Fall From Grace

Fall From Grace

by Gerard Lebel

Grace Hathaway pulled the rug out from under me when she stumbled fiercely into my arms at the annual office Christmas party, knocking us both to the thick, plush, geometric print carpeted floor faster than you could say, “Merry Christmas!”

A towering, rather plump woman in her late thirties I would guess, laden with heavy make-up, garish costume jewelry and sweetly-scented, floral perfume, I was certainly no match for Grace with my short and slight statuesque presence. The shocking impact was swift, startling and completely out of the blue. Without a word of warning, there I was, Fernando Bates, senior accounts analyst for Dunlop and Haggerty Brokers, total nerd and computer geek, in the center of the Waldorf Astoria Grand Ballroom in New York City, lying flat on my back. With all our co-workers surrounding us, Grace, our effervescent office receptionist was sprawled on top of me, pinning me to the rug. We lay there silently for a moment that seemed an eternity, listening to each other breathe… face to face… our lashes and lips inches apart. I could feel Grace’s labored breathing and hot breath, from the exertion of the fall, flush against my face. We were so close, so very close that I could actually see the drops of perspiration mounting on her quivering upper lip and smell her fresh, peppermint breath as our lips, ever so gently brushed against one another.

“Oh, Mr. Bates,” Grace shuddered, trying to fight back a sob and a gasp simultaneously, while a tiny teardrop began to trickle down her rosy, puffed cheek. “I’m so very, very sorry.”

In an apparent tizzy, yet attempting to regain her composure amidst tears and whimpers, her dress was now creeping up and showcasing her ample yet firm buttocks which revealed a frilly, lavender thong.

“I was rushing to the ladies room and… and my heel… well, these are brand new Payless pumps, Mr. Bates and my heel somehow caught the carpet and lunged me forward uncontrollably. And suddenly, there you were directly in front of me and I was moving faster than ever and I couldn’t stop. I just couldn’t stop myself,“ she sobbed. “Are you alright, Mr. Bates?”

“I believe I’m fine, Grace… just a little winded. I believe we’d both feel much better though if we got up off the floor, don‘t you think?” I retorted with a smile. “Do you suppose we could manage that now, Grace?”

“Oh yes… yes, I’m sorry, Mr. Bates,” she replied rolling herself over and off of me in a rocking motion as a crescendo of chuckles and concernment from the onlookers ostensibly filled the room.

As we both rose to our feet, with everything seemingly intact and no scratches, bruises or broken bones realized, we looked intensely at one another with a smile, tossing off the embarrassment of the fall and released a much needed burst of uproarious laughter as if no one else were in the room. “Oh, my goodness, it is rather funny now, isn’t it Mr. Bates?” said Grace with a blush as she primped her hair and then very quickly pulled her dress down and smoothed out the wrinkles.

“Yes, it is,” I replied chuckling, as I reached down, picking up her pale lilac and white crocheted shawl from the floor.

“Oh thank you, Mr. Bates,” she said turning her head toward me as I placed the shawl endearingly around her, letting my hand linger just a tad on the softness of her bare shoulder. “Why you’re just the best ever, Mr. Bates. Are you here all by your lonesome?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so, Grace. Alone again… naturally, as they say.”

“Oh, my poor, poor Mr. Bates. All alone on the night before Christmas Eve,” she pondered.

Now, gazing deeply into her green and golden tinged, hazel eyes with an unsettled, mischievous grin, I whispered in her ear, “Grace… listen, why don’t I get us each a nice, chilled glass of champagne and we can continue our little talk… you know, just the two of us.“

“Oh well, my… I don’t know if I… perhaps I shouldn‘t mix my drinks, Mr. Bates. That Crème de Menthe it seems went straight to my head! Well, I guess one itsy bitsy one wouldn‘t hurt… Yes, Oh why not for heaven’s sake! It’s Christmas, after all, isn‘t it, and you’re here alone, Mr. Bates… and so am I by the way… since you didn‘t ask! Dear me, we‘re grown adults after all! YES, Yes I will have a little glass of champagne. Oh, Merry Christmas… Merry Christmas, Mr. Bates!”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Grace,” I said, gently caressing the nape of her neck with a new found confidence as she responded with a soft purr and an allusive clinch.

“Oh… and um, Gracie… PLEASE… just call me Nando.”