Guilty Pleasures
OFF LIMITS. Authorized Personnel Only.’ It read.
Leila drew a deep breath and pushed the curtains aside. ‘You’ve come this far, so might as well…’ she thought. She smoothed her skirt, not wanting to think ahead. Then, she walked on, swiftly turning her back as she heard footsteps in the hall. Quietly turning to make sure the coast was clear, she then quickly found the door and pushed it open. There they were.
She grabbed a plastic cup and joined them. The TV was on; on one side some women were giving each other manicures. But it was this table she wanted to sit at. It was their one night when they forgot about the measly pay or the grouchy bosses. Or in her case, the perpetually drunk boyfriend of 8 years who liked to hit her a little too often. The head cook, Roma, knew she might fall into more than just a little trouble with this set-up in the pantry. But Roma knew what it meant to the women.
‘Was this punch spiked? Oh, what the hell!’ Leila chuckled, for all we know, the bosses could be at wits end and looking for them. Soon someone would notice the women secretaries, clerks, all disappearing for breaks at the same time for an hour. But till then, this was their haven. And this table, her guilty pleasure – the Wednesday night poker table. Who said it was a men’s game, again?
