grayspike

One benefit of working for a small company is that after a long enough time co-workers will reveal themselves. In large corporations numbers alone can provide distance through anonymity. Fewer people in comparatively tighter quarters offer no such buffer.

Recently my boss made a mercy hire. His daughter Patti.

Shed spent her last decade mired in a cratering marriage. Admittedly her ex-husband was a piece of shit. However, she also contributed mightily to the situation.

She was a bad wife.

Patti gave him nothing to lose. And as we know, or as some of us shall learn, if you have no stake, this lack of concern can quickly become neglect.

I attended their wedding. No expense was spared. The event was held on beachfront property. That afternoon the sky was cloudless, in the background waves crashed appropriately along the shore. A luau followed.

The barefoot bride was resplendent, her groom stalwart. Each came from families with plenty. We witnesses expected them to happily exploit this advantage.

I knew Patti when she enjoyed her last throes of singlehood. Or if you prefer, I knew the bride when she used to rock n roll.

Hers then had been an enviable life. Patti lacked nothing because her parents subsidized her liberally. The little job she held then was a sham. Much like the make-work time-killer her father recently created.

Although her face is now ruined, and her skin sags, back then Patti easily made all the boys heads turn. She loved the outdoors and it showed. She had the build, posture and glow of someone who skied, sailed and surfed. Her athleticism was quite alluring.

Only the tan remains. Unfortunately, abuse throughout the years has roughened her skin. Not leathery though certainly mottled.

Cocaine sped her decline, the decline of her marriage. She and her husband were fiends for the stuff.

After splitting, acknowledging whatever failed couples do, repair of Pattis coke habit required extensive dentistry. Never having snorted, I didnt realize its possible severity.

Rotting nasal passages I knew about.

Her damage went beyond that. Apparently what couldnt be inhaled she fingered then rubbed across her gums. Intense years of that weakened those gums, which loosened her teeth. The orthodontics involved reminded me of re-wiring a suspension bridge.

It looked painful. Im sure it was worse than I imagined.

If she ever had work skills, theyve eroded. Pattis an office nuisance. Shes disrupted our routine. Of course we cant complain. Nor will medals be awarded.

The sole good Ive seen resulting from her re-immersion into sober society is reconnecting with an old boyfriend. Back when, as she confesses, he was her best bet. The one she shouldve jumped the broom beside instead of the other guy.

Despite squandered years and abject carelessness, the new old-guy still hungers for her. So much so theyve shacked up. Theyre busy trying to regain pissed away time. He still sees her as she was. She lets him.

Sometimes I ask myself, Denial or delusion?

A consequence of their rekindled heat and gauzy view is how she imagines herself as that firm pretty young trim from years ago. Is there anything more pathetic than adults who refuse yielding to age? I mean, I realized my leaping over tall buildings in a single bound days were long finished several thousand beers ago!

Furthermore, as if that Adam Ant song needed answering, rabid Patti diligently informs us her co-workers of how many times, where and when she and her newly disinterred fuck buddy bounce off each other.

Shes making blow-job by blow-job recitations monotonous.

Maybe when Patti retained her hotness I couldve gotten aroused. Perhaps if shed taken care of herself in the interim I might be stirred a little. But now what she talks about isnt a pretty picture.

Besides, I must wonder: are these frequent fuckings genuine passion? Or are all these present poundings some kind of simultaneous purgings of the past and grasps for a redeeming future?