Nine
1250 Words
Chapter Nine
“Did you see what she wore? Pretentious much.”
“She’s always acted like she’s all that.”
“Right. All up in Stefan’s face, she totally wanted him to notice her,” Tracy’s voice carried through the restroom, echoing against the walls.
Margaret snorted, adjusting her blouse in the mirror. “I thought she said Christmas parties weren’t her scene. Why show up then? The way the guys were extra friendly to her… she thinks she’s all that, just because she’s a size 8.”
Tracy leaned closer to the mirror, reapplying her lipstick with exaggerated precision.
“Please. Did you see how she kept smiling at Stefan? Like she was waiting for him to compliment her dress. Honestly, it was embarrassing.”
Margaret chuckled, her tone dripping with envy. “And the dress — velvet, really? Who wears velvet unless they’re trying to make a statement? She probably thought she looked elegant. I thought it was overdone.”
“The men were only being polite. Stefan’s too nice to ignore anyone. But she was practically glowing every time he spoke. Like she thought she was the star of the night” Tracy lowered her voice though it carried just as clearly.
Margaret rolling her eyes. “She’s always been like that. Walks around here like she’s above everyone else. Just because she’s slim and wears heels doesn’t mean she’s better. I mean, look at me — I may be chubby, but at least I’m real.”
Tracy laughed, “Exactly. She’s all lithe figure and fake smiles. I bet she spent hours picking that outfit just to get attention.”
“Yeah, it’s not like she’s all blown out of proportion. Her lithe figure lets her feel she’s all that,” I added lightly, deciding to be included in the restroom gossip.
Both ladies froze, turning to stare at me, mouths agape. I washed my hands calmly, the water rushing louder than their whispers, and stepped out without another word.
The door swung shut behind me, muting Tracy and Margaret’s whispers.
Walking through the corridor, my heels clicked steadily against the floors, steps deliberate.
I passed the break room, the faint aroma of burnt coffee mingled with the sweetness of someone’s leftover pastries wafted past my nostrils. A group huddled around the counter, laughing at some inside joke. Their laughter rose, then softened as I walked by, eyes flicking toward me before darting away.
At the copier, Margaret pretended to shuffle papers, her eyes sliding toward me with a quick, assessing glance. I kept my head high, shoulders squared, moving past without breaking stride.
Sliding into my chair, I exhaled slowly. My desk was neat, papers stacked in careful order. I glared at the petition waiting as though it had wronged me. My mind lingered on the restroom scene. My outfit had hugged my body perfectly, nothing overdone. Yet somehow, it had become cause for gossip.
Margaret had onetime complained to me about her weight, Tracy’s lingering hostility ever present since I missed her party. Their words weren’t about me, not really. They were about themselves, their insecurities, their need to measure worth in comparison. Still, it stung.
The men in the office were attractive, I couldn’t deny that. Stefan especially — facial cuteness paired with the body of the Hulk. Pleasant to look at, easy on the eyes. I understood why people noticed him. But I wasn’t the slightest bit interested, and I doubted he was either.
The click of heels broke my thoughts.
Clara approached my desk, her presence instantly softening the air around me.
“Lisa, are you done? I sent a mail to you, did you check your inbox?”
“So sorry, I’ll get to it now” I said quickly, straightening in my chair.
“It’s alright. Are you done with the letter? I want to sign it before I head out for a meeting.”
“Give me thirty minutes.”
She gave me a warm smile, her sincere eyes softening. “Thank you, Lisa. I was glad you showed up to the party.”
“Me too. I’m glad I got to meet your lovely kids.” I replied, getting over the restroom drama.
Her smile widened. “They were thrilled to perform. It meant a lot to them.”
“They were truly wonderful. I’ll get to work now. Next thirty minutes, please.”
“Alright. I can spare some minutes.”
I was relieved to be done with work for the day. My mood didn’t feel too great as I thought to what happened in the day.
The glittery signpost shimmered under the streetlights, bold letters spelling ‘Karaoke Night.’ My phone beeped just as I slowed down, the glow of the neon lights pulling me in. The day had been heavy, maybe this was exactly what I needed.
Inside, the air buzzed with energy. Colored lights danced across the walls. A small stage stood at the center, microphone gleaming under the spotlight. The crowd was a mix of strangers; young professionals, couples all gathered to sing, laugh, and forget themselves for a while.
Clinking glasses, and the occasional off‑key note filled the room.
The host announced the next performer, and an average looking guy stepped up, grinning as the opening chords of a classic rock song filled the room. His voice was surprisingly good — deep, steady, carrying through the speakers. The crowd cheered, some clapping along, others swaying to the beat.
I slipped into a seat near the back, ordering a drink. The energy was contagious. No one here knew me, no one cared about velvet dresses.
A woman in sequins sang loudly to a Whitney Houston classic, her voice cracking but her confidence unshaken. The crowd cheered anyway, clapping along, some raising their glasses in salute. A group of men in the corner took turns with a rap song, stumbling over the lyrics but laughing so hard they barely cared.
The next song began and a lady nudged me. “Go on. Sing something.”
My heart skipped. The strangers at my table nudged me forward, grinning mischievously. “Go on,” one of them, a curly—haired girl with a wide smile, and dark eyeshadow. “You’ve got the look of someone who can sing.”
I laughed nervously, but the crowd’s encouragement pushed me forward. The microphone was cool in my hand, the screen lit up with lyrics. The music started — Justin Bieber, as long as you love me. My voice trembled at first, but as the melody carried me, I found my rhythm.
The audience leaned in, some even singing with me. The lights shimmered, the beat pulsed, and for a moment, I was simply a woman singing her heart out.
When the song ended, the room erupted in cheers. Strangers whistled, clapped, and called to me. The curly—haired girl hugged me, laughing. “See? You were amazing!”
I handed back the microphone, cheeks flushed, heart racing.
Sliding back into my seat, I laughed softly. “I didn’t know I needed that.”
“Good,” she said warmly. “You deserve a night of fun.”
The walk to my place was quiet, until a deep baritone broke the silence “where are you returning from by this time of the night?”
“Excuse me!” I replied, looking up to stare into deep set brown eyes of Chase Belmond.
- Writer
