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Forget blending in with the red and green. He may as well have been dressed as the Angel of Death tonight.
“Beck!” Ron Hedstrom clapped him on the shoulder, using Alex’s nickname like they were boyhood pals. One Chicago conference after the acquisition last year did not make them pals. “Dig in, and don’t worry. Those appetizers won’t be flowing all night. We have a budget line for all of this.”
“Not worried in the least. It all looks amazing.” At least the food didn’t appear to be Christmas-themed. Alex grabbed a stuffed mushroom from a passing tray. “And you seem to have a real great team. Thanks for having me.” He surveyed the room, willing himself not to mentally count heads that might end up on the chopping block.
“Thrilled to hear you took an earlier flight. Nothing like a weekend in the city during the holiday season. In fact…”
Alex’s gaze came to rest near the makeshift mule bar. David Bowie’s “Little Drummer Boy” and whatever Hedstrom was saying fell to a whisper. His vision tunneled, only taking in the stunner in blue and black.
All the Christmas camouflage in the world couldn’t hide her.
She craned her neck to examine the tray of hors d’oeuvres presented to her, smiling as she deftly plucked her selection and a cocktail napkin. All the while chatting with a Mrs. Claus who had decided to go for the Goth look.
He liked the way her dark hair fell in soft waves to one side, leaving a pale collarbone exposed. And he could finally appreciate the abundance of white twinkling lights, as they highlighted her curves trussed up in that shiny blue ribbon.
Alex had the crazy urge to brush by and tug that dress bow, to see if he could unravel her. His fingers twitched. Just the thought replaced the warmth of the vodka, and aimed for a few degrees lower than his belt.
“Orange glazed meatloaf lollipop?”
Nothing like a pretentious finger food to draw you back to reality.“I’m sorry, Ron. You were saying?” Alex selected one from the tray being proffered by the catering staff for good measure, giving him something to do with his free hand.
“I asked if you had family in town. Someone to show you the sights?”
“Actually, yes – I flew in early to catch a Hanukkah harbor cruise with my cousin, but…”But as usual, Drew flaked out over a girl, and there went the extra ticket.“…he had a change of plans. Not a big deal. I’ll manage.”
Alex had looked into procuring a ticket of his own, but it was quite the hot event, apparently sold out months ahead of time.
“I’m sure you’ll make the most of your time here. Oh, and speaking of ‘time’ and ‘managing,’ there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
* * *
“Who’s the suck-up talking to Hedstrom?” April asked. “No one willingly hangs out with the CEO.”
“No clue.” Nora finished the last bite of quinoa & spinach puff, and dabbed her lips. “Although I saw some guys from the Westchester office earlier, so…”
“So you came to hide behind the shortest person in the room?” The graphic designer smirked. Even in her cherry red stacked Doc Martens, April barely hit the 5’2” mark. But she still managed to look every guy in the eye.
“Not hiding.” Nora scanned the room. “Just not interested in mingling with the Bridge and Tunnel crowd.”
The guys from upstate thought the girls in the city office were easy. And used their train schedules as a lame excuse to ‘just crash at your place.’ It didn’t matter if they were C-Suite or Mailroom. It was a predictable song-and-dance that perhaps was the highlight of some other working girls’ weekends, but not Nora’s.
“Sorry you are missing the first night of Hanukkah for this,” April scrunched her septum-pierced nose in consolation. “At least your holiday lasts eight days.”
True. But the Matzo Baller was always the highlight. The thing she used her precious Floating Holiday time for, and not just because it was delightfully appropriate.
Nora drained the dregs of her mule. Fran from Marketing may have looked the part of sweet North Pole Nana with her gray wig and fake square glasses, but she had a heavy pour when it came to the vodka. Even still, Nora’s second one had gone down way too easy. A rosemary stalk was a dangerous garnish, however. She chucked it toward a nearby trashcan, taking a stealth glance toward the stranger across the room as she made the shot.
“I think that guy just saluted me with his…meat pop.”
April snorted, taking a little bite of the candy rim on her martini glass. “On that note…I’m going to track down more kosher fare for you.”
“It’s not a big deal!” Nora protested. In fact, she rarely thought about it. Yes, she had grown up in a Kosher household. And being a broke college student had pretty much turned her into a vegetarian by default. But she had made her peace with breaking the dietary law years ago; there was too much good ethnic food in the city to pass up.
And bacon. Bacon was her “gateway meat” – thetreifthat first led her astray, all thanks to Christophe. Her first boyfriend in a long string of boyfriends her mother would give a silentoy veyover whenever Nora brought them home. According to the Book of Ruth Ruben:“It’s just as easy to fall in love with a Jewish man…”
“Ruben! Meet Beckman.” Hedstrom was bearing down on her, drink sloshing precariously. Somewhere between Peppermintinis 2 and 5, her boss had donned an elf hat. It slouched off the side of his shiny bald head, making him look more like a court jester than Santa’s helper. “Beckman, Ruben. Now all you need is a Cohen and you’d have yourselves a law firm,” he guffawed.
Nora sidestepped, and threw out a preemptive hand. Allsheneeded was to add a hefty Manhattan dry cleaners’ bill on top of this non-Baller weekend. Insult to –
