Joel saw her again at the office holiday party. The angular blonde had situated herself into the middle of the boy's club. Like a lounge singer in the middle of her act, she sat upon a desk with hips tilted forward and shoulders sagging back. A hand staked her place behind her while the other twirled a cigar. Her hair was down for the first time, swinging in pale ripples down her spine. Her eyelids were heavily lined. She looked like some old movie star. Kim Novak or Tippi Hendren. When he managed to catch her eye, he ducked down into his drink and shotgunned it. She laughed, puff-puffing on that cigar. It was absolutely foul and the conversation was worse.

Later, she was coming out of the bathroom with pink-tinged eyes and a sniffling nose. She hadn't been crying. In a brazen move that was more alcohol fueled than anything else, he caught her in the crook of his arm and thumbed away the streak of cocaine edging her cheek. "Careful," he laughed. "There'll be pictures later."

"Fuck the pictures," she crowed as arms wrapped around his neck. Fingers twirled at the piece curl at the nape of his neck. He needed a haircut, but lacked the ambition to wrestle with a mirror and pair of rusty scissors. She melted against him and he could smell her perfume. It was a strong, spiced scent. Almost a men's aftershave, almost Earl Grey tea. He had an erection. "What's your name?"

"Joel."

"How come I've never seen you before?" She said with a suspicious wrinkle of her face. Corie was older than him, but that didn't seem to bother either as they stayed awkwardly clinging. Her hips ground against his, but there was no music. She sniffed his collar. "You smell good though. How old are you?"

"Twenty-five," he lied. "You?"

"Twenty-nine," she countered, wide eyed.

"Actually, twenty-four."

"Thirty."

"Twenty-three. It's a final offer, but I'm very mature for my age."

"Thirty-one. Fuck!"

"I'll drink to that," Joel proposed as she was dragged by a hip to the bar that had been set up.