The Office Party
by glodys©
It had been a very difficult period for me and Imogen. I had been in my new job for about six months, and was finding it very tough - long hours, lots of new people to meet and new procedures and techniques to learn, and I was taking work home every night and every weekend. And Imogen finds her work quite hard, too - she comes home absolutely fagged out at the end of each day and usually falls arelax on the sofa after we've eaten. All this meant that we'd hardly been out once for months and months, and our sex life had virtually disappeared. I don't think we had made love once in the last two months.
The toll on our relationship was pretty heavy. Imogen hated me talking about work, and I just couldn't think about anything else. We snapped at each other, we rowed occasionally, and in between we just didn't talk very much about anything. When we went to bed, she would just turn away from me and go straight to relax. At weekends she did the shopping, pottered in the garden while I did my work, and scowled round the house looking very thin-lipped all the time.
Christmas came. I learnt that there was to be some sort of celebration one night after work, and naturally felt I had to be there. On learning that Imogen actually finished work a couple of days earlier than I did, I thought this would be an excellent opportunity for her to get out of the house and, with a bit of luck, for us to rekindle our love life. I imagined her wearing a pretty dress and having a few takes, relaxing and laughing. Perhaps we'd have a dance, which she loved. And maybe when we got home, she'd be relaxed enough for me to try and make love to her for once.
She was reluctant when I raised the idea, but I persisted - in fact, I pretty well put my foot down and insisted. We arranged that she would come into town and meet me after work, and when the day came she duly waited for me in the foyer downstairs. It was not cold, and although she had a coat over her arm I was delighted to see that she had really made an effort - she had had her hair done, and was wearing one of the dresses I liked best, a low-cut backless job with thin shoulder-straps and a short, flared skirt. She looked wonderful, and I congratulated myself on having such a pretty wife. Just as we were leaving my friend Tom followed me down the stairs.
"Hallo," he said, "what have we got here?"
"Oh, Tom, this is my wife," I said proudly. "Imogen, this is Tom. We work in the same office".
"I'm delighted to meet you," he said gallantly. "You're not coming to the bash, then?"
"Yes we are," smiled Imogen sweetly. "We're looking forward to it!"
Tom seemed slightly taken aback, but said "That's wonderful! I'll see you there, then?" and went in front of us out of the swing doors, walking quickly.
We followed him to the carpark, got into the car and drove the short distance to the club where the party was taking place. The club was dark and intimate - not at all the sort of place I had imagined for an office party - and when we went inside I could not at first see where my co-workers had got to. Imogen went to the cloakroom to leave her coat, and by the time she got back I had found them. They were seated round a long table on a sort of U-shaped banquette in a dark corner. There were not many of them - Tom, of course, and a handful of the others, and at the head of the table sat Larry, our head of department. Larry was a hard, competitive man. He was the sort that never says "Would you do this?" or "Could you please do that?" but always planted his thick forearms on the table and said "Very well. What you will do is ..." I found this peremptory style of management very off-putting, but there was no question that he ran a tight ship. On his left sat Dickie Pardoe, his side-kick - assistant Head of Department, a small, weaselly man with sharp features and a rather sarcastic manner to those below him.
I was dismayed to find that there were no women present, and felt embarrassed that I had completely misunderstood the nature of the occasion. I had envisaged the normal sort of office party, attended by all the secretaries and so on, but obviously I had been wrong. I looked nervously at Imogen and wondered how she would take this, and certainly she looked a little apprehensive. My colleagues soon put her at her ease, however. It helped a lot that she had already met Tom, albeit briefly, and the others made quite a fuss of her, crowding round and offering her takes.
"You must come and sit with us important guys!" said Larry, standing up, and although she smiled and said no, it was quite all right, she'd be happy down here, he would take no refusal and insisted that all the others move out of the way and let her slide all the way between the table and the banquette to sit beside him at the far end. He took her hand as she arrived and sat down, half-shaking it and half patting it in a friendly way. He looked down the table and shouted "My shout, I think!"
by glodys©
It had been a very difficult period for me and Imogen. I had been in my new job for about six months, and was finding it very tough - long hours, lots of new people to meet and new procedures and techniques to learn, and I was taking work home every night and every weekend. And Imogen finds her work quite hard, too - she comes home absolutely fagged out at the end of each day and usually falls arelax on the sofa after we've eaten. All this meant that we'd hardly been out once for months and months, and our sex life had virtually disappeared. I don't think we had made love once in the last two months.
The toll on our relationship was pretty heavy. Imogen hated me talking about work, and I just couldn't think about anything else. We snapped at each other, we rowed occasionally, and in between we just didn't talk very much about anything. When we went to bed, she would just turn away from me and go straight to relax. At weekends she did the shopping, pottered in the garden while I did my work, and scowled round the house looking very thin-lipped all the time.
Christmas came. I learnt that there was to be some sort of celebration one night after work, and naturally felt I had to be there. On learning that Imogen actually finished work a couple of days earlier than I did, I thought this would be an excellent opportunity for her to get out of the house and, with a bit of luck, for us to rekindle our love life. I imagined her wearing a pretty dress and having a few takes, relaxing and laughing. Perhaps we'd have a dance, which she loved. And maybe when we got home, she'd be relaxed enough for me to try and make love to her for once.
She was reluctant when I raised the idea, but I persisted - in fact, I pretty well put my foot down and insisted. We arranged that she would come into town and meet me after work, and when the day came she duly waited for me in the foyer downstairs. It was not cold, and although she had a coat over her arm I was delighted to see that she had really made an effort - she had had her hair done, and was wearing one of the dresses I liked best, a low-cut backless job with thin shoulder-straps and a short, flared skirt. She looked wonderful, and I congratulated myself on having such a pretty wife. Just as we were leaving my friend Tom followed me down the stairs.
"Hallo," he said, "what have we got here?"
"Oh, Tom, this is my wife," I said proudly. "Imogen, this is Tom. We work in the same office".
"I'm delighted to meet you," he said gallantly. "You're not coming to the bash, then?"
"Yes we are," smiled Imogen sweetly. "We're looking forward to it!"
Tom seemed slightly taken aback, but said "That's wonderful! I'll see you there, then?" and went in front of us out of the swing doors, walking quickly.
We followed him to the carpark, got into the car and drove the short distance to the club where the party was taking place. The club was dark and intimate - not at all the sort of place I had imagined for an office party - and when we went inside I could not at first see where my co-workers had got to. Imogen went to the cloakroom to leave her coat, and by the time she got back I had found them. They were seated round a long table on a sort of U-shaped banquette in a dark corner. There were not many of them - Tom, of course, and a handful of the others, and at the head of the table sat Larry, our head of department. Larry was a hard, competitive man. He was the sort that never says "Would you do this?" or "Could you please do that?" but always planted his thick forearms on the table and said "Very well. What you will do is ..." I found this peremptory style of management very off-putting, but there was no question that he ran a tight ship. On his left sat Dickie Pardoe, his side-kick - assistant Head of Department, a small, weaselly man with sharp features and a rather sarcastic manner to those below him.
I was dismayed to find that there were no women present, and felt embarrassed that I had completely misunderstood the nature of the occasion. I had envisaged the normal sort of office party, attended by all the secretaries and so on, but obviously I had been wrong. I looked nervously at Imogen and wondered how she would take this, and certainly she looked a little apprehensive. My colleagues soon put her at her ease, however. It helped a lot that she had already met Tom, albeit briefly, and the others made quite a fuss of her, crowding round and offering her takes.
"You must come and sit with us important guys!" said Larry, standing up, and although she smiled and said no, it was quite all right, she'd be happy down here, he would take no refusal and insisted that all the others move out of the way and let her slide all the way between the table and the banquette to sit beside him at the far end. He took her hand as she arrived and sat down, half-shaking it and half patting it in a friendly way. He looked down the table and shouted "My shout, I think!"