A Leak In The Safe

1.

I get a job as a sort of glorified file clerk in Pam’s office. Things go well at first, but then we get an attractive young intern, and she and I become friends, laughing and hanging out. I’m still totally able to fulfil my less than taxing duties, but I can tell from Pam’s frequent dagger glances that she’s not very pleased with this development, and one morning without warning or explanation I’m transferred to grounds and services, where I wind up wearing coveralls, driving a little truck and picking up recycling.

A week or so later I’m on my rounds and there’s Pam, waiting for me by the mixed paper container. She’s in tears, confessing that she engineered my transfer out of jealousy, sobbing that she’s felt sick and guilty about it ever since. I put my arm around her and tell her that I’m in the middle of my rounds, but if she’ll ride with me we can talk about it.

As we jolt along I say the truth is that I actually like my new job and the pay is better, but my only regret is that I no longer have the pleasure of seeing her every day. This calms her down and she even gives me a hand with the largely automated collection process.

The crisis seems to have finally broken through the reserve which had always inhibited the attraction between us before, and we speak frankly about how much we’ve missed each other, and even make plans to get together later off campus.

Finally I circle back to where we began and when I stop the truck we kiss and embrace feverishly, that moment marking the real beginning of our affair.

2.

We meet for the first time as putative lovers in the cliched confines of a motel room. I’m there first, and grab her the moment she comes through the door, but after a few kisses she pushes me away, saying she wants to take things slowly.

I say, opening the bottle of wine I’ve brought. We sit at the little round table, drinking out of water glasses, talking as easily as when we were just friends, but seemingly at a loss as to how to proceed as lovers.

Eventually I propose that we play a game of strip poker without the poker, each of us taking off a piece of the other’s clothing in turn. It’s both funny and very, very exciting, and by the time we’re both naked we jump eagerly into bed.

1.

It’s cold, extremely cold, which makes the long walk from the far corner of the parking lot seem even longer, especially since I’m not wearing an overcoat, the idea being that when I slip into the clubhouse it’ll look like I just stepped out for a smoke or something. I’m not crashing the party per se, but I’m not exactly supposed to be here either – I’m not a member of Sadaquada or anybody’s guest, and even if I was I haven’t paid whatever exorbitant fee they’re charging for this terribly exclusive event. But on the other hand the prime rib and russet potatoes were cleared away long ago and now the local elite are standing around, getting plastered, desultorily dancing and waiting for midnight. To me it’s the moral equivalent of sneaking into the stadium during the fourth quarter, because at this point nobody cares if I bought a ticket or not.

Why I’m here is another question. I suppose in the end it’s just my perverse desire to welcome in the new year by watching Pam’s new boyfriend give her a great big kiss at the stroke of midnight. Can’t wait. In the meantime there’s plenty of champagne.

2.

And the next thing I’m aware of, or really want to be aware of, is that I’m handcuffed to a chair in the clubhouse office. It’s not much of a chair, just chrome and leather, and I could probably pick it up and walk out of here, but I’ve no doubt embarrassed myself enough already. I do remember being very, very drunk not long ago, which is funny because I don’t feel at all that way now, even though it might be better if I did.

There’s voices outside and I tense up as the door opens, expecting more trouble, but to my surprise it’s Pam, looking tired and angry, but also unexpectedly tender. Pam, I say, but she just walks over, bends down and unlocks the handcuffs, her long hair hanging. Thank God. How’d you get past the Gestapo?

Oh, for heaven’s sake will you just stop it for once.

Yes. Suddenly I’m filled with shame and literally hang my head. Yes, you’re right. If it means anything I’m very, very sorry.

The Club thinks they might have overreacted. I’m going to drive you to your apartment and you can come back tomorrow and get your car.

What about your friend, Mr. F. X. the third?

He thinks he may have overreacted a little bit, too. He’s really not such a bad guy, you know.

No, I think we all know who the bad guy is here, I say, rubbing my wrist.

It’s over now. Let’s get you home.

I look up at her smooth, angular profile as she scans the room. Don’t you have a coat?

 No.