My entire professional trajectory was changed on one boring Friday afternoon, returning from lunch, to get ready for a long holiday weekend.
When she trotted into the elevator, before the doors closed on her fleshy but firm derrière, my work-weary frustration was suffused by a sudden enthusiasm.
From that moment, my career troubles were permanently changed; changed for better, or worse: I'll leave it for others to judge.
She caught me staring into her deep cleavage formed by huge olive-toned breasts suspended in a diaphanous gray blouse, revealing a black under-wired brassiere covered by gracefully thick smooth wavy dark hair.
"Working hard, or hardly working?" she smiled, with her dark almond-shaped eyes.
"Hard work never hurt anyone, but why take the chance!"
When she smiled, even her tapered smooth white teeth were shapely, bursting through the drudgery of afternoon business.
"You seem like a man who spends his life hiding in a cubicle."
"Let me know if you need cost-projection analyses," I dead-panned, letting my eyes rove around her tight black stretch pants; her white-strapped Roman sandals...then leisurely along the contoured outlines of the groove between her thighs - her bulging camel-toe: just below her fleshy mons veneris.
Imperceptibly watching me gaze on different parts of her curvaceous form, she had the calm confidence of a female lion who never tired of being admired: front, back, and sideways, as my eyes feasted on her luscious pear-shaped gluteus maximus.
" -- oww!"
I jumped, broken out of my silent erotic reverie, as she dropped her purse and bent over, affording me a generous and downward view of her soft mammary-mountain range.
"What's wrong?" I inquired, with corporate aplomb.
I picked up her purse, but she was in pain, twisting uncomfortably, rubbing her shoulder.
"My shoulder was partially dislocated, from four years of my husband's damn dog yanking the leash -- "
I held out her purse, but she couldn't stop rubbing her strained-neck.
"Have you tried Shiatsu massage therapy?"
"Are you licensed to practice?"
I noticed her twirled-gold and diamond-spotted wedding ring. "I try to avoid massaging married women."
"I need a massage, not an affair." She tried to rotate her arm, but grimaced.
"Have you gotten a diagnosis?"
"I've spent a fortune on x-rays, chiropractors, masseuses, herbal remedies, chanting mantras, crystals, pain-killers-"
"Sorry, but I just help out friends as a hobby."
"Can you administer it in an elevator?"
"Maybe, but, right now, I'm under a tight deadline."
When she pulled out a hundred-dollar bill, from her purse I gently turned her, so she stood in front of me, facing ahead, and I began pushing my thumbs deeply into both sides of her tense neck.
" -- ooh -- "
"Are your muscles always this contracted?"
"I think it started on my honeymoon."
I kneaded the muscles under her shoulder blades, pressing my thumbs harder into the canals surrounding her vertebrae.
"You have strong hands."
I pressed my hands down the outsides of her rib-cage.
"You don't know how long it's been..."
My thumbs powerfully massaged down the soft grooves around her spine.
"...since I was pain-free."
Something popped in her upper-back.
" -- aah!"
"Did it hurt?"
She swung her shoulders freely. "No! That's the first time the throbbing ever stopped!"
The elevator opened on the fourth-floor.
"Perfect timing."
"What do I owe you, Mr. Instant-Healer?"
"Just glad to be of service."
"How much would you charge, for a full-massage?"
"Elevator massages are a little cramped."
The elevator door closed on my hip.
" -- oww!"
I rubbed my bruised hip.
"I have a private cabana at the VIP spa, in the penthouse."
"They don't allow measly fourth-floor employees, in the VIP facilities."
"I'll bring you in, as my guest."
"I need to deliver cost-projection analyses before my boss leaves for the holiday weekend."
She slid three more hundred-dollar bills, into my palm.
"You're tempting me, but I'll be fired, if I'm not in my boss' suite, in twenty minutes -- "
"I'm offering you an opportunity to make some extra cash, and meet some VIPs, to give you a chance to advance your stagnating career."
"You're obviously a top-floor goddess, but I'm forever doomed to be a fourth-floor middle-management geek."
"Are you content to work in an anonymous cubicle for the rest of your life?"
"As much as I'm under-paid, and under-appreciated: I can't afford to be fired."
The elevator door closed and up we rode.
"Relax! If you get fired: I'm sure you can make a fortune as massage-therapist-to-the-stars -- "
The elevator doors opened, revealing an ocean-green neon sign: VIP HEALTH & SPORTS SPAS. (CORPORATE MEMBERS & GUESTS ONLY)
Although she was younger than me, she quickly pulled me by the arm, like she was my mother.
"He's my guest."
The sexy receptionist smiled, as Mrs. Mysterious dragged me to the roof-top cabanas.
"Just work your magic, fast, and you'll be back at work before your boss notices."
She pulled off her blouse, unhooked her thick bra, and was face-down on the padded massage table, before I could even admire her natural endowments.
"What if your husband walks in?"
She waved her arm, toward the floor, dismissively. "He's always too busy ruining his disorganized global organization."
I looked through the cabana-curtain nervously, to see if any men at the club seemed to be jealous-VIP- husband types.
"Just get to work, and stop worrying about business!"
I closed the silk-strips of the hanging Oriental curtain, and started massaging her tensed-up neck.
" -- Mmmmm -- "
Her muscles were stiff again -- but she was relaxing.
"Where did you learn such a magic touch?"
"I had a professor in business-school, who spent a month teaching his class Shiatsu massage, instead of business."
"Be sure and make a contribution to the alumni fund, in his memory."
As she cooed and moaned: my mobile phone beeped. I fumbled with it.
"If I don't have those cost-projections in five minutes: you'll be showing them to the losers on the unemployment line, Monday morning!"
I rushed out, without looking back.
"Thank you for helping a damsel-in-distress!"
When I got to my boss' office-suite, his curvaceous but impatient personal secretary waved me in brusquely with a look on her face that said: 'stop delaying everyone's holiday weekend!'
He was pacing by his panoramic window, talking excitedly on the phone.
"We'll deliver a complete departmental analysis by Tuesday morning!"
He barely acknowledged me, as I sat on his plush leather couch.
"Have the data sent from your global affiliates, and our cost-analysts will evaluate where superfluous expenses can be cut."
I suddenly realized that I didn't have my reports, since I never got back to my cubicle after lunch.
He hung-up, plopping into his big leather chair, and pounded the desk, enthusiastically. "Big news!"
He swung in the chair, pouring himself a bourbon from his desk-side mini-wet-bar.
"Excuse me, but first, I need to go down and get my supplemental reports."
"Forget those minor reports. We're being considered in a mega-merger-target-takeover - by a global corporate presence!"
He downed his drink, and poured another. "What are you drinking, to celebrate?"
When I shook my head in negation: he gulped another drink exuberantly, as I pleaded:
"Can't you give me ten minutes to go down and get my project-materials?"
"I told you to forget that small-time project! I need you to work all weekend, analyzing their worldwide departmental structure to determine expense and personnel overlap so we can cut costs after the merger."
"It's the start of Labor Day weekend." I gasped.
"Screw Labor-Day and screw labor! If we get bought-out, everyone in this company will have a year-round vacation, making at least double what we all make now!"
I sighed, having heard too many times about how all his employees would one day, some day, get rich enough to retire young.
"Where are all your other top-level analysts?"
"Gone for the holiday weekend. So, you're my man, in the clutch!"
"I already booked reservations, for a -- "
"Would you rather have reservations to some dodgy resort or would your rather double your salary!"
"Speaking of salary, it's been nothing but promises, since I started."
"If the merger goes through, your stock-options will triple in value!"
"Every time a big deal shows up: I'm always the one doing the dirty-work."
"If we get passed-over for the merger do you want to be the cause of this whole company's downfall?"
"You're always talking about how essential I am but I'm still working on the fourth-floor, because the company's too cheap to-- "
"All your concerns will be addressed after you file your analysis and recommendation on Tuesday."
"I've had my fill of empty promises!"
I turned toward the door.
"Are you a true VIP, or not!"
As he smashed his drink into the walnut bar I blurted: "This time, you better find some other VIP-donkey to haul your rickety corporate wagon uphill."
He stared at me, trying to be intimidating, probably wondering what happened to my usual submissiveness. But, I turned and walked out.
"If you take one more step: don't come back!"
Staring absently at his personal secretary's voluptuous curves, I saw my entire career pass before my eyes -- seeing myself on a long slow line, trying desperately to convince some obese wheezing state-bureaucrat that I was entitled to full unemployment benefits, because I was not, technically, fired for insubordination.
"Use my office-suite all weekend!"
"Your office?"
"You'll have the health spa to yourself! Order food on my expense account! Drink my liquor! Bring in hookers, I don't care! So long as you finish the analysis by Tuesday!"
"Why don't you stay and do it yourself?"
"I need to fly halfway across the world meet with the merger principals!"
"If the merger falls through what compensation do I get, for always cancelling my plans?"
"I can't promise anything until the merger closes."
"I'll work the week-end -- "
He patted my shoulder hard, relieved.
"For a one-time fee -- of five-thousand dollars."
His intoxicated eyes rolled in suprise, not expecting me to be such a savvy on-the-spot dealmaker.
"Deal.