It wasn't a party, whatever the office wide e-mail said. For one thing, parties were voluntary. People counted down the day until the big event, and then cut out of work early beforehand to buy a good bottle of booze or bake a dessert. When they were getting ready, showering and brushing their teeth, they'd try to remember that really funny joke they'd heard a week ago, then practice it twice in front of the mirror. And they'd try to come up with a way to make their job sound exciting, if they couldn't avoid bringing it up completely. If it were a party Harry would not have been trying to think of an excuse not to go right up until ten minutes before he got into his car.


Nothing had come to mind though, and he had to keep up appearances with the powers at be. So instead of having fun he cataloged the stains on the holiday attire of his coworkers and checked his watch for the fifth time while standing a few yards down the wall from the bar. It was seven o'clock. Whoever heard of a New Years Eve Party that went from six to ten at night? The absurdity of it made him think of a bash he'd been to a few years back, a real one, with actual friends. They'd really torn up the place, been animals…
The band switched songs to "Moon Dance" by Van Morrison, breaking through Harry's recollections. They played the tune like every other one on the set list so far: on autopilot, staring with catatonic eyes at the empty dance floor. The singer intoned the lyrics like a Catholic priest saying mass. Something about it set Harry's teeth on edge. It was even worse than the nameless elevator numbers they'd been doing before. He mouthed a curse word before throwing back the last of his drink.
"All by your lonesome?" asked Sherri as she glided up. Her usual array of cheap gold jewelry layered over an enormous purple party dress made her look like an icing covered birthday cake.
"I'm taking a break from the festivities," Harry replied.
"Oh, that's what they call these now," Sherri said. "Festivities. Here I was going around calling it ‘A Semi Mandatory Celebratory Workshop on Holiday Related Events.' I admit your version sounds better."
"You're going to get yourself in trouble Sherri. The bigwigs could walk over at any minute."
"Like they'd notice little ‘ole me. Or care! Do you see these decorations?" She waved a set of neon fingernails at the crumpled streamers and balloons on the walls. "Probably stole this stuff from a birthday party at a senior center. No, as long is my name is checked off on the guest list they don't give a hoot."
Harry smiled despite himself. He liked Sherri. The woman always loosened him up.
"You might have to watch out though, what with you being in the running for that promotion." She continued. "They're probably sizing you up as we speak."
"Yeah. I've got to stay civilized I guess."
On stage the guitarist missed a note. The instrument didn't even sound in tune. The guy really just deserved to be ripped limb from limb. Harry wished they'd play something with a little life to it.
"That's a weird new year's resolution." Sherri must have been repeating herself. Her tone had come dangerously close to sarcasm.
"Oh no, that's just something my friend used to say. I don't have any resolutions," he said.
"You've got to have a resolution. It's New Year's Eve. Even if it is only seven." The woman leaned in, cupped her lips with one hand and added in a stage whisper "I think we all have to go around and give one later anyway. I'm telling ‘em I'm resolving to quit smoking."
"You smoke?"
"No. So it'll be easy. Tell you what. Resolve to start shaving. That five o'clock shadow is sexy to us ladies, but the managers won't like it."
Harry rubbed his neck and cheek. He was pretty scruffy. If only he could unbutton his collar! The fabric itched something fierce against his stubble. "Yeah. Good one."
They were silent for awhile, the band playing over the other idle chit chat of the room. Someone needed to rip the singer's throat out. He hit about one note in four. And apparently his version of "Moon Dance" was twenty minutes long.
"No, really Harry, what are you doing in an accounting firm?" Sherri asked, pulling a gray bit of sausage off a nearby snack table. Harry could smell how terrible it was, but his stomach rumbled. He was getting hungry.
"You've got your movie star chin hair," she continued, "and that stylish thin tie and that cool suit. You're young."
"I figured it was time to settle down. Go respectable, you know?"
"Oh come on! Not yet! Get old like me before you worry about settling down. Live a little."
"Yeah, right," he said. Memories of that party from a few years ago floated back. He'd love to let his hair down and not worry about getting up for work or eating right or having a clean suit ready.
"I'll tell you what. Forget the shaving. I'll give you a resolution. Don't bother staying civilized. Resolve to be yourself and have some fun for this year," Sherri said.
Harry stared at her for awhile. Then a grin full of white teeth filled his face. He looked over at the overweight office staff over at the bar, and at the band, which was just starting their next number. It was Duran Duran's "Hungry like a Wolf."
"I like that one," he said. His smile only got wider when Sherri's features began to go pale.
He howled as the suit ripped, taking a moment to scratch the fur on his neck before padding over to the stage. The tile floors cracked under his paws.
One good thing about this party: plenty of snacks.