The party was over. The turmoil of the last week was beginning to subside and things were slowly returning to some kind of normalcy. Everyone, for example, had stopped laughing at Jonathan Coleman’s leadership bid.
Back in the Beehive after a long weekend watching other people spend money, Prime Minister-elect Bill English was very pleased himself. He was now precisely where he wanted to be – sitting in an office chair with his hands sitting gently on a desk. This was a great day.
Suddenly, and without warning, there was a sensual knock on the door. The jangle of rings and other jewellery could only mean one thing – the wrist controlling the hand knocking on the door to his inner sanctum was a wrist from West Auckland.
Bill turned on his desk fan. He had seen the wind blow the hair of a man in a film once and he had gotten the girl. His power now gave him options. This time it would be he who would get the girl.
As he thought a few moments longer about where this day might be heading, he remembered the chap in the film had sported shoulder length hair. His hair was the classic Gore short back and sides. There was no folicle waterfall careering behind him. He was just sitting at his desk with water streaming from his eyes.
The fan was turned off.
“Enter!” is what he wanted to say in a way that had him sounding like a classically trained Shakespearian actor. Instead he said, “Yes?” in a barely audible rural drawl. She entered anyway.
“Shit Bill,” said Paula, “we did it. We actually did it.”
“Yes,” he replied, not meaning to be frugal with his sexual wordplay, but being so nonetheless.
“You here at the big desk with the big job in your highly capable big hands while I take on the job of your number 2…”
“Yes,” he said again, even more erotically than the first time
“Now,” replied his deputy glorious in her 9th floor radiance, “I’ve got a lot of work to do so I’ll head. Well done boss.”
“Yes,” Bill replied for a third time. The atmosphere in the office had moved from lightly to highly charged. He knew it. He suspected she knew it. He decided not to ask her about it just in case she hadn’t noticed him manning around.
As Ms. Bennett walked out the door, her Impulse body spray lingered for just a little bit longer. He moved over to his stereo and, taking one more deep breath of the perfume, popped in his Luther Van dross CD.
This was heaven and he was in it.