Running into an Old Friend (at Christmas Time) - Prologue. Christmas Party

My name is Daniel Fowler. Everybody calls me Danny. Occasionally, someone will call me Danny Boy. I hate it, but I’m polite enough not to correct them. I’m thirty-two years old. I practice law in New York City. Originally, I was born and raised in Peoria, IL, but I moved to New York after college, when I was accepted to Fordham Law School. New York is my home now. I doubt I’ll ever live anywhere else.

Just before graduation, I was recruited by a large and prestigious law firm. I quickly became the firm’s star corporate attorney. If a client’s industry required an abundance of contracts, they were assigned to me, and the client quickly became ‘my client.’

I have a great relationship with all my clients, and I usually get invited to their office Christmas parties. If these festivities are on different days, I can attend two or three parties each year. I’m uncomfortable at these bashes because I usually don’t know anyone there, except the few people I interact with. Also, I don’t drink. I hate the taste of alcohol, even wine.

One of my clients is a successful recording studio, Moonlight Records. They have an office in Los Angeles, and one in New York. I am counselor to both locations. This past Christmas, the CEO of Moonlight invited me to the office Christmas Party in their New York recording studios. Of course, I accepted. It was a business obligation. I usually just stand around at these affairs trying to look inconspicuous. Fat chance. I am tall, fair, and handsome. I stand six feet, three inches tall. I’ve always been an athlete, and I have the body to prove it. I lettered in baseball, football and basketball in high school and college. As you can imagine, it’s hard for me to blend into the wallpaper.

As I told you, I don’t like the taste of liquor. In fact, I hate it, so I was pouring myself a glass of punch, when I heard someone calling my name. I turned around and faced a good-looking, hunky guy. My gay genes were immediately attracted to him, but I didn’t know who he was. However, he seemed to know me, so I was forced to ask, “Do I know you?”

“Jesus,” the handsome guy said. “I’m insulted. I’m Michael Cerrano, your old college roommate.”

I was shocked. I hadn’t seen Michael in over ten years, and he looked nothing like I remembered. In college, he was pudgy, and still suffered from acne. This god standing in front of me could not possibly be him.

Not withstanding my initial discomfort, we fell into each other’s arms. That was a difficult feat since Mike (as I always called him) is five feet, nine inches tall and barely reaches my shoulder.

“Holy shit,” I muttered ingenuously. “I wouldn’t have recognized you in a million years. You’ve changed so much.”

“For the better, I hope,” he smiled a wonderful smile at me.

“Absolutely,” I flattered him, and I meant it.

“What are you doing here?” he asked me.

“I might ask the same of you.”

I tried to give him the same infectious smile with which he had just favored me. “I’m Moonlight’s corporate attorney, and the boss invited me.”

“I’m a sound engineer. I’ve been working in L.A. for years, but I’m a native New Yorker, and I requested a transfer because I was homesick. I was lucky enough to get it, and here I am, now and forever, I hope. I’m head of the department by the way.”

I was truly overwhelmed and very delighted to have run into Mike. We were not great friends in college, but we were friends nonetheless.

“Look,” I said, “let’s stay a polite amount of time, and then go somewhere and catch up.”

“I’d love to do that,” he kept smiling at me. “I live walking distance from here. Come home with me, and then we can have dinner together this evening.”

“Shouldn’t you clear that with your wife.”

“I’m single.”

I gladly, and quickly, accepted.