Just Some Guy

Oh boy, I felt pretty out of place, I don’t mind telling you. I mean, I’d only worked at Wayne for like a month and I was just a secretary. It wasn’t like I was one of the big shots there, or even one of the medium shots, but there I was at this fancy-schmancy party. I’d borrowed a dress from Cathy, across the hall, but it looked like a prom dress and I felt like a jerk. I know those snotty girls who won’t eat lunch with me were laughing, but they’re bitches no matter what you do. Every place I go, the same kinds of people are there.

And I prefer ‘assistant’ to secretary, but not enough to lose my job over, I’m just saying. I mean I know I never went to college or anything, but I did real well in high school. I wish we’d had the money or I could get some loans or something but I needed to work. Mom didn’t make much and dad disappeared years ago.

It is what it is.

I was sitting there with a couple of the nicer girls but when the music started they went off to dance. You know how that is; you sit somewhere like a restaurant and you’re all by yourself when everybody else is with a friend or their husband or whatever and you feel like you’d really like to just go home. I was going to, I really was, but then I looked out the window and it was pouring, I mean cats and dogs and, naturally, I left my umbrella sitting by the door when I left this morning. Dumb, dumb, dumb. And I knew there was no way I’d get a cab until it stopped or slowed down. I guess I was stuck, so I decided that one glass of wine wouldn’t hurt. I mean, I had to do something.

The bartender was kinda snooty, too. I asked for a glass of wine and he asked me if I wanted Chardonnay or Bordeaux. I think he knew I didn’t know the difference and I was just about to tell him I’d changed my mind and could I please have a diet coke when this guy came up beside me.

He was dripping wet, like he’d just come in from the rain and he wasn’t dressed up at all. He looked like maybe he worked in the mailroom or maybe in the parking garage because he wasn’t too old and he was wearing these worn jeans and a black tee shirt under an old leather jacket. Maybe he was a messenger, I don’t know, something like that. He was pretty cute, though. I noticed that.

He didn’t pay any attention to me, but he asked for a glass of whatever was on tap like he knew what he was talking about. The snooty bartender gave it to him, but he also gave him a dirty look, like he was bringing down his classy bar just by standing there.

The jeans guy ignored it, though, just standing there looking around the room, drinking his beer. He nodded to a couple of people, but didn’t say anything to anyone until he sort of noticed me beside him. He kind of smiled and asked if he could buy me a drink. Oh, come on; it was a free bar, okay? Even I knew that. Then he asked, “White or red?”

“Red, please.”

The bartender ignored him when he tried to get his attention until he spoke a little louder, “A glass of the Bordeaux for the lady.”

For some reason the bartender gave me the wine this time, but I felt pretty weird about it so I moved away. I didn’t want to be near the snooty bartender guy any more than I had to. I sat at an empty table by one of the big windows and watched the rain for a few minutes when I saw the reflection of Jeans Guy next to me.

“Do you mind if I sit here?”

I shook my head; he could sit wherever he wanted, right? I thought he might think I was rude so I tried to talk to him a little. I mean it was nice of him to get me that glass of wine, even if he didn’t have to pay for it, but I didn’t want him to think that a free glass of wine meant I’d go home with him or anything. I know how some people are and I’m not like that. Not even close. “What do you do here?” I meant what does he do at Wayne.

He shrugged. “Not too much. I just hang out here sometimes and talk to people, get to know them a little, see what’s going on.”

Oh my God. “Are you a corporate spy?”

He laughed then and I felt really stupid for saying that but then he smiled and it wasn’t snarky, it was a nice smile. “My father works here; I stopped by tonight to see him.” He took a drink of his beer. “Get in out of the rain.” He had a really good smile, but I knew he thought I was a jerk and I wished he’d just leave me alone. Besides, if his dad worked there, then dad was probably pretty old and that meant he was probably one of the mucky-mucks and I was afraid that he’d say something about how dumb I am.

I didn’t say anything, though I was wondering who his father is. I mean, it’s not like I was about to ask or anything. I was watching the people dancing and I knew they’d be serving dinner soon. I was getting hungry and I didn’t have time to go to the store this week so I knew there wasn’t any food in my apartment. Maybe I could get some food and put it in my purse or something. That way I could go home and not have to sit here and eat by myself. I hate eating by myself because then everyone knows you’re a loser and no one will eat with you and you have no friends or anything.

“Would you like to dance?” Jeans Guy was watching the dancers, too.

God, I’d have loved to but, “I don’t know how.”

“C’mon, it’s easy.” I didn’t want to—I mean I wanted to, but I didn’t want to look stupid, but it was easier to just go with him and then make an excuse after a minute or two, right? He took my hand and sort of made me follow him. We stayed on the edge of the crowd and he didn’t hold me too tight or try to touch my behind like some guys do. And we didn’t really do anything fancy, we just kind of moved to the music, touch dancing but I guess he was leading because he somehow showed me what to do without actually telling me. We just kind of did it.

“So what do you do here?”

“You mean like my job?” He nodded. “I’m an assistant up in HR.”

“You do the hiring and firing?”

He was teasing me. I hate it when people tease me—and he’d seemed like he was nice, too. “I just type things; I just started.” I didn’t want him to think I was like an executive or anything.

He looked at me and I got the feeling he was sizing me up—not in a creepy way, but like he was reading me like I was a magazine and knew what I was thinking. “My dad told me that Wayne Corp has a program to train junior executives from within, get them on the path. Have you checked that out yet?”

Well, sure I knew about it—I was in HR, remember, Jeans Guy? I hate it when people treat me like I’m dumb. “I don’t think they’d take someone like me.”

“You’re smart, aren’t you? You want to move up, right?”

“Uh-huh.” Smooth answer, real smooth.

“So apply. What’s the worst thing that can happen? They say ‘no’? Not a big deal and I think you may be the kind of person they’re looking for.”

Yeah, right. “Maybe.” He smiled and the music ended; I got the feeling that he’d put in his twenty minutes of charity and was going to ditch me so he could try to score with one of the really pretty girls who were giving him the eye. We just got back at the table when they announced that dinner was ready. I figured this was when he’d make some excuse and disappear, but then I saw Mr. Fox spot him and make a beeline over. Oh man, I knew it—Jeans Guy was some kind of troublemaker and he was about to be thrown out and then Mr. Fox would think he was with me and I’d get in trouble. I’d probably lose my job and I really needed the paycheck, I really did. Oh, man.

So Mr. Fox—he really runs the whole company, headed over and gave Jeans Guy a real mean look, like ‘what are you doing here and explain yourself before I call security’.

Jeans Guy saw it and looked like making himself scarce would be a good idea. I guess maybe he’d been thrown out of Wayne Foundation before or something. “I’d better get going.”

“But you didn’t see your dad.”

He gave me this really nice smile, like we were sharing a secret and said he was just going to the men’s room and would be back as soon as Mr. Fox gave up and moved on to harass someone else. And so I’m standing there alone with Mr. Fox asking me if I knew that guy and where he’d gone.

“Um, no, um, I mean, not really. He just started talking to me. Honest, Mr. Fox, I don’t even know his name or anything. He just said his father works here or something.” I’d never even been in the same room as him before and he scared me, he always seemed so serious. “Um, do you know him, sir? Does his father really work here?”

He didn’t even bother to really answer, just gave me this really curt nod and walked away like he was glad Jeans Guy was gone and wouldn’t be causing any trouble. Of course, I never really thought that someone like Mr. Fox would ever stand around and actually talk to me or anything. He’s one of the big shots and I’m just, well, you know. I’m just one of the secretaries—I mean, assistants.

I was so nervous after that—I just knew I was going to be fired on Monday, I could hardly even eat and the food really looked good, too. I put a bunch of the jumbo shrimp into my purse, though and was about to go get my coat when Jeans Guy showed up at my elbow. “So, you hungry? I hear they usually have a pretty good spread here.”

Oh God—he’d seen me take the shrimp, how pathetic is that? He must think I have like no food or life or anything. I could have died right then and there but he took my arm really gently and walked me over to the dining room. He didn’t even say anything at all about the shrimp or the water dripping out of my bag, thank God. Anyway, we found a table in the back where no one would pay any attention to us and sat down. I was starting to think that maybe he really even liked me a little and didn’t just feel sorry for me because no one was talking to me and I was like a real wallflower. Then some of the secretaries came over and sat right down like they’d found their names on place cards or something, even though there weren’t any place cards. I knew a couple of them were engaged and stuff but you’d never have known it. They latched onto Jeans Guy like he was water and they were in a desert.

I didn’t think of that. My brother did but it’s a pretty good description.

Anyway, it was embarrassing the way they were making up to him. They were really flirting and Sandy, that bitch, even rubbed her hand up and down his arm and giggled about his muscles. I mean, jeez. He was nice about it, though. He didn’t hit back on her or anything, he just kind of moved a few inches away, closer to me and changed the subject and that made Sandy kind of mad. I almost laughed, but I’m really glad I didn’t, you know?

The food was really good but the speeches were really boring. I forgot—the party was because it was Mr. Wayne’s birthday and I guess he always liked to throw a big fancy party. There was all this champagne and things like fillet mignon and I don’t know what all, but there were some things there that I didn’t even know what they were. I tasted the mac and cheese because it looked pretty good, but it tasted really weird and Jeans Guy said it was the truffles in it. Truffles? I like plain old Kraft myself and Jeans Guy laughed and said he did, too.

Anyway, it was a really great night and just before dessert he said he had to be going.

“But you didn’t see your dad yet.”

“I’ll catch him at home—he’s busy.” He stood up and put his jacket back on, even though it was still pretty wet from the rain—he’d hung it on the back of his chair while we were eating. “Be sure you look into that junior exec program, okay? And thanks for tonight; this was the first time in years I enjoyed myself at one of these things. You okay getting home?” I nodded; it’s not far and maybe Liz would go with me when she was ready to leave. She just lives on the next block. But—he enjoyed himself because of me? Was that what he meant? He leaned over and gave me a peck on the cheek, smiled this really great smile and that was that. Cinderella was back in her rags, I guess, but the other girls at the table were jealous and that was just so cool and that never happened to me before.

 

* * *
 

Monday at lunch I was reading at my usual table in the lunchroom when Sandy, the bitch, came over and actually deigned to sit down at my table. I’m sure it was the first time ever and I just hope it’s the last. She’s just so…well; she’s just nasty is what she is.

“So how did you manage that?”

“Manage what?”

“You spent most of the party talking with the crown prince, you nitwit. You did know that, didn’t you?”

“He was just some guy.”

“Yeah, and Johnny Depp is just some two-bit actor.” Sandy gave me this look, kind of like she was sizing up just how much of a loser I was or maybe she was wondering if Jeans Guy managed to score or something. “You really don’t know who that was, do you?” I think I just kinda shrugged like it didn’t matter and who cared who that guy was. “You bagged the hunk.”

“What do you mean?” I felt like such a dork.

“That was Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne’s son.”

“Uh-huh. Sure he was. Mr. Wayne isn’t even married.” Sandy rolled her eyes and pulled out the company in house magazine and there, on page three, was a picture of Bruce Wayne and a bunch of people at the dedication of some new playground they’d built somewhere. There, right next to Mr. Fox, was Jeans Guy all cleaned up and looking like a rich kid. And, yeah, the article said that ‘Richard Grayson, (third from left in above photo) was instrumental in bringing the need for this new facility to Wayne Foundation’s attention’.

“Yeah, well, so what? And if he’s Mr. Wayne’s son, how come he has a different name?”

“Because he was adopted after his parents were killed. Even you can’t be this dumb—it’s been all over the papers and stuff. Mr. Wayne took him in and then adopted him as his legal son like a couple of years ago. I think his legal name is Wayne but he still uses his old name, is all.” She helped herself to my fries without even asking, and I hate when people do that. I really hate it. “Sure, honey—he’s richer than God, heir to the throne, gorgeous and probably hung like a horse. He called you this weekend, didn’t he? So you two didn’t leave together, but you hooked up later, right? He’s famous for it—he’s a player, just like Old Bruce is; probably where he learned it, y’know?”

I guess she saw my face. I mean, I tried to not let on but I guess she figured out that I didn’t hear from him. I mean, not that I thought I would or anything. He’s like Bruce Wayne’s son and he’s gonna call me? Yeah, right. Saturday was just a pity thing for him, that’s all. And why would he call me, right? I wasn’t one of his fancy society girls. I was just me. He didn’t even tell me his name and I know he didn’t bother to ask me mine. He didn’t care, he was just bored and I was entertainment, just like always.

“Yeah, well, I’m sure he will.” Like heck she did. She was just being snotty, and I knew it. She was just trying to make me feel bad. I really hate people like that. I really do.

So she flounces off and I could hear the nasty girls laughing and looking over at me. I knew they thought that I’d put out but I hadn’t. I don’t do that kind of thing. Especially with guys when I don’t even know their names. No matter who they are.

But, yeah. It’s okay. I mean, I had a really great night with a really nice guy and that’s okay, right?

After lunch I decided, what the hey, and got out one of those applications about the junior exec program and filled it out. Then, before I could chicken out, I turned it in and crossed my fingers and we’ll just see what happens with that, okay? Probably nothing, but like my mom says; if you don’t knock, no one opens the door. Besides, like Richard Grayson Wayne said, the worst thing that could happen is that they say ‘no’, right? No biggie.

And you know what the coolest thing was about the whole thing? I mean after a couple of weeks went by and I got back from my afternoon break? There was this really pretty vase of flowers on my desk. There was like two dozen white roses and they even smelled really good, not like most roses do nowadays with no scent. These smelled really good and made the whole office smell nice. The card said ‘Sorry I didn’t call you that weekend, but I wanted to—got hung up. I’ll call you this week, okay? Dick’

He probably had to go ski Aspen or take some supermodel out or something.

Then the next day I got this official letter I was afraid to open—but I finally screwed up my nerve and it said that I’d been chosen for that junior exec program and even said that I’d been super highly recommended.

The nasty girls all said it was because Dick Grayson put in a good word because I put out, but I didn’t and I bet he didn’t say anything, either. I mean why would he do that? I might ask him, though. Okay, maybe I won’t but I know he didn’t say anything. I mean, why would he?

The weird thing is, now that I know who he is, it’s like what’s going on here? Now that I know who he is, I don’t know what I can say to him or what he’ll want to do or where he’ll want to go or anything. I bet he’s never even tasted Kraft mac and cheese. And I don’t know what to wear. I just know I’ll spill soup down me or drop my fork or burp or something. I’ll cancel. He’s just being polite, anyway. If he asks me to meet his dad I’ll just die. What do you say to a multi-billionaire? What would I say to a multi-billionaire?

No. Forget it. I can’t do this. I’ll get my brother to answer the phone and tell him I can’t, that I’m sick or something.

I wish he were still just Jeans Guy. Then maybe I could like him.

2/24/08
 

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