Quarterly Punishment

Eloise stares blankly at the laminated paper as she ponders the broth they would be using to make the Italian wedding soup. She attempts to look truly and entirely enrapt by … whatever it was that her date was so proud of accomplishing. She had gathered enough to know that it was quite a feat he achieved this afternoon (big enough of a deal he felt that it so simply explained away the fact that he was almost 2 hours late for their date). She had just been paying her tab at the bar when her phone lit up with that familiar tinkle sound she had set for texts from unimportant people in her contacts list. 

“I am so sorry E. I’ll be there in 5.”

He had not arrived in 5, rather 25 minutes after that little tinkle sounded. She should have reopened the tab with the cute bartender. She was experiencing a bit of thirst, or rather sobering up from the 3 old fashioned she had already delighted in and paid for. She was still trying to decide when and how he started calling her “E.” as he entered the restaurant with a rush of sports coat, ultra self importance and an exclamation of “There’s my girl! E. I’m here!”

Eloise is no one’s girl. 

Eloise is a grown ass woman who pays her own lease on the east side of a west coast town, books her own vacations with friends whenever, and wherever she wanted, and manages to donate a tithe amount of her annual income not to any religious organization, but rather a thoroughly transparent charity organization that helps to supply third world countries with safe, reusable menstrual products. Eloise makes almost 93% of the salary of the men working in her same level of management at an accounting firm (not a small feat even in 2022). Eloise is never called E. And she is certainly never referred to as anyone’s “girl” outside of the small South Carolina town she was raised in. Even there people refer to her only as “Eelll-Oise, Bart and Sara’s girl.” with the elongated consonant of their southern drawl as people tried to remember how the rest of her name was supposed to sound only after forming the first sound in their mouths. Because No. One. Calls. Her. E.

“So then the marketing guy to my right just comes out with the offer and before I know it we are signing new documents that Sandra was drawing up on her phone while the team lead was shit talking her for being on Insta every second!” He chuckles in a way that led her mind back to the room they were in and let her know she was seconds late on feigning shock and awe at his work place prowess. That was going to come up again later, if this evening lasted long enough.

“Oh wow. I am honestly amazed at how you marketing wiz’s manage to get exactly what you want, no matter the situation” Eloise however understood exactly how they did it. She had stolen the secrets from her intro to Marketing course in undergrad to allow her to trick men into thinking she gives a shit what they are saying. 

There was once a time in her life it was hard for her to keep up her long ago drawn up bargain of “just giving men a shot” and agreeing to go on at least 4 dates a year. It would take her months on the apps to find a man willing to take a chance on that girl who just shot down whatever hyper masculine bullshit they were spitting out as if on cue…like it was only vague hyper masculine bullshit after all. However, since she stumbled upon her old Marketing 101 notes and read through how to make clients feel important in a first meeting, well things changed. Suddenly everyone who messages her first with anything other than a dick pic is offering to escort her out to the finest of dining, or at least a place with stout drinks. Now she can keep up her end of a pinky swear almost effortlessly. She still only meets the agreed upon quota. She isn’t so into over achieving these days unless that is, she is being paid by the hour. No, year after year Eloise finds herself practicing a seasonal ritual every time the daylight shifts enough she logs back into the godforsaken apps and just waits.

That’s it.

Wait.

She is beautiful after all. Just because she couldn’t be less interested in attracting some macho man with a muscle car, or even a cute puppy in his profile doesn’t mean that she has’t taken care of her appearance. Eloise is put together at all times, but especially tonight as the, still quite excited, gentleman sitting across from her suggested dinner at this fancy spot near the hills that had been seen in tabloids more than once as a frequent spot for A listers. Eloise couldn’t risk being seen out in anything less that her best attire if there was even a chance of being in the background of some flashing bulbs on the covers of papers all over town. She had already decided to find some way to walk out ahead of her date so as not to be incidentally recorded together forever and eternity on the social internet as an item. 

Silence.

“You really look incredible tonight.”

At this point her lack of genuine enthusiasm is growing apparent and this man has run out of steam from his day’s achievements. Perhaps even descending close enough to Earth that he remembers he is in fact on a date with another human who might want him to seem interested in them.

“You never know what you’ll get when it comes to meeting someone in person these days, and you looked too good on your profile for me to think you could ever look that good in person.” he says as he folds his menu closed and looks into the eyes of Ms. Eloise Turner CPA for the first time all evening. She feigns a blush and runs her fingers through her bangs in that way men like, but honestly she just wasn’t putting in the energy she normally would this early in the date…however to her credit, the evening was supposed to start hours ago. She forgives herself for placing her hands in her lap is instead of further playing into the part of the awe struck lady being dazzled into submission. 

“I’m so glad I still look put together.” she says, knowing damn well she is the most impressively dressed woman he has ever been linked with in social media history. The subtly surprised look on this man’s face must have be nothing compared to the look that comes over Eloise as her eyes begin tracking something across the room. Perhaps he assumes it is one of the celebs who are frequently seen here and perhaps that is why he attempts to follow her gaze. He could never have known which of the gorgeous women being escorted to a corner booth she is watching. She is more than watching. Air ceases to enter her lungs. Sweat coats the palms of her hands which are wringing the napkin she’d placed across her lap. No thoughts race through her mind, only feeling and reaction and muscle memory. 

The man clears his throat and Eloise is startled enough to begin to rise from the table. “Do you know someone over there?” he asks politely as she drops her napkin into the empty seat of her chair and is physically drawn across the floor. 

Are her feet moving? These shoes once bothered her but now she is unaware, as if she has left her physical body behind at the table and all the power in her spirit moves forward. She elegantly slips into the well trained posture self taught to command a situation as she moves without even the awareness that she has surroundings at all. One waiter gracefully brakes to avoid Eloise walking straight into a tray of drinks as she is pulled, apparently signaling from somewhere deeply feminine and wanting to the only person she sees in the room. Barbara’s eyes appear to snap into place with hers. Her irises the only things on the planet capable of reflecting the level of intensity that Eloise is displaying in her entire aching body. Impatience and pheromones radiating from her and snaking between people and around Hors d’oeuvres but only reaching B.

This breathless woman turns her body from her gaze and moves just as transient as Eloise but in a different direction, not yet breaking eye contact.

Contact.

Impatience abounds as they both move through this space as if not made of matter but only want. Someone calls out “Barb wait up” but it is too late for anything to reach these two as they begin migration as one. Eloise takes larger steps, not faster ones, so as not to appear hurried. The space between them shrinking, air returning to their atmosphere with every inch they get closer. B. turns her face to look in the direction of the dark hallway they have apparently been approaching, but her hand floats out behind herself just as Eloise gets close enough to touch it. 

Just fingertips.

In the dim hall. 

Their contact is hidden from anyone’s notice in a long familiar way that still stings when she thinks about it too much.

B.

Her girl has returned to her.