Cocktail Hour by Tara McTiernan

saw that someone had left the lights on in the small conference room that was typically used by Bill’s sales team, all of whom were gone for the day. An interior room with smoked glass walls that ended halfway to the ceiling, it gave the illusion of privacy, but anyone walking by could listen in on any conversations within, making it popular with the sales guys who liked to be overheard blowing a lot of self-satisfied hot air.
    Lucie reached for the door handle to the conference room just as she heard a low growling moan. She hesitated. Silence. That was an odd sound?
    She shrugged, pulled open the door to the room and started to cross to the row of lit green tabletop lamps that ran down the center of the conference table when she saw what had made the noise.
    At the far end of the table, Al Miller, CEO of Pinnacle Funds and one of the wealthiest men in Greenwich who was very married with three young children at home, was leaning back in one of the conference room's leather chairs with his hands behind his head in a posture of relaxation, his neck arched and mouth half-open in ecstasy, while a dark-haired head bobbed at his lap. The rest of the person was hidden below the table.
    Lucie stuttered to a stop, eyes bulging, unable to tear her eyes away. Slowly, Al’s head turned to look at her and his open mouth shut and tightened. Then his hand went out to tap the person’s shoulder below him. The dark-haired head that had been relentlessly rising and falling lifted and large heavy-lidded eyes regarded her. Bianca’s mouth was puffy and raw looking.
    Taking a stumbling step backward, Lucie almost fell before grabbing the door frame, and then catapulted herself away from the room using the leverage from her grip on the doorway and her good leg. Her face burning, she hobbled as fast as she could down the hallway and back to the safety of her cubicle. What was she going to do? In her mind's eye an endless loop was playing of Bianca's face appearing from beneath the conference room table. She felt both appalled and bourgeois for caring. Was it her business at all?
    Frozen by indecision about what to say or do about what she had witnessed, she never said a word to anyone. The next day Bianca was gone and she didn’t return. Word was that she had been fired for insubordination, which was darkly comical considering the truth. Lucie was both relieved and anxious, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Al to have her removed as well, for the stench of the whole sordid thing to permeate the office. But nothing happened, except for Al studiously avoiding Lucie whenever he saw her. And she never saw Bianca again. Until today.
    Feeling the stinging shock shooting through her, Lucie tried to keep her face impassive. Did Bianca recognize her? It had been six years since they last saw each other and Lucie's hair was now naturally brown again and cut in a short pixie instead of the highlighted longer hair of her twenties. More importantly, did Bianca blame Lucie for what had happened? Even though the fault was clearly with Bianca and Al, Lucie had found that people often preferred to shift blame for their own misdeeds to convenient bystanders and bit-players.
    Bianca’s expression remained aloof and amused, not a tic or a flinch. Lucie took a big breath and hoped.
    Chelsea said, “Lucie was just telling us about her new catering business. Isn’t it exciting? I’m so jealous. Oh, that’s right. You haven’t met Lucie yet! This is Lucie, from work! Well, at least she used to be from work. Lucie, I’m so psyched you can finally meet Bianca. She’s my bestie from way back. High school, we were like, glued at the hip or something. Well, until junior year when Bianca-“
    “So glad to meet you,” Bianca interrupted, stretching out her hand.
    Lucie jerked a little with surprise and, not knowing what else to do, shook it. Bianca’s palm was warm and dry. Pulling away, Lucie felt that her sweaty hand must have left a moist smear on