Before (A Short Story)

“There’s Ann Farnham,” Steve said, as they turned into the parking lot. Through the glare of the headlights, Leah caught a flash of short brown hair and the swiftly-receding back of a tweed coat. “She’s the new associate. And Bryan and his wife- what’s her name? Cathy?- are just ahead of her. Maybe we’re not too late for the hors d’ouvres.”
“I’m sure there’s still plenty,” Leah said, rifling through her purse for lip gloss. It had been a long day and Steve’s office holiday party seemed like just one more obstacle between herself and sleep. “I just hope we can sit with some fun people. Last year we got stuck with all the boring old farts.”
“That’s because we are boring old farts,” Steve replied.
“Speak for yourself.” Leah glanced at her reflection in the car mirror. Her eyes looked slightly glazed, and her mouth was taut with tension. She sighed. Leah was sighing a lot these days, sighs that started from some profound place and did little to dispel what felt like an endless reservoir of fatigue. “I look like crap,” she said. “I feel so old.”
“You look great, honey,” Steve said, as pro forma as “bless you” if she’d sneezed. “Ready?”
The stone steps to the restaurant were steep and slippery; the mist that had fallen all afternoon had transitioned into fine sleet. Steve bounded ahead, greeting Ann and her husband, Ross, holding the heavy door open. The wreath on the door was laced with bittersweet and decorated with tiny gold foil boxes, one of which fell off the wreath and into Ann’s hand as she ducked under Steve’s outstretched arm. “For me?” she quipped, shaking it. “Sadly, it feels empty.” Steve threw back his head and laughed.
The party was on the second floor, in a cavernous Edwardian oak-panelled dining room. Steve took her coat, leaving Leah backed against the chair rail to chat with two of the secretaries. One was tall and blond, the other stocky and gray-haired, and Leah couldn’t remember their names, which made her feel just the slightest bit guilty. She forgot their names not because she considered herself superior to them- well, maybe, just a little- but because she was only compelled to be in the same place with them once a year. Still, she was good at being pleasant, good at feigning polite interest as one of the secretaries talked about her new grandchild and the other went on about a trip she was planning to China in the spring. Truthfully, Leah preferred the role of listener. At this time of day, at this point in the holiday season, she had simply run out of topics of conversation.
Steve walked over, holding a glass of white wine for her, and two scotches for himself. “The line to the bar is really long, so I thought I’d save myself the second trip,” he explained. He smiled, his eyes moving around the room. Leah brushed an errant lock of dark hair from his forehead.
“Leah! Thank God you’re here. Give me your bag, I’m putting it on the chair next to me,” Andrea said, grabbing Leah’s purse and walking it over to a nearby table. Andrea was married to Len, Steve’s closest friend at the law firm. She was a couple of years younger than Leah, with a surgically reduced nose and surgically enhanced breasts. Andrea looked appropriately festive in a low-cut blouse covered with tiny silver sequins, black velvet pants, and a pearl necklace. Leah was relieved that Andrea was there, despite the fact she didn’t consider her a friend so much as a strategic ally. Still, Andrea could be counted on to provide entertainment. Her whispered barbs definitely beat the tedium of sitting next to the senior partners and their fossilized wives or facing the thinly-veiled contempt of the two female attorneys Carol and Martha, and their awkward husbands. Leah always felt Carol and Martha looked down on any woman who didn’t hold a conventional job requiring an post graduate degree. The fact that Leah was a freelance writer undoubtedly struck them as frivolous, and the fact she had given birth to such a large number of kids reduced her status further still. Maybe it was her imagination, but she was pretty certain they considered her simply a breeder and a brat. She watched as they drank their red wine, heads inclined toward each other conspiratorially. Carol looked up and caught her gaze, then looked away without smiling.
The maitre d’ walked in and cleared his throat. “”Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is about to be served. If you would all please take your seats…” The remainder of his announcement was trampled by the ensuing stampede. Leah sat between Andrea and Steve. an attentive waiter refilled her wine glass. She took another sip, and settled into the warmth of the buzz. Ann and Ross sat across the table from them. Ann leaned toward Ross and laughed at something he said. She was pretty in a simple way, Leah decided. She wore hardly any make-up and her dark brown eyes caught the candlelight. Leah watched as she took tidy bite of her dinner roll.
“Look over there,” Andrea whispered in Leah’s ear. “See what Max Ernest dragged in? It’s another one of his blond bimbettes. Seriously, does he use some kind of ho escort service?”
“This time of year, probably the ho-ho-ho escort service,” Leah said.
“Good one, Leah.” Andrea’s laugh sounded like machine gun fire. “Seriously, though, she looks like a porn star. No, wait, not a porn star, a porn film reject. She’s worse than the skank he brought to the summer outing.”
Steve was working on his third scotch. “Looks like I’ll be driving home,” Leah said. She tried to sound playful.
“I’ll be fine to drive.” Steve’s voice had an edge. Leah had noticed he’d been irritable of late, or sometimes distracted, and attributed this to the year-end frenzy of business at the firm. She couldn’t imagine slogging through thirty years at one place, doing, essentially, one thing, like Sisyphus eternally rolling that stupid rock up the same hill. But then, Steve woke up every morning at the same time. He ate cereal for breakfast, played his seven-thirty game of squash at the club, and drove to work while he listened to N.P.R. He not only embraced predictability, he held it in a death grip.
Another waiter came by and handed out menus. Leah chose a mixed green salad, wild salmon, and apple torte. Steve ordered the same, except chocolate mousse for dessert. “I might have to steal a bite of your mousse,” she teased, nudging his side with her elbow. She could feel his body tense. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, no, I just wasn’t expecting it.”
The maitre d’ came out and stood in the middle of the room, tugging at his tie. “And now, for your musical entertainment, the a capella group “New Blues” will sing a few songs.” There was a scattering of applause, and twelve young men filed into the room, dressed in tuxedoes. They looked nervous.
They weren’t bad. They sang the seasonally appropriate “Silver Bells” and “Drummer Boy” and as their final song, launched into “Christmas in Killarney.” Since many of the people in the office were Irish, this selection was enthusiastically received. The whoops and hearty applause seemed to come as a shock to the boys, and they looked at each other, as if not quite sure how to proceed. After a whispered consultation, one of the boys, slight and bony with a protruding Adam’s apple, moved forward and cleared his throat.
“Thank you very much,” he said. “We have…” (and then he looked around, as if for confirmation) “one more song we’ve been practicing.” Another boy stepped forward, blew his pitch pipe, and the skinny kid began to sing.
That such an amazing voice could be housed in such an unimposing personage came as a huge surprise to Leah. The selection was also a surprise; no holiday favorite, but “Hallelujah” by Leonard Cohen, which was Steve’s favorite song. Leah never quite understood why he loved it so much. In her opinion, it had a nice tune but the lyrics were cryptic and depressing. She looked over at her husband and saw that his eyes shimmered with tears.

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew ya...

She relaxed into him, resting her head between his chest and shoulder. She happened to look across the table, her gaze falling on Ann Farnham. Ann was staring directly at Steve’s rapt face, with an expression of such profound tenderness and intimate knowledge that Leah looked away in a panic of embarrassment and devastating realization. And that was how Leah found out. There was not even a pause between the not knowing and the knowing.

It’s not a cry that you hear at night
It’s not somebody who’s seen the light
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah…

After the applause, boys filed out. They were animated, jocular, pleased they had done well and even more pleased they were done, period. Ann Farnham had regained her composure and was talking to her husband as if nothing had happened. Leah clutched Steve’s warm hand in her cold one and pulled him up from his chair, into the foyer. “What’s up?” he asked, but somewhere between the table and the door, he knew. They faced each other, shivering, in an icy draft between the coat check and a gaudy gilt Christmas tree. “Are you…”she began, and stopped. She was suddenly aware that everything up to now would always be before. In the weight of the moment, she watched the white lights twinkle on the tree as she waited for confirmation that after had been set into motion.