One Night Stand

I had been looking forward to the new job. It was a step up from where I had been, the accountant in a small company. That job had gone when the company folded, but I got a good reference and quite soon got a job as maternity cover in a medium sized company. Who knows, if I worked hard, there might be an opening for me when my contract was up. Or maybe the woman wouldn’t come back to work after the baby was born; it happens. At any rate it would give me some much-needed experience somewhere more out there than my last place of work.

First days are always bad for me. How to remember all the new faces, let alone the new names. I always tried to tie a picture with a person. If they’re called Bill, I try to picture them as a flower-pot man and hope I don’t call them Ben instead.

I arrived at the given time, gave my name and a guy called Rob came to fetch me. His mouth reminded me of Robert De Niro, so I hung identification on that. He took me up, introduced me to the boss, Lucien. Lucien was a large man who had small piggy eyes, no small sparkly eyes, sparkling like diamonds; Lucien In The Sky With Diamonds. Lucien took me in his office, asked Rob to get us coffee, and began my induction into the company. I would be working alongside Rob, Masie (Masie Williams – please look like Arya Stark to help me remember) and Ralph. I needed to see Ralph to determine how I’d remember his name; maybe he was interested in cars, maybe he looked like a Schumacher. And I would be replacing Sophie for the time being. Sophie Dahl, I decided. I was a fan of Roald Dahl books, Sophie was his granddaughter.

Pleasantries over, Rob took me to my desk where I was introduced to the rest of the team. Masie was not quite as elfin as Arya Stark, being middle-aged, but her hair was boyish and unruly, so that was something. Ralph was nothing like a Schumacher; tall, slim, serious he was more like Voldemort, more like Ralph Fiennes. And then Sophie walked in. I turned, and realised I knew her. 

I faltered, eventually managing to gasp out ‘Hi’.

“Pleased to meet you Luke,” she said, shaking my hand. And it was like she was looking at a stranger, someone she had met for the first time. But I knew different.

I tried to put it to the back of my mind that first day, focus on the job. After all, this job might not be mine for long, but how I performed might affect what jobs I got in the future. But over the coming days I thought about the last time, the only time, I had met her. 

It had been a night out, just before Christmas. I’d met Sophie there, she had been with another party. The food was good, the drink flowed, we eyed each other from across the room, we danced, we kissed, and then she ended up in my room for the night. I’m not usually that lucky, but that night, something clicked. In the morning, I’d woken to find her gone, just a note.

Thanks for a good time big boy. S.

I looked at Sophie across the office, wondering why she didn’t remember me. Was I that forgettable? Or was the complement just empty words? Or had she been so drunk that she’d forgotten what had happened?

The name bothered me as well.  I thought, though I couldn’t be sure, that the name she’d given me was different. I vaguely remembered thinking Heavenly when she’d told me, but I didn’t think I’d associate that about the name Sophie. 

But her handwriting was similar, and she wrote her S’s the same, with a loop at the top, a tail behind.

Thanks for a good time big boy. S.

Although at the time I’d accepted it for what it was, a one night stand, I began to fantasise about her; how she’d felt in my arms, the taste of her lips, the feel of her breasts. How it felt when she touched me. Yes, I’d had a few to drink, but I remembered every moment in that room.

Then another thought struck me. That night had taken place in December. It was now late July, and the baby was due in a couple of months.

Was the child mine?

But how could I say anything? Her husband Leonard (Nimoy; straight dark hair, serious disposition, not quite the ears of a Vulcan) worked in marketing, spent each lunch time with her, took her home at night. They looked to be the ideal couple waiting for their first child. But what if everything wasn’t ideal?

What if she’d had a drunken one-night stand with a stranger, then said one morning, “Hey honey, you know what? Remember that night over Christmas where we weren’t too careful?”

What if he was shooting blanks. What if she had either with or without his knowledge gone out with the sole purpose of getting pregnant because she couldn’t have them with him?

Whatever, that could be my baby in there. But how could I insist on a paternity test? And if it showed I wasn’t the father? And what if Leonard wasn’t the father either?  

I began to imagine her as some sort of siren who went out with the sole purpose of bedding as many young men as possible with the sole purpose of getting pregnant. If that was the case, if I was one of many, no wonder she didn’t recognise me.

And the worst of it was that I had to sit with her as she showed me some of the things she’d been working on. I could smell her, and the smell would always bring up images of that night.

Just one more week, I told myself. Just one more week and she’ll be gone. She’ll be a memory for the second time. And to her I’ll just be the guy that kept her seat warm while she was away.

But what if it was my child? Did I have rights, responsibilities?

Her last day came. Leonard had meetings to attend in the afternoon, so she arranged for her sister to pick her up. Presents were given, opened, baby clothes and toys were cooed over.

“Ah, there’s Stella,” she said as someone walked past the window. “We’d better pack up these things and I promise to keep in touch.”

There was a flurry of activity as the women busied themselves packing everything away, and I was walking back to my desk when Stella walked in.

I looked at Stella, and across the office she saw me. I saw her pause, her mouth shape into a silent ‘oh’ as she saw me. She was Sophie’s sister, Sophie’s twin sister.

I helped carry some of the stuff out to the car. “You haven’t introduced us sis,” she said.

“Ah Stella, this is Luke. You won’t have met him. He’s covering for me while I’m off.”

Stella looked me up and down, smiled. After Sophie had got in the car, she mouthed, “I’ll call you next week” before she got in the driver’s seat.

Stella, a heavenly woman with the ability to take me to the stars.