Blast From The Past 1 (3 page)

“Are you still with me?” Becky asked—and, truth be told, she had good reason to pose her question. My eyes, once fixed on the computer before me, were focused solely on Joe; my ears, one paying careful attention to every word Becky said, now strained to hear whatever I could of the conversation beyond my office; and, my posture, once straight and stealthy, was now hunched over, trying to make my own little bubble in the fishbowl that surrounded me.

“Trish?” Becky asked, though it came out more like an exclamation than a question.

I buried my head in my hand, turned to her, and answered, “Yeah, sorry, Becky. I’m just a little overwhelmed by all this ‘newness,’ I guess, and I just saw someone I think I know.”

“Well, you look like you just saw a ghost,” Becky replied before leaning over and taking a gander out in the open hallway. Joe and the other guy (who I’d concluded was Jeff, not Gary) had moved past my office and were now just two out of several people in the hallway, so it wasn’t obvious who I was talking about, but it was obvious that Becky was curious—though, come on, there was no way I was going to tell her
who
I thought I saw and
how
I’d known him.

“Not a ghost,” I said, “but a blast from the past.” I laughed a little and tossed my hair back, hoping my statement hadn’t given too much away.

“According to your file, you went to Pitt, right?” Becky inquired. I nodded in the affirmative, and she went on. “I’m sure you’re bound to run into some people you know from back in the day, then, especially since a lot of our employees have some sort of local background at one of the schools or universities here. Plus, the tech world isn’t so big, now is it? Everyone knows someone, and that’s how progress is made… All I can say is, whoever your blast from the past was, I hope it was a good one. We keep it pretty tightly knit here at rEcore.”

Ha!
I thought to myself. Becky wished my blast from the past was a good one, but, man on man, she had no idea. I hadn’t thought about Joe in years, and I don’t know how I would’ve categorized my memories of him, but suffice to say, for the large part, I wouldn’t have used the word “good,” unless of course I was referencing something superficial or dirty, in which case it’d be an understatement.

I
could
say that Joe was good-looking, that he showed me a good time, or that he was good in bed. But, the fact of the matter was… Joe was great-looking, he showed me an awesome time, and he was amazing in bed. As per the other details about him and our time together, there were dozens of words that came to mind, but “good” was not one of them.

Guilt, shame, regret; too much to drink, not enough self-esteem; loose morals and loose legs; disrespectful, abrupt, and embarrassing—
do any of those words sound “good” to you? They weren’t to me, and that’s how I felt about everything after it had happened, and, though I’d long since tried to clear my thoughts of Joe and hadn’t felt those negative things in years, I felt them again as I sat there with Becky in my office. I wanted so badly to tell her what was up, but, again, knew that I couldn’t, and, even more, I wanted to duck out of my office and call Julie on my cell phone. I knew for sure that she’d be a good person to talk to and would appreciate what I had to say, but I couldn’t just up and leave my office in the middle of my onboarding.

“A blast from the past is a blast from the past, right?” I said to Becky with a forced smile on my face. “And, you’re right… I’m bound to run into people I know—or knew—so I guess I better get used to it and not let it interfere with my work.”

“Exactly,” Becky said with a real smile. “So, as I was saying… Your office is stocked with all the tech equipment you should need for your work, and, if you need something else, all you have to do is submit a request form, and we’ll get it to you promptly… Other than that, please feel free to use your laptop, tablet, phone, and other mobile devices as they were meant to be used—you can take them home with you, or anywhere else on-the-go, and can personalize them as you see fit.

“You can use them for your personal communications as well, but remember to do so within reason. Emails, social networking, Christmas shopping—that’s all cool. But don’t go crazy. We once had a brilliant guy working for us, who we had to let go after we discovered he was using his devices to feed his sexual cravings… He was downloading—and
uploading
—porn videos constantly, even in the office, and, even though we keep it real at rEcore, that was just a little over the top.”

My jaw dropped a little when Becky told me this. I couldn’t really imagine anyone using their work equipment for purposes like that—but, then again, I guess some folks are like kids in a candy store when you give them unlimited access to technology.

“I promise I won’t be watching, or making, any pornos,” I replied.

“Good,” Becky chimed back, laughing. “I know it’s ridiculous to say it, but it’s got to be said… As for other mobile protocol, try to use the rEcore mobile hotspot whenever you can, but if you can’t pick up the signal, please make sure that you only use a limited broadcast channel with an encrypted passcode. Don’t have these things connected and running anywhere where information can be intercepted. I’m sure you know there are countless hackers out there who’d just love to come across a rEcore employee’s workload, and none of us involved can afford that.”

“I hear you loud and clear,” I told Becky, trying to drown out the other noises around me. There were people chatting outside and around us, and I desperately hoped that Joe wasn’t one of them or that, if he was, he hadn’t seen me. I’d deal with him when and if I had to, but, for the time being, I wanted to settle into my new job and get things going. I hoped, beyond all hope, that it was just a random occurrence that he was there, that maybe he was a delivery man or adjunct resource.

“So that’s all I have for you right now,” Becky said, again interrupting my thoughts and bringing a close to our conversation. “If you need anything, ask around or call extension 413 and ask for me… For now, just take some time to explore the system. Someone—probably Edgar—will be around in a bit to explain your first assignment.”

“Thanks, Becky,” I replied, grabbing my mouse and feigning interest in what was before me on the computer screen. As she walked out of my office, I scrolled and clicked around my desktop, staring at the icons, though my mind wandered to distant memories, and my heart sank to the pit of my stomach.

It was about seven years ago—shortly after I broke up with Tommy. Patty the bookworm had just studied her ass off and successfully made it through midterms with straight A’s, as usual, and was feeling an unusual need to kick back, relax, and maybe even celebrate a little.

Some girls from my dorm, including Julie, were going out one night, and they asked me to join them. They’d asked me to join them several times before, and I’d always declined—but, this time, much to all of our surprise, I actually agreed.

There were five of us in total when the evening began, and the first spot we hit was a pub that served cheap pitchers of beer. “It’s called pre-gaming,” one of the other girls told me, explaining how it is standard protocol to go to a cheap place to get your drink on before hitting the more happening joints, where drinks are far more costly.

I pre-gamed it with the rest of them for over an hour and threw back glass after glass of beer until we were ready to hit the next spot. The pub was pretty lame, for the most part, though it did claim one of our crew. A short brunette, whose name I can’t remember now, left our pack when she ran into a frat boy she’d hooked up with a few times before, and, judging from the way the rest of the girls giggled as we left, it hadn’t been the first time she’d strayed to get laid.

The next spot we hit was a bar right in the middle of campus. Back then, the place was named after a legendary author, and I haven’t been back there since, but I’d like to think it’s still named after him. Call me crazy, but there are way too many bars with generic, run of the mill names out there, and I only hope this one didn’t give in to the trends.

But, anyway, I digress… There we were, in a bar named after a legendary author. The drinks were definitely more expensive, but they were also more fun and palate-pleasing. They served these fruity shots in test tubes and had trays of Jell-O shots for sale, and the four of us each took turns buying rounds for each other.

In no time, we all were pretty drunk, especially me, as I wasn’t that much of a drinker. So, when the bartender came over to us and threw down another round of fruity shots, we all just took them.

“Whose turn is it?” one of the girls asked, looking to the rest of us to see who was going to pull out her wallet. Her name was Beth Carmichael, and she was wearing cat-eye glasses.

“I got the last round,” Melanie Elroy said, shaking her blonde ponytail.

“And I got the one before that,” Julie added.

“Well, who ordered them?” Beth asked.

We all looked at each other, dumbfounded.

“I did,” a voice said from behind us. “They’re on me.”

The man standing behind us was a cliché—tall, dark, and handsome. He had a mop of curly chestnut hair that was just long enough to look unkempt but short enough to be tidy. His eyes were steely gray, and he had a bit of stubble on his face. He definitely looked a little older than the rest of us, but not so much older that he shouldn’t have been in a college bar—and, he definitely was good-looking… err, make that “great-looking.”

“Thanks,” Beth said, and Melanie echoed.

“Yeah, thanks,” Julie said, taking the fellow in. “But what’s your game plan? You buy four girls a shot at the bar… What? Are you looking to bang one of us or all of us? Or are you just playing the odds here?”

The man chuckled and leaned in closer to us. “It’s called an icebreaker,” he said, eyeing each of us in turn. “You ladies looked like you were having a fun time, and I’m here all alone tonight. I figured I’d try to work my way into your little party.”

“Or work your way into our pants,” Julie shot back. Beth and Melanie just sat there, giggling like the school girls that they were. I, however, wasn’t laughing. I stared at my empty test tube shot glass and thought about ordering another.

“It’s not like that,” the stranger continued. “Can’t a guy just be looking for conversation and company? What makes you think I’m trying to get any of you in the sack?”

“Come on!” Julie exclaimed. She said it so loudly that it attracted attention from other bar patrons. “You don’t just go and drop $20 on shots for random girls at the bar without expecting
something
.” She turned back around to face the bar and motioned to the bartender for another round. “This one’s on me,” she said, looking to the rest of us, “to wash the bad taste of
his
shots out of our mouths.”

The tall, dark, and handsome man just stared at Julie, obviously offended, maybe even hurt, by how she was treating him. The rest of us just went along with the flow, as she was obviously our alpha female.

“Well, I’m sorry to have bothered you then,” the man said. “And I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.” I peeked up from staring at my shot glass to look at him just in time to catch his smile before he turned and walked away.

“Meee-oww,” Beth said, taking the new drink that the bartender brought over. “You sure let that guy have it.”

“I know,” Julie answered. “But, I’m tired of guys like him… They come to the bar and try to get the young college girls all fucked up so that they can take them home and fuck them. Then what happens the next morning? Either they sneak out before you wake up, or they leave you with some fake phone number. Been there, done that too many times, and I’m not gonna let myself or my friends fall victim to a predator like that… I mean, really, he bought
all
of us a shot—what was he thinking?”

I wanted to say something—or ask something—but was too intimidated to do so. I wasn’t used to the bar scene, especially as compared to someone like Julie, and, even though I thought the guy seemed nice enough, I figured she knew more about this kind of stuff than I did.

We went on to enjoy a few more drinks, and a few more random discussions with strangers, for another hour or so before we decided to hit another bar, just for the sake of variety. Ironically enough, when we left, it was just me, Beth, and Melanie. Julie had decided to leave on her own, with a guy that she’d taken to. “It’s okay if I’m the player,” she said with a wink before walking off with him.

The next bar was even more crowded than the last, and the three of us were a little lost in the mix without our alpha female. Nonetheless, we managed to get some more booze in us, and managed to talk to a variety of guys. I was drunker than I’d ever been in my whole life, and I was having a great time. My inhibitions were lowered, and I was actually talking freely, even flirting, with the people around me.

We’d landed a table in the back of the bar, but had to go to the counter to order our drinks. It really was a madhouse in there, and there were no waitresses to tend to the masses. But that was fine by me because, when it was my turn to walk to the counter, it gave me the chance to be the me I usually wasn’t and enjoy everything my rare night out had to offer. Little did I know, however, that, when I went to the counter for the second time, I’d never make it back to the table with my friends, and I’d wake up the next morning with much more than a hangover.