Page 9 of The No Repeat Policy
“Remember when we hired those prostitutes for the frat party?”
Gregory Newman, the co-owner, slaps at Jon’s shoulder.
I’m sorry, what? They hired prostitutes? My bosses?
“How could I forget?”
Jon laughs. “That was an insane party! We did raise a lot of money though too.”
“Yeah, but I almost got the brunette to go upstairs with me. I was this close.”
Gregory puts his hand up with his fingers almost pinched together.
Jon shakes his head. “I think you remember things differently than I.”
I didn’t know they were college buddies, or crazy back then. A lot can change over forty years, I guess, but my bosses hiring sex workers was not something I had expected to find out.
On a much less high note, it’s also odd to me that the whole company is having lunch together, courtesy of Mrs. Ellis. It’s a spread of rolls and mashed potatoes, steamy little corn on the cobs and sweet baked beans, with an aluminum pan of crispy fried chicken at the head of the table. I was expecting McDonald’s or Burger King, but apparently they don’t do anything half-assed around here. My question is, did she fix all this or did she get pickup?
“They don’t do this every week, do they?”
I lean to my right and ask Logan in a whisper. Madison is busy ravaging a piece of meat on the bone like a “lady,”
so I don’t disturb her.
“Every Thursday,”
Logan confirms. “It’s not always like this though.”
That makes sense. Last week, Jon’s wife brought lunch too, but it was individual bags and we didn’t all have lunch together. You’d think there was some special event or announcement coming, but I don’t think so. I think this is just how they do at random.
“Well then.”
I spoon a helping of mashed potatoes that rival my mom’s.
“That’s nothing, Greg,”
Lawrence Lyndon’s booming voice grabs my attention. He’s the Chief Financial Officer, the money man, and his presence is strong and regal. I’m still not so sure what he thinks of me. He’s given me the side-eye more than once, and I still don’t have a clue what it means. Madison says he’s just like that. His eyes flick to Jon. “Remember when we TP’d old man McCain’s place?”
How does that one-up hiring sex workers for a frat party?
While Jon starts, I’m trying to imagine Lawrence smiling enough to have that good a time. Even now he’s barely cracking the firm line on his lips.
“I do, I do. He was such an old prude.”
Jon exhales almost euphorically. “And as I remember it, you TP’d his house. I just drove us there.”
“Yeah, but we had to tell everyone you did it,”
Lawrence says.
Huh? Why?
“Yeah.”
Jon leans forward and shakes his head. “One of the many things I took the blame for. He deserved it though.”
I think Jon sees the confusion in my face, as I look to Madison for an explanation. Before she can say anything he speaks up again.
“We were teens back in the seventies. Up here some of the older folk were still stuck in a segregation mindset.”
Jon shrugs. “It was better I take the blame back then. But I did get grounded for a month for that one.”
He looks back at Lawrence, who cracks a real smile. They huff more than laugh, while I’m having to force myself not to look at them all bug-eyed. Like, shit!
“Oh, that’s terrible,”
I say in a voice that reeks of condolences.
“It’s history.”
Lawrence brushes it away and combs his hand through a neatly trimmed gray-black beard. “And it was pretty damn fun too.”
“Mostly in the past,”
Gregory pipes up with a frown.
The room quiets a little. Dammit. I would cause a dark cloud to take over.
“I got my payback though,”
Jon breaks the doom and gloom. “I had Lawrence here smuggle magazines in for me to even it out.”
Magazines. It definitely was the ’70s.
Half an hour later I’m throwing my paper plate in the trash and walking back to my office. Madison catches up with me and settles into a matching pace.
“Have you decided on your costume yet?” she asks.
We decided we’re going to a bar or finding a college party to crash on Monday night, Halloween. The only other question left is what we’re wearing.
“I think,”
I tell her. I only have a few options since I’m not planning a visit to Spirit Halloween or the terrible costume aisle at Walmart. It’s one of three costumes, all ones I wore to college Halloween parties before graduating.
“And?”
she says as we round the bend. She follows me into my office.
I let her shut the door behind her before answering. “I’m leaning toward gladiator.”
It’s basically just a piece of red cloth draped around my waist that barely reaches halfway down my thighs, a brown leather strap that fastens to the cloth and wraps around my left shoulder before connecting to the cloth at the back. I’m not sure if I’m wearing the helmet yet or not.
“The one you showed me?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
I’d sent her pictures of me in all three costumes. Other than the gladiator one, it was a shirtless Ash from Pokémon and the tight, form-fitting lycra Superman one, complete with the long red cape and stiffly combed hair.
“Good choice!”
Madison approves. “You’ll definitely find a hottie going shirtless.”
I roll my eyes but laugh.
“As long as you’re not the one hooking us up,”
I remind her.
She reenacts my eye roll.
“You still going as Katniss?” I ask.
“Yep, bow and all.”
Madison purses her lips and juts her hip, doing a pose. I’m not sure what of, but it works somehow for her.
I give her the three-finger Hunger Games salute. She made me practice so I could do it on Halloween. It took a few tries. Like it’s not easy. It’s a dexterity thing.
She curtsies and walks out, leaving my door open.
I’m left shaking my head in amusement.