I Became ‘That’ Girl at a Friend’s Party

BLACK BEAR OCTOBER PROMPT | HAUNTED BY A MEMORY

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I landed my first job right after finishing secretarial school at 17. It was a receptionist position at the head office of a large Australian grocery group, the biggest at the time. Think of Cosco or Aldi today; that was David's Holdings in 1981.

The appeal of that job, aside from the prestige of working in a rapidly growing industry, was that it was literally, unbelievably, right next door to my house in a quiet residential street in Glebe, an inner-west suburb of Sydney.

I know. What were the chances? It was like a fairy godmother had waved a wand and sprinkled stardust over me, the chosen one, handing me a silver spoon as if I were born to it — no such luck. I was born to a father not dissimilar to a tyrannical warlord. Silver spoons had no place in our home.

Every day was a clever game of hide-and-seek as I learned to stay invisible to avoid the angry bear. I was good at it; my two older brothers weren't. They bore the scars of their stupidity for the rest of their lives.

By the time I finished school, my brothers had already moved out. The bear seemed less angry now that his house was quieter. No more police knocking on the door or shady characters looking for them. I'd left home a few times but kept gravitating back to my parents' place like a revolving door for years. My father barely noticed. I was no trouble after all.

Little did he know.

I loved that job. I'd wake up each workday, spend an hour on my hair and makeup, and then walk the short distance from my front gate to sit at my desk just beyond the large glass doors facing the street. What a dream.

The front desk receptionist was the focal point of the head office. I had to look my best for the many important visitors who arrived each day. I was pretty and slim after discovering diet pills earlier that year. They changed my life. They were basically pure speed — sleep was a challenge. The weight fell off me. Who cared about sleep?

I couldn't have scored that job if I'd applied a year earlier. Back then, appearance mattered, and not many overweight girls got front-desk receptionist jobs. That was the reality in the early 1980s.

I'd direct clients up the massive stairway to the offices above. Leslie, a kind woman in her early thirties, sat at another reception desk in the waiting area. She was on display while clients waited to be collected. I felt thankful to have the entry to myself, almost like I was my own boss — that's how it felt.

It wasn't all solitude. A doorway behind me led to payroll and other parts of the building. As I settled into the job, the girls from payroll and other workers from lower levels of the building would come by during the day, befriend me with cups of tea and treats. I made so many friends; I was smitten with my new status.

The guys in the warehouse would flirt with me and bring me all kinds of stock from the shelves to try to impress me. It made me feel special, worthy, seen. If there were a popularity award at the end-of-year celebrations, I'd win it.

Working is fun. I didn't understand why people complained about it.

Unexpected bonds

Sue was twenty-seven, a curvaceous blonde with wild hair and blue eyes who could have been Stevie Nicks' equally rebellious sister. She was rough around the edges, unpolished and unapologetic, with a heart of gold. She wore heavy black eyeliner around her eyes as if each day might end in a nightclub. That was always a possibility. I adored her and looked up to her like the big sister I never had. We became instant friends.

She worked in payroll and would cover for me when I needed a bathroom break — if no one else was available. Her look wasn't exactly front-desk material. Not the kind of image Davids approved of. Sue didn't give a damn about that.

Jackie, her boss — a respected manager in her early 50s — had a raspy voice from too many cigarettes and heavy drinking the night before. The lines on her face told the story of a working-class life and a street-wise sensibility. Yet, there was something maternal and nurturing about her, and people were naturally drawn to her.

I was drawn to her; she reminded me of my Mum in many ways. They could have been sisters in another life. I found comfort in that. We clicked immediately, and she took me under her wing to learn the ropes of payroll, just in case I ever grew tired of my glasshouse and its fishbowl existence.

"Marce, you're more than just a pretty face, you know. You have the potential to achieve great things and go far in this company."

Her confidence in me felt humbling. I once had an English teacher who said similar things, and of course, Mum had always been my cheerleader. She'd been cheering me on for as long as I could remember.

"Love, don't do what I did. Marriage and kids are for fools like me. Travel, see the world, experience life on your own terms. You're stronger than you think. Rely on yourself. That way you'll never be disappointed."

Too bad I was as dumb as a box of hair back then. I would eventually do the opposite of Mum's wise advice.

As the end of my first year approached, Davids Holdings decided to move its head office out west, where its enormous warehouses were located. It was roughly an hour's drive from the charming streets of the inner west — my home — to an industrial area that resembled the outskirts of Vegas, where a stark, barren landscape, boring as hell, replaced any trace of glitz. Signs of civilisation were moot.

Clearly, my fairy godmother was on strike. I was gutted — no more glasshouse or picturesque doll on display.

But I loved the company because I genuinely loved the people, my friends. I transferred to payroll and worked alongside Sue, with Jackie as my boss. I was in heaven. I'd work my way up and maybe one day have Jackie's job. They made me believe anything was possible.

They all lived out west, so now I was the schmuck driving an hour to work every day. I didn't mind. I got used to it. If it meant spending my days working with friends in a job I loved, the sacrifice was worth it.

The invitation I wished never came

A bunch of us socialised outside of work. Sue and I often went to the pub to unwind, and she'd invite me over for dinner. The first time I went, I drank too much, and she made me a bed on her couch. I'd never had a proper adult friend before who owned her own house, cooked her own dinner, and lived by her own rules.

Her independence was captivating. She embodied what Mum had been trying to instil in me all these years. I felt like a clumsy puppy in comparison, tripping over myself as I followed my master around, in awe of her power.

We'd head over to Jackie's place on weekends. Her partner would fire up the barbecue, and we'd sit around drinking, eating, and laughing. Those were the best times. I'd found a second family in my workmates, and aside from Mum, they were better than my real family.

Sue had eyes for Brian, a tall, lanky biker dude with dirty blonde hair who worked in the warehouse. She never made it obvious; she was too cool to pine, and he was even cooler, but it was clear there was some vibe between them.

The house party of the year was an annual event at Sue's place. It was Christmas, and she was determined to go all out that year, especially for me. I'd heard about her famous parties before my time. I couldn't wait to go and experience the debauchery for myself.

It involved a lot of drinking, smoking weed, and eating hash brownies. I hated weed and hash. They made me hungry and paranoid, not a good mix in public. I planned on taking a double dose of my diet pills. That would give me the right amount of buzz and stamina to get me through.

The party was in full swing. It was everything and more than I'd heard about. Van Halen blared from the stereo as bongs and joints were passed around, and trays of delicious-looking brownies. I managed to sidestep the offerings without anyone noticing. I was buzzing nicely, having the time of my life, and I didn't want to nosedive into the downer place and start gorging like a pig in a trough.

A joint appeared in front of my face, and I turned to see Brian on the other end of it.

"Come on, Marce, don't be a wimp. I pegged you as a party girl. You think I haven't noticed you haven't had a hit. Live on the wild side, girl. It's a party."

Brian grinned and winked at me. How had I never noticed how cute he was? I took the joint and drew a deep breath. I wasn't a wimp. I didn't cough. I'd smoked it before with my brothers, but never out in the open. It was hilarious, but I still hated it.

The reckoning

Shit. It was strong and hit hard. I felt instantly wasted and looked around the room. The laughter was at full volume; everyone else looked wasted too, but they were having a good time.

Just relax, Marce. Don't freak out. If you freak out, you're fucked.

Brian handed me another drink. I knew I'd had enough and should probably stop, but he insisted and kept reminding me, "It's a party, Marce. Just let your hair down and enjoy yourself."

So, I did. The room spun, and I looked for Sue among the crowd but couldn't find her. Jackie wasn't there, thank God. I'd hate for my second mum to see me like that. Her party days were behind her; she was firm on that — parties were for the young.

What followed was jagged, fragmented, and in blurry snippets — like a scene from a movie, experiencing the haze of a drug-fuelled protagonist through the cameraman's special effects.

Brian held my hand, leading me through the house and into a bedroom. We were laughing as we tripped over our feet. I was captivated by the fact that this cool biker dude wanted me. I wasn't thinking about Sue. They weren't together. It's not like I was cheating on my best friend. If I had any guilt, it was overshadowed by anticipation.

Stumbling, with mouths on each other and clothes coming off, it was a frenzy of desire and need. We were mid-act when a blinding light flooded the room like a whip to the face. In a blur of double vision, I saw Sue in the doorway, but her expression was clear — horror and betrayal. Not that I could make sense of it then. The world went black again, and that's the last thing I remember.

I don't know how I got home. As my hangover wore off and my memory started to come back, I felt an overwhelming guilt so deep that I wanted to die. Shame choked me, making it hard to breathe. I tried calling Sue, but her answering machine picked up. She didn't call me back. I didn't go to work on Monday because I couldn't face what I'd done.

The thought of all my work colleagues seeing me like that was just too much to bear. I'd never felt so mortified.

When I didn't go to work on Tuesday, Jackie rang me. She'd heard, of course, and even though she was trying to be motherly and tell me not to worry — that young people do stupid things at parties, it'll all blow over, and don't be so hard on myself — she said I needed to make amends with Sue, who was devastated that I'd slept with her man.

Her. Man. How could I have been so foolish, not knowing the rules of their informal relationship? That boy crushes mean you don't cut that grass — the universal code to stay clear if a friend is interested in someone romantically or sexually.

It broke me in ways I couldn't name. How could I be the betrayer after years of being betrayed? I couldn't fathom it.

Beneath it all, I knew Jackie was disappointed and probably horrified by my behaviour. I couldn't believe I'd done that to my best friend. Nothing was said about Brian and his part. No. It was all on me. I was the slut. He was still the cool biker dude.

A haunting ending

I never returned to the job I loved or saw Sue again. I stopped answering Jackie's calls and wrote a resignation letter. I can't recall my urgent excuse for leaving, probably something terminal. Jackie knew better. She waived the notice period and paid me in full. A final act of goodwill for what we once shared, perhaps, for the girl I was before.

Any shred of integrity I once had vanished after that party. The shame I felt was too overwhelming to endure. I cried whenever I thought about Sue. For years, I was haunted by it. I drifted from one bad job to another, and it took three years before I finally found a position that made me feel like I was part of a family again. During the six years I was there, I made lifelong friends whom I still cherish today.

I made sure I never drank at Christmas parties again. The valuable lesson of 'don't shit where you eat' was ingrained in me by that terrible experience and losing the best job I ever had in my youth. That was nothing compared to losing a dear friend who gave me everything, and I broke her heart. It took decades to forgive myself, and when I did, the haunting stopped.

In memory of Sue. I wonder what became of her. I'll never know…

Thanks for reading, friends. Seriously, don't shit where you eat. You will regret it. Full stop.

And thank you, Michele Maize. Your prompts are always an adventure.

© Marcia Abboud 2025 | All rights reserved

This story was inspired by Deanna Bugalski 💋 and her story for this brilliant prompt. It's worth a read if you haven't already.

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