Honest to a Fault

I‘m not used to attending parties where copious amounts of alcohol are served, not even while in college. They frown on that in the Southern Baptist college I received my business degree from. Yet here I was, at the company Christmas party, feeling woefully out of place. While everyone else imbibed heavily with various alcoholic beverages, dancing uninhibited; I stood awkwardly in a corner, nursing a red Dixie cup half full of too sweet, lukewarm apple cider. Dale, my supervisor, encouraged me to attend. He’s always telling me I need to loosen up, so, I took his advice. Normally, I would be home curled up with a book or attending a church service. I hoped I had put in enough of an appearance and decided to call it a night.

As I turned to leave, a captivating green-eyed woman, clad in a red dress came towards me and placed her scarlet lips on mine. The alcohol on her breath was strong; however, I was not dissuaded. As we melted into the kiss, I felt a warm tingliness, if that’s even a word, then drew her soft body closer to mine. Gently, she pulled away and wiped her face with the back of her hand. People around us were cheering, hooting and laughing.

“Merry Chrishtmas!” she replied, giggling, pointing at the small green leafed twig with white berries dangling above our heads.

“Um, yeah, back atcha,” I mumbled self consciously, then, beat a hasty retreat to the bathroom to clean my lipstick smeared face. Dale followed closely behind me.

“Dude, do you know who that was you were kissing?”

“No, who?”

“Blair Comstock, John Bailey Comstock’s wife,” he said in such a slow, deliberate manner.

“Oh, crap,” I whispered, rubbing my face with my hands. John Bailey Comstock had just bought the company at which we worked. “I’m so fired!”

“Yeah, more than likely. But hey, at least you had fun!” he exclaimed, laughing as he left the bathroom.

I decided to go home and update my resume.

***

I couldn’t sleep, so, I called my brother John, who’s a time zone ahead of me. He’s a pastor by trade, like our dad.

“Hey, Danny, what’s up?” he asked, sleepily.

“Sorry to wake you, but I need some advice: I kissed my boss’s wife at a Christmas party.”

“Are we talking peck on the cheek or full-on tonsil hockey?”

“The latter.”

Silence.

“So, why would you—”

“I was standing under mistletoe at a Christmas party and she kissed me.”

“Oh, it all makes sense. You kind of set yourself up for that one,” John answered with a chuckle.

“Do you think I’m fired?”

“I don’t know. What did your boss say?”

“He wasn’t there. I’m sure it’s a foregone conclusion.”

“Maybe not; unless. . . ah, you enjoyed kissing her, didn’t you?”

“Well, she was my first kiss.”

“Really? Your first kiss? I had no idea! Wait, was she drunk? I mean, she had to be—”

“A woman has to be drunk to want to kiss me?”

“I didn’t mean it like that. She saw an opportunity and took it. I think you’re making too much of this, baby bro. Get some sleep, things will be better come Monday.”

I hoped John was right.

***

Monday morning arrived. I settled into my cubicle, checked my email and began taking orders for product. No one mentioned anything about the Christmas party, thankfully. Four hours into the workday, Jeanette, Mr. Comstock’s administrative assistant, called to say Mr. Comstock wanted to see me in his office at four forty-five. From that point on, time seemed to crawl. My stomach was in knots from nerves, so my appetite was nil. Mr. Comstock was going to fire me; I just knew it! I tried calling Dale, but he was out of the office. At twenty minutes ‘til; I took the elevator to the second floor which housed the executive offices. Mr. Comstock’s office was on the south side of the building. Jeanette greeted me, warmly.

“Go on in, Daniel. He’s expecting you.”

I swallowed hard as I walked towards his spacious office. My heart felt as if it were beating against my ribcage, my palms, sweaty. Mr. Comstock was an imposing presence; a tall, beefy man with graying dark hair. He sat with his big cowboy booted feet crossed on his desk, talking away on his phone. When he spied me in his doorway, he promptly ended his phone conversation then stood.

“Come in, sit,” he implored jovially.

I obeyed. He began shuffling papers around on his desk as if he were looking for something. A glamour photo of Blair served as his computer screensaver. She stared at me, with her dazzling green eyes. I could still taste her whiskey flavored mouth against mine.

Jeanette ducked in to hand him a folder, then quickly exited. Mr. Comstock opened it, placed it on his desk, then looked directly in my eyes and spoke, “Hello, Daniel, I don’t believe we’ve formally met.”

“No sir, we haven’t,’ I answered with a quivery voice.

“Here’s the deal: I am streamlining this organization, eliminating dead weight and by dead weight, meaning non-performers, which means Dale is no longer affiliated with Comstock Industries.”

“I see.”

“Which brings me to you. I’ve been hearing good things about your integrity and work ethic. You consistently sell more product than all the reps. So, I’m promoting you to sales manager and trainer, effective immediately. Your new office is two doors down from mine and you will be making twice what you’re currently making; HR can fill you in on all the other perks. Any questions?”

I was completely dumbfounded and elated all at once. Still, I couldn’t let what happened Saturday lie.

“I kissed your wife at the Christmas party,” I blurted nervously.

He looked at me for about three seconds with his brow furrowed, then laughed heartily, “That was you? Blair told me she kissed some schmuck at a party while she was drunk; she felt just awful about it.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Comstock.”

“No need to apologize. You’re a good, honest guy, Daniel, maybe honest to a fault. Do you like steak? C’mon, let me take you out to dinner!”

***

Later that night, I lay in bed, recounting the day’s turn of events. I never thought I’d be promoted this soon. It was a wonderful early Christmas present.

One thing still nags at me, though: Why can’t I get Blair Comstock off my mind?