Phase Zero

He would never forget the night they'd met.

Anton slow rolled past the front of the annual Holiday venue. He took a good look at the happenings and goings on. And then he hit the accelerator. He kept moving, took a right at the end of the block into the adjoining lot and pulled into the first available parking space he could find.

"The hell are you doing ...", his then live-in girlfriend, Whinnie, derided him over her shoulder as she stared out of the back of the car through the rear window.

She sat back hard in the passenger seat and glared at him, lasers shooting into him from within her heavily mascaraed eyelids.

Anton killed the ignition pushed his back into the driver's side window and met her gaze.

She really was very pretty. She was slight, a little pale, high cheekbones, reasonably athletic, perfect honey colored bob chiseled and straight just below her jawline. All capped off by those unavoidable hazel colored eyes slamming into him like sledgehammers.

"What? That whole thing seemed a bit chaotic. Too many people. Too much activity back there."

Whinnie snatched her clutch off the floorboard, tucked on end of her short hair behind her ear, and yanked down her visor. Swabbed her lips with burgundy, blotted them, checked her teeth and snapped the tube of lipstick into her purse. "Seemed like fun to me." She chided.

Yeah she was pretty, but she was also a horrible b-word, and one thing should be noted about Whinnie. Whinnie didn't like to walk.

Not that she couldn't. She was definitely fit enough and capable of getting anywhere she wanted on foot ... in places like New York or Paris or wherever. She just needed to be pampered. She wanted her man to go out of his way to make her life the best it should be.

Anton supposed his skirting the "front door experience" left her feeling a bit more like someone from steerage rather than from 1st class. And god knew, Whinnie never went anywhere except she should expect to arrive as a V.I.P.

She adjusted her off the shoulder, drop necked, little black dress slightly and glanced out the back window again. Heaven forbid anyone discover them sitting alone in the side lot where the valets crammed the cattle.

Anton liked the calm. He preferred dark, quiet places that allowed him to think.

He'd always been a thinker. At least that's what his mother had said.

He snatched the keys out of the ignition.

"Let's go." he said popping the door and stepping out.

After the door thumped solidly back into place, he realized he was standing alone in the lot. He let his eyes wander to the haze of light and music and crowd noise coming from around the corner of the building in the distance.

He stood there for a good 2-count, rolled his eyes, bit back a considerable amount of frustration before rounding the vehicle and yanking open the passenger side door. Whinnie extended her arm, and he helped her and her proudly exposed legs out of the car by her fingertips in an effete gesture of "gentlemanliness".

"Took you long enough." she muttered before click clacking away across the tarmac.

Anton fell into pursuit behind her.

The yellowed glow of headlights washed over the two of them as they crossed to the corner. Anton's right arm quivered and flinched toward his breast pocket. He stifled the motion by reaching for her arm just as they emerged from the building's shadow.

There were a ton of people standing along the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. Some were smoking. Some appeared to be talking into little hand-held recorders. Most were just milling about in front of the entry between a pair of gigantic swirling floodlights marking the event while painting the undersides of the clouds, otherwise somber against the night sky.

"Hold on ..." muttered Anton.

Whinnie shrugged off his fingertips and click clacked defiantly toward the entrance of the prominent Highland Club.

"Oh relax." she growled through gritted teeth.

Chaos erupted all around the pair as they approached the entry doors.

The previously distracted groups of meandering, smoking individuals jerked to attention and became a throng of sidewalk sharks embroiled in a potential feeding frenzy. On instinct, Anton attempted in step protectively in front of his date, but the mass of sudden chaos abruptly blocked his path.

He caught glimpses of metal and paper as notepads were thrust into his face. Countless flashbulbs snapped off dizzingly as faces forced themselves within his field of view.

"What's it like?!"

"This experience working for the best ...?"

"How does it feel?"

"Now that you're the most incredible ...??"

"How long have you been with ..."

"When can you expect the award for ..."

"Aren't you that guy??"

Between the flashbulbs, the faces, the neverending questions, Anton became extremely disoriented. He wasn't sure whether he was headed toward the doors or toward the street. He worried he might break an ankle falling off the curb. Found he couldn't locate his feet within the unending maelstrom.

He was jostled and prodded slightly amidst yet more flashbulbs.

He froze before he could fall off the sidewalk and clenched his eyes shut tightly. He forced his arms down to his sides even though every fiber of his being screamed at him to protect his head.

"How does it feel being this years Gold Star Employee of the Year??"

A microphone was thrust under his nose, and Anton uttered a single word.

"Huh?"

Then a single, small, perfectly manicured hand somehow penetrated the crowd all around him and pulled him free and through the Highland Club's front doors.

"Jesus, Whinnie." he exclaimed in exasperation. "What the hell was that?"

Whinnie just dropped his wrist and stood back grinning. She shrugged and fixed his hair, straightened his tie.

A warm chuckle caught his ear within the low light beyond her honey colored bob.

Whinnie took one step to the side.

Larry Rondelson stood just inside the interior door. His full figure was draped in a purple pinstripe suit over an orange vest. A heavy pocketwatch chain extended from his front pockets glinting slightly in the dimness.

"Just a little something we put together to make the newer folks feel ... appreciated."

Anton extended his hand, and Larry took it flashing a smile.

"Thanks. That was fun." Anton said grudgingly.

"So do you?" asked Larry.

Anton faltered. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say.

Larry, an old hat from the PR sector took note of Anton's befuddlement and continued.

"Do you feel appreciated?"

"Well ... I ... uh ... I could really use a ..."

"Drink!!" finished Larry. "Absolutely, anything else would be an exercise in absurdity. Bar's through there." he said motioning through the interior doors. "You can check you coat. Bar's free all night." Anton nudged Whinnie toward the door. Whiinie seemed to have no problems whatsoever where alcohol was concerned. "Oh, and Anton?"

Anton paused halfway across the threshold as the outer doors again burst open and an exceedingly confused looking group of 3, two girls and a guy entered the foyer, flashbulbs popping, "Yessir?"

"Good having you onboard. Merry Christmas."

Larry quickly shifted toward the fresh entrants and plastered an especially toothy grin across his face. Anton remarked he looked a bit too much like DaddyWarbucks standing there.

Inside the club was all lowlit balconies, bar tables and strobes. An enormous discoball hung center ceiling high above a gallery promenade whose leather adorned, armrest banisters overlooked a massive dancefloor awash in swirling stage lighting.

Silhouetted crowds milled about in the gloom or massed together in deep sunken alcoves fitted with highbacked couches and low tables. Whinnie took Anton again by the wrist to lead him through groups of people toward where, undoubtedly, a bar was likely to be. After breaking through a sedentary wall of company employees, Anton found himself near to wincing at the sudden blaze of yellowish light accenting the bar area.

Despite the number of people standing around, there were surprisingly more than a few empty seats at the counter. The bar itself was a long swoop of glass and formica with a nicely rounded, padded lip and a huge mirror opposite the service area. Upon approach, a lean, bowtie clad gentleman with a blonde 1950's pompadour swabbed the bartop thoroughly before flopping two coasters opposite Whinnie and Anton's most likely approach. Not being one to dissuade a courtesy, Anton chinned an appreciative affirmation at the gentleman and was met with a knowing smirk.

Whinnie faltered, just as Anton was about to take a seat, as she always did.

"Vodka cranberry for me ... And top shelf, GreyGoose or whatever, ok baybee? Mama's gotta find the ladies room."

"Yeah ok." Anton replied to her back as Whinnie pressed herself back into the crowd. He raised a finger to the pompadour who leaned into but not over the bar. The Bangles erupted loudly across the dancefloor. "time TIME Time, see what's become of me."

Anton shuffled his stool forward, cocked the adjoining stool against the bar to ward off unwanted visitation, and leaned in a little himself.

"Ah (he flexed his vocalcords) ... lemme have one (finger extended) Cape Cod? (Bartender nod) And aaaaaa Bourbon for me. You got Jefferson?"

"Yeah," the bartender voice flexed back, "I think we can swing it ... What kinda vodka, anything special?"

"Nah, it's cool." Anton sat back firmly and flipped his card onto the counter.

Pompadour wagged a finger, scooped up the plastic and handed it back.

"Nah, man." he chided "Not tonight. Boss's got you all night!"

Anton replaced his card in his wallet, replaced his wallet in his jacket pocket. Threw a twenty onto the bar.

Pompadour snatched it between two fingers and held it up with a cocked eyebrow.

"For keeping me honest." offered Anton popping an olive from the cocktail station into his mouth.

Pompadour grinned knowingly, saluted extending two fingers with a quick "Thanks chief", tucked the 20 into his belt and retreated to fill the order.

Anton craned his neck back and spun his stool slightly to get a cohesive perspective of what he was up against. Most of the lagabout patrons standing behind him had pushed toward the railing above the dance floor when the Bangles began their runup.

A neatly groomed, older couple huddled together at the far end of the bar their salt and pepper hair aswash in gold from the backlighting. A tall, young woman in a sparkling silver minisress bounced to the bar and stood tapping her heel against the brick tile waiting for attention.

She glanced over and Anton nodded at her, but her eyes went to the ceiling. She puffed a blond forelock out of her eyes and tapped the counter with long firm nails painted with upward of three stripes each.

To Anton's right, a sweaty younger man, about Anton's age sat with his forehead pressed into a puddle and his arm outstretched. His collar was popped, and if he'd been wearing a tie when he'd arrived it had clearly gone missing. As Anton assessed his damaged, the guy rolled his neck and pulled back from the bar with a groan. He extracted several napkins from a nearby dispenser and dabbed his face and head diligently. He rotated away from Anton taking account of the front entry, appeared as if he might be thinking about leaving.

Adam Ant's Stand and Deliver filled the room.

Two other tall ladies joined the tall blond at the bar and squealed when Adam Ant came on. They bounced away together, headed toward the dance floor after blondie exclaimed, "OhMyGod. I LOVE this SONG!"

Pompadour returned with Anton's drinks. Placed the low, crystal old-fashinoned in front of him and the Cape Cod upon the coaster opposite the canted stool.

Anton thumbed to his right, motioning toward the sweaty man.

"Yeah, I know." glanced the bartender flatly. "Was nearly like that when he got here. Ran the room. Ordered one drink ... shot of something. He's about gone. There's one at every party.

"We need to do anything for him?"

"Nah, I got him. Jeremy (he thumbed back over his shoulder to another bartender, dark hair, earrings) called him out a little earlier after he brought him his shot. 86'd. Anything gets too loose we'll get him a cab."

"Oh ok."

"S'alright. Been at this a loong time. Seen a few things."

Anton nodded.

"But hey. YOU need anything else. Absolutely, just let me know. Cool?"

Pompadour put out a fist. Anton bumped him and grabbed a plastic stirrer from the station, stuck it between his teeth.

"Definitely."

"Rock and Roll."

Pompadour retreated to the register just to keep count of quantities probably.

Anton sat back again in his stool. He picked the glass off the counter, swirled the contents and took a sip. The bourbon lit up his windpipe and warmed him all the way down. Hard liquor was mostly harsh on the throat and the flavor was mostly truly nasty but Jefferson made it all worthwhile. Smooth. Totally worth it.

As Anton replaced his glass upon his coaster, he had this sense something had changed in the room. He looked around.

The older couple was still at the far end of the bar. The drunk continued to loll around on his stool. Whinnie was still, typically, MIA. Pompadour and Jeremy were still buffing and shuffling things behind the bar. And the rest of the patrons and employees at the party were smushed into lateral railing above the dance floor.

Pat Benetar's Love is a Battlefield drumbeat rolled across the dancefloor.

Anton waited to see if anyone new might approach the bar, but essentially anyone interested in drinking was focused upon whoever was dancing. He waited and he watched a few bowtie clad ladies in little aprons carrying small trays between tables. He checked his watch.

8:30PM. The hour that makes or breaks any party. Either you cool it down, think about leaving 10:30 or so, or you rev it up and hammer home at 2 or 3AM. Either way, he had to wait for Whinnie before any decisions were made.

He shook his watch back down his sleeve, took another sip of boubon and was thinking about checking out the dance floor as Whinnie's ice continued to melt.

That's when he noticed amongst the throngs facing inward along the railing toward the action, there was one singular individual facing the wrong direction. Not as much the wrong direction as, she was watching the bar.

And it wasn't so much that she was watching the bar. She was watching Anton.

He looked around. He looked behind the bar. Nope. Nothing but bar back there. In fact, Jeremy and the Pompadour were taking orders from a biker looking couple in full leathers, headbands, sunglasses and teased hair. They had their hands full.

Nope. She was looking at Anton.

She was small. No, not small. Short. 5ft tall, maybe. Curly curly hair. Wearing a woman's suit. Dark blue maybe or black?

Curly curly blond hair. Just standing there against the railing. Hadn't taken her eyes off him.

Anton turned back toward the bar. Considered Whinnie's drink for a moment. Watched the wetness drizzle down the sides on her glass as the Cape Cod diluted itself with unwanted ice melt.

He looked back toward the sweaty man who seemed to be casually dozing atop the counter in an extremely unnatural position. Gonna have a sore neck in the morning.

He probed the immediate surrounds for his live-in girlfriend, but she was nowhere to be found.

The final swallow of Jefferson went down smooth but hot and lit a small fire in his belly. He raised his glass toward the pompadour to get a refill. The pompadour came over. With the bartender on the way, Anton glanced over at the drunk and his eyes locked, shoulder close, with the woman who had been staring at him only moments before.

"Gah!" he gulped, almost jumping out of his seat.

"So." she said simply while pulling the stool back and taking a seat. Pat Benetar's Heartbreaker chungchung'd to life. (as ironic as that might sound -- and yes, it really did happen that way)

"What are you doing?" he blurted.

"Taking a seat. The other (she motioned at the vacant, tilted stool) appears to be taken."

"But ... you can't. I have a girlfriend." he muttered, but he wasn't sure why he'd even offered that.

"So", she'd continued having ignored the comment. "You're the new guy. In video? Working with Ken right? Lily's new pupil?"

He thought about it a moment. Sure it was true, he was new. He DID work with Ken Vangraf in Edit A. But Lily Sturgon's pupil? Is that what he was? Is that how he was seen?

"Well. Sure, I guess that's mostly right. Only been at the company for a coupla months. It's true."

"You've been making an impression."

"Yeah? Really? I mean, Ok."

"Ok. Well. Y'know. I mean, you probably haven't noticed because the suite is lit in such a way it's hard to see the hallway. But people love to look in there."

He stammered a little, looked over at Pompadour who was face in hands, elbows resting atop the counter listening.

Anton did a double take. "Oh, yeah, Hey man."

Pompadour stood back and began to wipe the counter, feigning feeling neglected.

"Didn't know if you guys'd notice me. Specially after you called me over n'all that." he grinned.

Anton chuckled a little.

"So you guys need anything?"

"Yeah, another one a these ..." he plucked his glass from the counter and glanced in suggestion at the woman atop the adjoining stool. She nodded enthusiastically. "And whatever the lady is having."

"Another bourbon please. Assuming you have Jefferson."

Anton felt his mouth fall open. Pompadour glanced at Anton, glanced back at the lady, glanced again at Anton. He leaned in and again cradled his face in his hands. "You guys are so cute together."

Anton clucked. Scowled at his old fashioned.

"Coming right up chief. No worries."

"Thanks." Anton muttered grudgingly. His eyes flickered right and he turned his back fully to the Cape Cod, which at this point was a lost cause. "Who ... are you?" he blurted.

"Marilyn." she put out her hand. "Project manager for most anything and everything, but mostly multimedia. Essentially we take waht you guys do and put together multifunctional CD's with the video included ... distributed on laptops, kiosks, training videos, put the stuff into video games. That kinda thing."

Anton found himself nodding absently. Appeared she knew her stuff. Whole lot more than he did anyway.

"And you are?" she said extending her hand again.

Taken aback, Anton was about to respond when he felt a familiar flirty hand slap him on the back.

"Kmp." he choked shaking her hand while coughing into the other.

He spun back around and found Whinnie, hands on hips, scowling at her drink. She pulled back the canted stool and climbed into it's seat.

"Where the hell have you been?" he asked.

"In the bathroom." he stated innocently.

"The bathroom." he questioned flatly.

"Yes. The bathroom. And then I went over to the DJ booth."

"Oh no."

"Oh Yes. He promised he would play my music." she said excitedly while sipping her drink through a straw. "Ick." she winced. "Baby, get me another please."

"Ok." he shrugged.

"And who's your friend?"

Anton glanced right, hoping he'd experienced some strange out-of-body experience. Or else fallen prey to some dramatic illusion, but the woman, Marilyn, was still there looking on. She seemed very wide eyed and interested in how he might respond.

"Oh, this? This is Marlin. She works upstairs."

"Oh ok."

Pompadour swooped in with a flourish and placed a coaster in front of Marilyn. Both bourbons were settled appropriately.

"dos Jeffersonas." he said.

"Thankyou" said Anton and Marilyn and exactly the same time and with precisely the same vocal inflection.

Anton looked at Marilyn and Marilyn looked at Anton.

Then Anton looked at Pompadour. "and Can I get another Cape Cod for the lady?" he asked innocently thumbing toward Whinnie.

"Absolutely. Man ... You. Are. Rolling!" he exclaimed.

"No ... that's okay." stated Whinnie flatly taking into account the two proffered old-fashions recently placed upon the counter. "C'mon baby. We gotta dance."

"You sure?"

"Where you going?" Marilyn uttereed into his ear.

Anton leaned toward Whinnie, just as ABBA's Dancing Queen began to play.

"Oh no." he said as the tune slammed into him.

"WhoooooohHoooooo." exclaimed Whinnie. "YES!! Now we're talking!"

Whinnie snatched Anton's sleeve and yanked him off the stool and together they retreated toward the dance floor with Anton staring wide eyed back over his shoulder.

Before he'd been abruptly dethroned, he'd heard Marilyn's voice in his right ear.

"Have you figured it out yet?" she said.

He'd managed to shake his head slighly before his feet hit the floor.

"We're GOING to BE together!!" called Marilyn with a slight grin playing across her face as Whinnie yanked him through the crowd and down the stairs to the floor below.

"You can Dance! You can JiiiIVvve. Having the time of your life! Daaanciiing Queeeeenn!!!"