked like she was about ready pass out. I remembered how bad it used to be when I was in school, so I offered her a ride home. She accepted. . |
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