After Hours: Midnight Oil / Midnight Madness / Midnight Touch

A wide smile had taken over Peggy’s face completely without her permission. That’s for me to know and you to find out?

Shirlie, despite being a babbling bubblehead, caught on fast and let out a jealous shriek. “It’s Troy Barrington, isn’t it!”

So much for keeping a secret.

“Oh…my…God! He’s such a dream! He sure must like your massages!”

Among other things. Peg’s fair skin betrayed her: she felt herself blushing at some of the things she’d done last night. Maybe she was walking a little bowlegged. But at least she had panties on today.

Since Shirlie was looking at her with high suspicion, Peggy pulled the arrangement into her arms, staggering under its weight. She buried her face in it to avoid looking at her coworkers and inhaled the green, leafy scents.

The lilies and nasturtium had no smell, nor did the birds of paradise, but the orchids filled her nose with sweet heaven and mingled with the earthy, damp scent of moss and the dried grasses used to weave the basket container.

How long had it been since a guy had sent her flowers? She couldn’t even remember the last time. A vague memory surfaced: on their first Valentine’s Day together, Eddie had brought her a dozen roses wrapped in clear plastic and secured by a rubber band. They’d still had the grocery-store price sticker on them.

It wasn’t that the roses weren’t pretty. They were. But Eddie had just walked in with them, plunked them on the table of the apartment they shared and then said, “Hang on. I gotta fill this out first.”

From inside his jacket he’d produced a dog-eared card which he filled out in front of her, scrawling “Happy V-Day, Love Eddie.” Then he’d dug his pinky into his ear to scratch an itch before handing both card and flowers to her and shoving his hands into his pockets.

Peggy had never received an elaborate, expensive floral arrangement like this one, and in spite of her cynicism, she was charmed. A warm, mushy feeling spread through her stomach and stayed there until, unable to see over the plant life in her arms, she almost ran over Alejandro.

“Since when do I need a machete to hack my way through the hallway?” he asked. “Did someone die?”

“No,” Peg said, craning her neck around a patch of orchids. “Someone likes me.”

“Miracles will never cease,” he declared. “Who has the poor judgment to do that?”

“Ha, ha.” She made it into the kitchenette and set the flowers in the middle of the small table, leaving only about four inches around the edges for anyone’s plate or cup.

“The salad course is served,” said Alejandro.

I am unforgettable? Really? Peggy mooned over the flowers in a disgustingly girly way, feeling the goofy grin spreading across her face.

She did her best to wipe it off, but by the time she got down to work, she was floating on a silly pink cloud, humming as she gave Pugsy Malloy his weekly rubdown.

She watched her hands all but disappear into his squishy white flesh and for the first time it didn’t really bother her. She kneaded him as if he were dough, worked him on the table until he gasped like a dying fish, wiped away the perspiration that rolled off him without a blink.

Pugsy disappeared into the showers a happy man, while Peggy fantasized every time the phone rang that it was Troy Barrington. When she caught herself doing it, she felt pathetic. Why didn’t she take the initiative? After all, he’d sent her flowers. She should call him and say thank you.

She’d whipped out her cell phone to dial his number when she realized that she didn’t know it. She’d have to get it out of the appointment book at the reception desk. Ugh.

“So has he asked you out?” Shirlie pried, before Peg could even ask her for the book.

No use pretending she didn’t understand. “Um. We went for a couple of drinks last night.”

“And?”

“Shirl, how are we stocked for highlighting foil?”

“Aha. You’re avoiding the subject, which means Something Happened. So is he a good kisser?”

“Because I’m trying to get that order together. The rep will be by tomorrow—”

“We’re fine. So about the kissing? Lots of tongue action? Little nibbles? Does he go for the ears?”

There simply was no explaining to Shirlie that she was Peg’s friend but not her confessor—especially not of intimate personal details!

“Can I see the appointment book, please?”

“Why? I gave you the day’s schedule. And you’re holding out on me!”

“Shirlie, there’s really nothing to tell,” Peggy said firmly, and rounded the reception desk to grab the book. “I hate to disappoint you, but it was just a couple of drinks.”

Shirlie pouted and chewed her Cupid’s bow lip. “Well, what does he drink? I’m guessing bourbon. And what did you talk about? His glory days in pro ball, right?”

Peg silently counted to three and refrained from clobbering her with the appointment book. “He drank Tanqueray and tonic last night, but he usually sticks with beer. And we talked about the Marlins, actually, and his sister,” Peggy fibbed as she flipped back a couple of pages in the book, found Troy’s number and silently memorized it.

Once she’d gotten away from Shirlie, she closed the door of the wet room behind her and dialed. He answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Troy? It’s Peggy.”

He paused. “Hi, Peggy.” Was it her imagination, or did his tone sound a little cool?

“I just wanted to thank you for the flowers—they’re stunning.”

“What flowers?”

Her mouth went dry. Then her entire body broke out in a sweat. And her heart dropped into her stomach. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

He chuckled, but it sounded forced, not genuine. “So you’ve got a secret admirer.”

She finally forced her voice past her utter humiliation. “I guess so. Uh, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot, but after last night I just assumed they were from you.”

“I wish they were. I feel like a jerk now. I probably should have sent you some flowers.”

“No, no….”

“But then you’d have a surplus, wouldn’t you?”

She produced a half laugh.

A painful, awkward silence fell between them. Where was the camaraderie of last night? Peggy wanted to hang up and take a bath with her toaster oven. Her miserable life would be over then, and she could go right to hell.

Troy cleared his throat. He started to speak, caught himself. After a moment’s hesitation, he said in a rush, “But if you’re not tied up with your secret admirer, would you like to have dinner with me?”

“Uh, sure!”

“Great. That’s great,” he emphasized, as if it wasn’t at all but he was making the best of it.