The Boss [LGBT]

Chapter 5

It wasn't until Mr. Karmichel's Halloween party that things in our routine changed. It was on a Saturday and I had worked on Saturdays before but they were just like any other day, only for the 24th floor, though. Everyone else had the weekend off. Though the days would usually end shorter or we'd come in later. We got to the building at eleven that morning, Mr. Jeff already having been there. He picked me up and told me that we didn't have much to do until eight at night when the party was. He was on the phone all day, discussing things with his managers about certain stores. Then he was on the computer working diligently. It was nice to watch him actually think and invent instead of going to all his meetings and hearing about his money. I went to one of his meetings that he had everyday after lunch. He said I didn't have to go but I decided that I could because I wasn't tired that day. The meeting definitely made me tired, though. It was nothing but money talk. Investments, stocks, money. Blah blah blah. So I never went to one of those meetings again. It looked like Mr. Jeff didn't want to go to those either.

I ended up sleeping a lot that Saturday, on the couch. It was getting cooler in the year, and instead of being a normal person, Mr. Jeff liked to open the windows when it got colder. When it was hot, he kept the windows shut. He was odd, but he brought me a blanket to use. Though I didn't actually use blankets that much. I'd just cuddle up to them but they never really covered me. I'd put them between my legs as I curled into fetal position, and then I'd spoon the blanket basically. Goes to show how lonely I am.

I woke up at three in the afternoon to Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here" playing. Mr. Jeff didn't realize I was awake either, and I ended up peeking on him from the couch because he was singing along to the album.

"Well you wore out your welcome with random precision, rode on the steel breeze. Come on you raver, you seer of visions, come on you painter, you piper, you prisoner, and shine!" He had a really nice voice, kind of rough and rock 'n' roll like, like Robert Plant's or Roger Waters'. He was strumming along on a fake guitar, and as Wikipedia said, he knew guitar so I assumed he was playing the right notes. I smiled a little, because my parents were hippies back in the day so they loved Pink Floyd and got me into them. I grew up with them.

"You awake Em?" he asked me, still strumming the imaginary guitar as "Welcome to the Machine" came on.

"Barely," I said tiredly.

A cool breeze came in through the window behind him, his hair blowing out of its normal quaff. He turned down the music and walked over to me, pulled the blanket from me and tossed it into the secret room quickly. He grabbed my arm and forced me to get to my feet. We went and got a quick snack and then returned to the building to get ready for the party.

"Here, you can wear this," Mr. Jeff said, handing me an outfit. He had made a habit of making me change my clothes if he didn't like what I was wearing, or if my clothes weren't tight enough. My costume wasn't really a costume. It was just a pair of really tight black pants and a tight black shirt with a deep V-neck and collar.

"What am I suppose to be?" I asked.

"A salsa dancer," he answered. He went into the secret room and changed in there. Every now and then he'd look at me before going into the room, debating on whether to let me in or not. He came out in a regular black tuxedo.