The Apple of My Eye

Hotter Than Hell

"Are you still mad at me?"

I was standing at the door of accounts receivable to either collect or hand in some papers, I don't quite recall now, and Star's question caught me completely off guard. First, I needed to remember what the hell she was talking about. Second, I needed to come up with an answer.

I didn't even care about the stupid incident anymore, seriously. So much so that I wasn't expecting to see her there when I knocked on the door. I had completely forgotten she'd be there. That's how detached from my memory the episode had become. Anyway, I had to say something. The whole mental process to register what she had said and produce a fitting comeback was taking too long already.

"Of course not. Star, is it?" I asked, in an attempt to show her how little recollection I had of everything that had transpired that afternoon, including her telling me what her name was.

"Yes."

"Of course I'm not mad, Star. I'm never mad. I didn't even give it another thought."

"Well, it was my mistake and I'm sorry, okay?"

Jesus, I thought. Again with the apologies?

"Say what now? Who told you you had to apologize? I mean, come on. This is so not necessary," I said, trying to sound as friendly as I could now—as a means to disperse the appalling first impression I must have left that day.

"It's just that you and I never get a chance to talk, and it sort of got me thinking, so I just wanted to make sure you weren't mad," she explained.

"Okay, you've made sure, all right?"

"All right."

"Friends?"

"Yes."

And with that, without so much as a moment's hesitation, I stretched out my arm and offered her a peacemaking handshake. She went along and shook my hand unenthusiastically, albeit with a coy smile on her face. We were both uncomfortable, it was clear, but we were also striving to be perceived as gracious and polite, and that in itself is a good thing, right?

There. Settled this thing was. End of story.

I went back upstairs thinking, again, about how the whole thing had gotten blown way out of proportion. Apparently, this girl had been tormented by the whole episode for days, and this could only mean one thing: somebody must have led her to believe I was some sort of a fiend, somebody who would put her right out of a job if she didn't apologize several times and in varying ways.

Once again, though, there were more important things that demanded my attention, and I soon forgot about the whole affair.

Two or three days passed and, as I was chatting with one of the security guards late one night, minutes before we all called it a day, a most peculiar conversation ensued. He wasn't really a security guard so much as a stocky guy whose job was to stand by the door of the building by day and make sure lights were off and doors were locked when everybody was gone for the night. Sid his name was.

Anyway, here's what he asked me: "Have you seen the new girl in accounts receivable?"

"I don't think I have," I lied, obviously not wanting to give anything away before I knew what he was driving at.

"Her name is Star or something. She's been here a week. You sure you haven't seen her?" He insisted.

"I think I saw someone new in the office downstairs, I'm not sure. What about her?"

I was expecting him to say something about our little misunderstanding at the reception from several days earlier. By now, I would not have been surprised anymore if the stupid thing came up yet again. Instead, though, he blurted, "Man, she's so hot!"

I was speechless. Relieved that our nonstory had not gotten as out of control as I was beginning to think it had, but speechless all the same. This guy had a penchant for sharing his impressions on the women in the building with me, even if I didn't exactly reciprocate. I would go as far as a smirk, but that was about it. I never initiated conversations with him about how hot those girls looked. Plus, I'm sure he'd heard stories about me, so a lot of times I suspected all he wanted was for me to confirm my alleged adventures.

"Is she? I haven't noticed," I said, and I was telling the truth this time.

"Man, you gotta check out that ass of hers! Damn! She must be the hottest chick to ever work in this place!"

"Is that right?" I asked him, genuinely interested.

"Oh yeah! But, hey, don't get your hopes up. She's got a boyfriend."

"That's never stopped me before," I said nonchalantly. He laughed.

"Nah, this one is a country girl. Very conservative, very righteous. Not the kind of girl you're used to."

I wanted to produce an appropriate retort to that inadvertent insult, but instead I thought of my position and how much exposing I had already allowed myself to do.

"Well, all right, then, I guess," I said in a manner that was meant to put a stop to our witty repartee.

"But check her out tonight. When she has changed out of her uniform and is ready to leave."

"Well, I don't think I'm gonna do that. I'm good."

"No, come on. Just a quick look. Tell me tomorrow what you think," he insisted.

"All right, all right. If I happen to run into her on my way out, okay?" I said.

"All right, man. See you tomorrow. Have a good one."

I had no intention to rush downstairs just to catch a glimpse of Star in her civilian clothes—out of her black body bag uniform, that is. I just wanted him to get out of my office before an associate or one of the people on my team walked in on me having such an unbecoming conversation.

As it turned out, however, that night I did manage to catch a glimpse of Star in her off-duty attire. And, boy, that son of a bitch could not have been more right.

I had no idea Star looked this great. She must have been really upset the day I met her because it was like I was looking at the parallel universe version of her now. And it wasn't only her rocking body, although I'm going to get to that in a second. Everything about her looked improved. Her long curly black hair was flowing free in all its glossy glory now. Her eyes were radiant with the love of life, with no sign of the dark circles that had so struck me upon our first meeting.

Maybe she was happy because she was about to get reunited with her boyfriend, I remember thinking.

But anyway, that matters very little. What matters is that the absolute flagellation of the senses I experienced when I took one long hard look at her body is a sensation that is forever tattooed in my memory. Seeing her as she walked toward where I was, said good night, and then passed me by to disappear onto the street, totally and irreversibly supersized my psyche. I had not been expecting that. No, sir. She had these long legs and curves that would have been a genius plastic surgeon's signature work if I wasn't sure they were entirely the real deal. She was wearing a white T-shirt and blue jeans so tight I wondered if the thing had been spray painted on her. As she walked away, I watched her impeccable behind, swaying gently, the seat of her pants cradling it in a perfect fit.

The last thing I remember about that glorious night is Sid, the security guard, standing by the glass door, staring at me with a grin that said, "What did I tell you?" All I could do was nod in resigned agreement.

Actually, the very last thing I remember about that night is the sight of Michelle eyeing me with furious anger from across the hall.