'V' Card

“You live so far," Margaret said, puckering up her face in sympathy. This was the fifth hug Cole had received from her tonight, and now she was rubbing her hand down the small of his back as she embraced him. 

"I'm impressed that you got here at all," she murmured into his ear.

The party watched their interaction with amusement.  These were the sorts of exchanges that they lived for.  

“It ain't too bad," Cole mumbled, gingerly hugging the young red head, “the Bronx ain't as far as you would think."

Margaret nodded sensually, and looked deep into Cole's eyes.

“ Goodnight everybody," Cole said awkwardly,  gently pulling himself from the young white woman's arms and managing an awkward wave to the other guests.

A chorus of overly cheery goodbyes followed, and Cole stepped onto the hallway of the beautiful downtown apartment building.

When he made it out onto the street, he breathed a sigh of relief, and tried to clear his head. He was a little drunk.

His work friends always scared him, a fact that he was acutely aware of when he hung out with them in any any sort of context outside of work. 

On the actual job, he felt fairly comfortable. He could chat up a storm about copyright law and soared when they discussed the  challenges associated with publishing electronic music. Even though he spent much of his day answering phones and scheduling meetings for his boss, working at a music publishing company was awesome. Professionally, it was a dream come true.

Still though, he was never completely relaxed. For one thing , all the other assistants seemed very close to the point of cultish. They were all wirey, and the company's lax dress code seemed to encourage most of them to wear skinny jeans, 'edgy t-shirts',  and Supra sneakers with cool colored laces. They went out every night, which boggled Cole, for the salary they received did not come close to being able to support the enormous bill that they racked up.

Mostly, he was afraid of the downright incestuous relationships that seemed to be bred, and even encouraged among the other entry level employees. On the first day, even his boss had casually let it slip that there was “a lot of fun to be had" among the assistants.

Margaret had been his main problem from the happy hour he had attended after his first day on the job. To initiate him into the group, the assistants had plied him with so many drinks in so little time that the world had quickly developed a fuzzy whiskey shot and beer induced sheen.

Margaret had been casting compliments at him all night. About his “burly physique" and his “ brooding" eyes. She was delighted by the size of his feet, and adored the fact that he lived in the south Bronx. When he was sober, he realized that he was the most exotic object that she had ever encountered.

But he had been so very  drunk and had made a college move; he openly made out with her in the middle of the bar, as his coworkers whooped and hollered. He had stuck his tongue down her throat and touched her in every which way, for all for the world's enjoyment.

The next day he received all kinds of winks and high fives and nudges. He was immediately seen as a leader of men, though it was clear he was being both laughed at and revered. He was absolutely ashamed.

Margaret, however, seemed emboldened. She winked at him and made sure to give him a weird public hug as soon as  she got to work. She smacked him on the ass when he passed her desk on the  way to the restroom, and sent him email messages that seemed innocuous enough on their head but clearly held erotic subtext.

"Hey Cole,  I thought  the file you were about to send was going to be way too big for the email. How ever did you make it fit?"  

Cole felt sick.  He resolved that he would never go out again with the group, but that was nearly impossible. Everybody got off at the same time, and the subway was the same direction as the bar the group frequented. There was no escaping. 

Even on some Saturdays, he could not hide from his co-workers. Tonight, there had been a dinner party that his immediate supervisor had hosted. He had been obligated to go because, well, that was the culture. It had gone off pretty well though, as per usual, he had drank a bit too much. He found that despite his best intentions, he always got decently drunk at work events, just to soothe his nerves. 

Cole was deep in thought on the way to the subway, when his phone vibrated in his jacket.

"Jake?" 

"Whatup Cole, you wanna chill tonight?"

"Yea man, where you at?"

"My place. Harlem."

"Cool, I'll be there in like a half an hour."

All through the subway ride, a Bach Sonata tumbled around in his head, in and out of time of the swaying car.  When he arrived at West 145th and Broadway, he was thoroughly sick of it.

"You look like shit man," Jake observed as Cole walked in.

"It's cold out, you know how it is," Cole explained. 

Jake handed him a 40oz of Colt 45. Cole grimaced. 

"It's like that, huh," Cole said, resigned. He never could understand Jake's obsession for malt liquor. 

They clinked their bottled together took a long swig and sat staring at the tv that was blaring something awful on BET.  For the first time all night, Cole felt his nerves settle.

"I hate white people," Cole heard himself say, before he realized the import of his words. Jake, after all was white.

Jake was unaffected. It wasn't the first time Cole had such a thing.

"The work thing was shitty, huh?"

"No, it was fun," Cole said, after taking another gulp of the disgusting malt drink. "I just...Yea, I just hate'em."

Jake nodded, and changed the channel. There was something shitty on MTV. 

"You fuck that girl yet. Margy or whatever?" Jake asked casually. He snacked on a stale doughnut that was sitting in a box that had obviously seen better days. 

Cole rolled his eyes. 

"I would never do that."

"No?"
"No."

Jake shrugged his shoulders as though to say "Your loss."

Cole felt the need to apologize.

"I dunno, I never been into that hookup culture thing, you know. Like fuckin' anything that walks and shit."

Jake sipped about a third of his 40oz in one gulp, and burped horrendously.

"You're too uptight Cole. I've BEEN saying that."

"Yea," admitted Cole.

The two sat in silence for awhile, while Cole fiddled with his drink. His stomach was already beginning to curl around the nastyness he was consuming in combination with the wine and cheese he had  forced down earlier at his boss's apartment. 

"Cole lemme ask you something," Jake said, his green eyes never leaving the television screen.

"How old were you when you lost your 'V' card?" 

Cole felt himself get really drunk, and he swayed a bit. He thought about Kayla Brown, sweet Kayla Brown. They had gone out for a year in high school. And then there was Lorraine Williams, for a few months in college...and...and....

"That's what I thought," Jake said, without emotion. He moved some of his black hair out of his eyes. 

"Dude, you're 24. You gotta make that happen," he said gently. 

Cole blushed. Finally he replied. "I want it to be special. With someone special."

Jake looked at his friend and laughed, but not unkindly. 

He raised his glass. 

"Amen to that brotha. Amen to that."