First Drafts is a sorta-new series I'm starting where I post the first draft of a premise and see if it sticks. Thank you for reading these rough drafts. Any and all notes are welcome.
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Light rain beats against the full-length windows enclosing the top floor of the Revere Hotel, setting a near perfect backdrop for the Lacks Foundation holiday party. "A shame it isn't snowing, but this view is still stunning," a senior VP says as she stares out over the park with a recently vandalized monument surrounded by police tape. Behind her, nearly a hundred employees congregate in the bistro she and the rest of management were kind enough to rent out for them after the absence of company shindigs the last three years of the pandemic.
"Hard to turn down an open bar, right kid?" Darryl asks, decked out in an ugly Christmas sweater already on his fourth bourbon at the start of hour two. Firmly planted on a stool, he keeps his balance with his drinking hand resting on the golden trim of the central bar. He swats the cottonball tip of his Santa hat out of his face and waves his free hand at Cy who seems to be disassociating. "Kid? You that drunk already?"
Blank look on their face, Cy zones in on Ms. Quinby and a man in a forest green suit that they've never seen before standing by the window-wall. He seems older than them by the look of his mustache yet younger than most of the older employees they're used to working with. They watch as this beanstalk of a man chats with their supervisor before retreating back alone to the bar, their glass practically full.
"Think you're a hot shot? Too good for me now, huh!" Darryl looks down at his drink defeated. "Don't forget who showed you around on your first day."
Hearing the chagrin in his voice, Cy snaps out of their trance. "Never, Darryl. I'd be nowhere without you. Excuse me for a sec, tho, okay?" He smiles as they walk away and round two corners around the bar, pulling up two seats away from the mystery man. Upon closer inspection, it's clear this man is here to impress: fresh fade and line-up, dress shirt with cufflinks, and a decent shiny bracelet on his left wrist say it all. Before Cy can hyperfixate, the man looks over at them. "Shit, sorry. Didn't mean t-- I'm sorry, I just haven't seen anyone else cool working here before. You from another department or somebody's partner or--?" Cy starts to turn pink. "Sorry, I don't mean to pry."
The man laughs, putting his glass down for the first time. "Well I know I'm not your first black person; I make sure to only seek out diverse companies."
"Oh, so you are from another department. I'd guess accounting? I'm never over there, though I'm mostly in the field, but maybe that'll change now that I'm--"
"No, not accounting," he picks his glass up and moves it to his lips. "Try again."
Cy racks their brain. "Um... well it can't be outreach; I'm in outreach. And no offensive, you don't seem like the nerdy research or science-y type. Oh crap, are you upper management? Shit, I just got promoted." They cover their mouth. "Shit, I said shit. I mean, sorry."
The man laughs again. "Damn, relax. Even if you did say shit like that in front of one of your bosses, I doubt they'd care. Looks like everyone here is just happy to be out of the house. Feel like ya'll are overworked, tho. Would you say you're overworked?"
"Me? Not really. Moderately worked, I guess? But like I said, starting a new role soon."
"You mentioned. So grunts are treated with human decency here. That's a favorable point." The man presses the glass to his lips again.
Cy - ever attentive - notices two things, unsure of which to tackle first. After taking a drink of red wine, they ask, "Why do you keep saying 'here' like...?" The man smirks at them. "Oh my glob, you're crashing, aren't you? How?"
"What, like it's hard?" The intruder sticks his hand out to make a show of inspecting his nails, which Cy notices are freshly manicured. "This is my fourth 'work' function this week. Hard to turn down an open bar, right?"
"That's the other thing: why do you keep pretending to drink?"
He closes his eyes and rolls his head back to the ceiling "Yeah, I guess it's pretty obvious when I can't substitute champagne for sparkling cider. It's nothing, just tryna keep my wits about me." He looks back over to see Cy's bewilderment. "Ah, so you haven't figured the last part out yet. Maybe you aren't that fun." The man takes an actual sip this time.
Suddenly, Cy has a realization. "Are you... here for a job?"
"If you're getting promoted at," he eyes them up and down, "23?"
"26, as of two weeks ago," they correct him.
"At 26, then there's some decent upward mobility here. It's promising. Hey, maybe I could be your new boss. Looks like it'd be easy to do better than that guy." He points across the bar to Darryl.
Cy shakes their head, still trying to understand. "Wait, wait. Why don't you just use the internet like a normal person?"
"Mm, so young." He puts his glass down to straighten his tie. "Because I'd get lost in the pack. I'm impressive, but I make a better impression in person. And I was tired of waiting. So why not take an old school approach by showing up unannounced and score some free food along the way. What do I have to lose -- besides being blacklisted from the company if I get caught -- but I'm too slick for that. That and I can tell all the white people are too afraid to call me the wrong name."
"You're not wrong. Darryl just did that last week. But why are you telling me all this?"
"Simple: you're harmless."
Puffing up their chest in protest, they look around the room for Ms. Quinby. It's only when they spot her that they remember they ain't no snitch. "Fine; you've got me there." Cy turns back around to the stranger. "So, what now?"
"You help me navigate this party. I want a feel for the atmosphere. If I'm gonna take a chance on this place, I wanna know what I'm diving into."
"Oh, kinda like a secret shopper thing!"
"You catch on quick," he winks.
Cy feels goosebumps run down their back. Suddenly they remember why they initially walked over to him. "And what do I get?"
"Quality time with me. And hey, maybe we can finagle better pay for you." Cy starts to open their mouth, but he continues, "You never know if you don't ask. They're liquored up and only gonna get drunker. Why not?"
They pause for a second then down their drink. "Bartender? Bartender!"
"That doesn't even work in the movies anymore, kid."
"Don't call me 'kid.'" They stick their hand out in the man's direction. "I'm Cy. And you are?"
"Not important yet," He shakes their hand, "but you can just call me Him." Cy rolls their eyes before deciding to buy into it. "Alright, you get your next drink. I'm gonna go over to that guy in the bad toupee."
"Mr. Cattaneo? You've got a good eye. He loves talking."
"Figures. Just come up to us before he knocks that candle off the table with his expressive hands. I'd hate for this place to go up in flames like my old job."
Cy laughs. "Oh, like you left in a blaze of glory." The man doesn't respond as he walks off. "Right? Ok, no wait, what did you mean by that?" They try to run after him, but they finally have the bartender's attention. What kind of night did they just agree to?
Word.
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