A Little More Than Convenient

|Trent Remington|
“Morning,” I threw over my shoulder on that Tuesday morning. Due to an electrical problem, the bank had been closed Monday. I was speaking to the man under me, Gary Goad. Gary is an odd guy. He’s nice enough, but he has this obsession with star wars, that’s a little ridiculous for a grown man. He plays with “action figures” while at work, calls me Han Solo (or some other variation of it), and does Chewbacca noises during lunch. I don’t have the heart to fire him; he really needs this job. His equally nerdy girlfriend is pregnant, and I’m not sure if he is capable of doing anything other than answer phones and take notes.
“Good morning, Mr. Solo,” he said, saluting me.
I scurried past him and went to the elevator at the end of the hall. Balancing my cup of coffee and my briefcase, I pressed the button for the third floor. I was going to see Mr. Bening to inform him of my marriage to Carmen. I was now a shoo-in for vice president of Liberty Bank. Now, be that as it may, I still had to pay off Carmen’s debt, which case, she hadn’t told me how much it was yet, but I figured this promotion was worth it.
Mr. Bening was sitting priggishly at his desk, wearing a light navy suit when I came in. Mr. William Bening is a man in his early fifties, bald on top, and more than a little overweight. But, he still considers himself a womanizer. After three failed marriages and four kids, he has managed to keep a steady, much younger girlfriend for about a month.
“Hello, Trent,” he said, in a non-cheerful manner, “please sit down.”
I took a seat and said, “Hello, sir. I-”
“Trent, how do you do it?”
I looked up at him. He was pinching the bridge of his nose, where his wire-rimmed glasses had once been.
“Do what, sir?” I asked politely.
“Keep a woman happy?”
“I, well, that’s actually-”
“Evangeline says that I don’t have enough time for her. And guess what? She’s in trouble!”
“Is there-”
He snorted. “Of course, I used protection, Trent. I’m in my late thirties!”
I guess I forgot to mention that Mr. Bening is a bit of a compulsive liar. “Mr. Bening, I’m not sure that there’s anything that I can-”
“And another thing! I’m ready to retire, and go live in Boca, but I can’t seem to find a damn replacement.”
I perked up. “Mr. Ben-”
He shook his head. “Trent, Trent, Trent. I’m sorry, but you’re not even a vice president yet. I’m afraid I can’t appoint you. Anyway, like I said, I can’t find a replacement for me, if I don’t find a replacement for Dale soon, I’m seriously screwed.”
“Yes, well-”
He sighed and banged his head on a book. “Dammit!”
Finally, I had enough. “Mr. Bening, please! Listen to me!”
He looked at me, dumbfounded. “Yes, Trent?”
“Well, see, I...I got married on Saturday.”
He bit his lip. “Well, then! Who’s the lucky girl?”
“Her name’s Carmen. Carmen Sanchez, well, I guess it’s Remington now.”
“Is she as beautiful as she sounds?”
Yes, she was. But for some reason, I didn’t feel comfortable saying that. After all, we weren’t married because we loved each other. “Yeah, she’s absolutely gorgeous.”
“Is she, you know, good?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows at me.
I tried not to make a face. “Um...I don’t feel, uh...that that’s an appropriate topic, Mr. Bening.”
He chuckled. “Of course it is! I was just pulling your leg!”
I nodded. “Mr. Bening, about that promo-”
“You’ve got it! Especially if she pops out a couple kids soon!”
My eyes widened. I certainly shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d acted this way before; many times, actually. But, it seemed much worse today. Maybe it was because he was speaking about Carmen. I don’t know. There was something weird about all of this.
“So...the promotion’s mine.”
“Yes!” he exclaimed.
“If that will be all,” I started a sentence, standing up, “then I’ll-”
“Wait!” Mr. Bening blurted out, “There’s one more thing that I wanted to discuss with you.”
I tried to roll my eyes and flopped back down. “Yes, sir?”
He folded his hands together and sat them on the table. “As you may know, Christmas is next month, and-”
“Sir, isn’t in two months?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Trent, today is November first.”
I raised my eyebrows. I’d never been very good with dates, but here lately, everything was slipping my mind. 
 “Of course,” I replied, “and, um...,” I trailed off.
“The company Christmas party, Trent,” Mr. Bening sighed. “Look, I need you to plan it. Since Rebecca quit, we don’t have anyone to organize it.”
I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Me? “And, you want me...to arrange it? Sir, I don’t know if I-”
“Nonsense,” he interrupted, “I’m sure you’ll do fine. And if you need help, you can hire someone else, but make sure it’s only minimum wage.”
I sighed. “Yes, sir.”
I stood up and went to leave, but once more, I was interrupted.
“Oh, and Trent,” he said.
I turned, sighed, and said, “Yes, sir?”
He did a head nod thing and said, “Congrats on the marriage.”
***
During my lunch break, I thought about how I was going to plan the damned thing. I was in the company break room. Usually, I went out to Wendy’s or Subway, or McDonald’s, but today I didn’t feel like going out. Maybe because it was pouring down rain, with thunder and lightning, or maybe I was just feeling lazy.
I grabbed a ham and cheddar sandwich from the machine and popped it into the microwave, and while it heated, I got a bag of Doritos, a Snickers bar, and a Coca-Cola. I was treating myself.
After I got the sandwich, I sat down. How was I going to arrange a Christmas party? I wasn’t very organized to begin with. Like my bedroom, for instance. I have dirty clothes strewn everywhere, and my bed’s always unmade.
I supposed I could hire someone. But who was I to get? Any good planner would want much more than minimum wage. And even if I could get someone, would they be good enough?
I sighed and took a bite of my sandwich, wishing I had a Big Mac. The sandwich and chips just didn’t equate to a Big Mac and fries.
Then, I thought about Mr. Bening. I would be forever grateful to him for giving me a job when I’d gotten out of college. All four years in college, I’d interned at the bank. He’d said to come back if I ever wanted a job. As soon as I graduated, I’d set up an interview with Mr. Bening. Luckily, there was an opening for an assistant, and after three years, I got to where I was yesterday; the man under the VP. But now, I am the VP. Oh, and the Christmas party planner.
However, Mr. Bening wasn’t a great man. He, as I said, was a womanizer, a bit of a drunk, and gambles too much. He spends most of his money at the casino, buying rounds of drinks and then losing it all on one round of Craps. Like I said before, he’s been married three times, all to pretty good women. He’s cheated on all of them. He cheated on his first wife with his second, his second with his third, and now, I don’t know. Most of the women he dates now are gold diggers, and he acts like it doesn’t matter. “As long as they’re halfway nice, I’ve got lots of money to spare,” he always says.