Going Nowhere (A Romantic Comedy Novella) (2 page)

“I’m
always
late.” She backed out of the parking lot with screeching tires, without sparing a single glance for oncoming traffic. “You, of all people, should know that.”

“Not forty-five minutes late,” I said, quickly clicking my seatbelt into place.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice bereft of remorse. “I had a hair crisis.”

“I was standing outside on the curb the entire time. I’m surprised I didn’t get any inquiries into my hourly rate. Well, not so much surprised as insulted.”

April gave me the once-over. “You look good, but those boot-cut khakis you’re wearing aren’t the most provocative outfit I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“Less is more, dahling.”

“Seriously, what’s with the business casual?”

I adjusted the passenger seat so that I was more upright. “I wasn’t in the mood to get all skanked up.”

“Since when?” she asked, as she lit a cigarette and continued to drive the Bimmer as if it were a 4×4.

I dug my nails into the armrest on the car door. “I know I’m not going to get this partnership. I
always
get overlooked.”

“Ugh! Is that all you ever talk about? Seriously, get a hobby.”

I pouted. “Fifteen-year plan! If I don’t become partner, I’m going to die alone.”

“That doesn’t really track.” April ran a hand through her dyed blonde hair. “Tonight, you need to have fun. Can you do that?”

I shrugged noncommittally, but fifteen minutes later, I was trying my best to submerge my problems under the thumping house music at Vanilla Bar. After narrowly avoiding the advances of a few foreign men and some mid-western tourists with no rhythm, a somewhat promising guy came along.

He had that Abercrombie & Fitch frat boy look about him, but I was willing to forgive that if he could form a coherent sentence.

I smiled encouragingly as he came closer.

He held up his hand. “Wassup?”

I immediately cringed, then allowed myself to reconsider my swift judgment of him. I suppose it had become a pretty common greeting, no longer confined to thirteen year olds or wannabe rap stars. I decided to give him a chance; hopefully he would prove that first impressions could be wrong. “Hi. I’m Kate.”

“Andrew Franklin. It’s nice to finally meet a pretty girl.”

“Thanks. You from here?”

He nodded. “North Miami.”

We danced to the music, not getting too close, but not in separate containment units, either. He wasn’t so bad. A man of few words was far better than a loud-mouthed fool. A Kylie Minogue song came on and we continued to dance. “You still live there?”

“No, I go to the University of Florida.”

Uh oh, back up. “You’re going to UF right now?”

“Yeah, why? Are you an FSU chick?”

“No, I went to UF, too, but that was some years ago.”

He smiled. “That’s okay. I like older women.”

Charming. Like I wanted to be someone’s older woman.

Andrew tried to get closer to me. “You smell good.”

One of his frat boy friends came by at that opportune moment to give him an obvious wink and a conspicuous nudge. “Wassup, man? Is this a bad time?”

“You know me, dog. I ain’t got no bad time!” Andrew replied, punching his friend in the arm.

I bid farewell to frat boy.

This was pathetic. Even when I lowered my standards to proficiency of the English language, I still failed to find a suitable candidate. I beckoned to April from the edge of the dance floor and waited for her to join me at the bar. She came quickly, making it clear what she thought of her dance partner.

I sat down. “Why do we do it, April? It’s not like we’re ever going to meet a nice guy here. They’re all at home with their wives.”

She motioned to the female bartender. We ordered a round of dirty martinis.

I sipped the martini the bartender placed in front of me and winced.

April was cradling her purse in her arms, as though it were a baby or seven million dollars in gold bullion. She tried to balance her drink in her other hand, but it kept sloshing over the sides of the glass and onto the floor.

“Okay, what’s with the purse?”

“This is a Gucci.”

“God bless you.”

“It’s not a fake, Kate. It’s one hundred percent real,” she replied, eyes bugging out at the sheer audacity of my mocking reply.

“Isn’t it nice to have a nest egg? Seriously, put it down, April. No one’s going to steal it.”

“I can’t put it down on the bar. It could be wet.”

“Isn’t that what those little feet are for?”

Giving me one of those ‘
you’ll never understand’
looks, April opened the purse and reached down to the bottom. “Look, I got you something from my trip last week. Maybe it will help you with your little problem.”

“The way you say ‘my little problem’ makes me think you’re about to slip me a box of Monistat under the table.”

She produced a small, soft bundle. “Nope. It’s an authentic New Orleans good luck voodoo doll.”

I took the bundle and examined it. It would make a better fire starter than a doll. The entire thing was pieced together with random bits of nothing, stuffed with straw, and smelled faintly of marijuana. “Thanks, April. How did you know?”

“The
vodou
priestess swears it will change your life.”

“Great. I’m convinced. I’ll put it in my non-designer, non-matching purse.”

“Sleep with it under your pillow tonight, ’kay?”

I nodded my agreement. It was worth a try, and at least I’d be sleeping with
someone
tonight. “Thanks for all the concern, April, but you know what’s going to happen. No matter what I say or do, I won’t get the partnership.”

“Now, you know that’s not true.”

“It’s totally true. Do you actually think I’ll get it?”

“It’s not that I think you’ll get it, it’s that I know you haven’t done
everything
to make yourself a top partnership candidate.”

I downed the rest of my martini and signaled for another. “You mean I haven’t done
everyone
—like all of the partners. Is that what you meant?”

“I’ll tell you exactly why you haven’t been succeeding,” she replied, lighting a slim menthol cigarette. “It’s the Suck Up Factor.”

“The Suck Up Factor? Is that an official term?”

“It’s a basic concept, my stubborn friend,” April said, rolling her eyes at the inanity of it all. “The Suck Up Factor is that evil little thing that’s been keeping you from achieving things all your life. Remember high school?”

“Ah, it was so long ago...”

“An entire decade, in fact. Have you learned nothing since then?”

I tried to take another sip of my dirty martini, smoothly dumping half of it down my cleavage. “Never let a boyfriend convince you to pose for naked Polaroids!”

“Is that all you’ve learned?”

“Liquor before beer; you’re in the clear?”

April carefully removed the martini glass from my hand and placed it on the bar, out of arm’s reach. “Tourism and Hospitality Club Scholarship.”

My eyes narrowed into tiny slits. “Must you bring that up?”

“Yes, in fact, I must,” she said, grinning as though she’d discovered my Kryptonite. “Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”

“And what, pray tell, should I have learned from that fiasco?” I was rapidly sobering up. “I was robbed. That scholarship was mine, and everyone knew it.”

“Everyone but Mrs. Yeung?”

“That cow said I wasn’t motivated, that I didn’t have the right people skills. I still can’t believe George Palma, of all people, got to enjoy
my
scholarship, while I had to sell timeshares to pay my way through school‌—‌”

“Enough, Kate! Will you listen to me?”

“You’re the one who brought it up...”

April sighed. “The reason you didn’t win that scholarship is because you don’t know how to kiss butt.”

“Why should I have to be a brownnoser? My grades were the best in the club and I excelled at every project Yeung sent my way.”

“Who did you always see by Yeung’s side? Who was always helping her clean the whiteboard or offering to pick up lunch?”

“Georgie Porgie.”

“Exactly. So when Yeung had to choose one member to get the scholarship, who do you think she’d choose?”

I reached for my martini and managed to drink a few more mouthfuls without appearing to need a bib. “I think a responsible teacher would choose a candidate based on their qualifications alone, like grades and performance.”

“You’re not living in the real world.” April tapped some ashes into a promotional Heineken ashtray. “It’s human nature to like people who like you. And you, for all your qualifications, aren’t always likable.”

“Thanks a lot. With friends like you...”

She squeezed my arm. “I’m trying to help.”

“So what do you suggest I do?”

“It’s simple. You’re going to have to start sucking up to Sam. He holds the keys to you getting that partnership in his grubby hands. You’re going to kiss his butt until you crack open each of his long, god-knows-where-they’ve-been fingers.”

“Can’t
you
do anything to convince him?” I fidgeted on the barstool. “You’re his assistant, for goodness sake.”

“Yes, I’m his
assistant
. A position that carries such clout.”

“Fine. Maybe you’re right.” I reached for my martini again, but April stopped my hand. “I want to be respected. I don’t think it’s right that I should have to compromise my values.”

“Respect doesn’t put food on the table.”

I stared past her, towards the mass of people dancing. The disco lights blurred into fuzzy starbursts before my eyes. Doing what April had suggested would feel like selling out. I had certain ideas about the world, and to give up so soon would be disheartening. Why couldn’t I succeed on my performance and qualifications alone? I should be able to ignore everyone around me as long as I did my job.

“Promise to think about it, Kate.”

I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

April hopped off the bar stool, still cradling her purse beneath one arm. “Wanna dance?”

I sighed. “I don’t know if I can face going back out there. Those guys are a waste of space.”

April pulled me off my barstool. “Since when do we come here to meet men?”

“You always seem to disappear into some waiting guy’s arms once we’re out there.”

“Not this time. Promise.” She smiled an unnaturally white smile. “These guys are pretty sad, though, aren’t they? Did you notice that the guy you were dancing with earlier was wearing socks with his sandals?”

“Perfect.”

“You coming, then?” she asked, half pulling me off my seat.

“What have I got to lose?”

We squeezed onto the dance floor and were soon shaking our moneymakers to the latest overplayed dance song. I swear, the party station in South Florida was like listening to the same mix CD on repeat all day. They didn’t even have DJs.

“Kate,” April said after a few minutes, leaning closer, “if you’re not going to take my advice, do
something
. It’s not like you to be so defeatist. You need to make some sort of forward progress instead of obsessing.”

I nodded with understanding, the simple motion making me realize I’d had too much to drink. And the next day I did do something: I laid in bed and vowed never to drink again.

“
I
HAVE BAD
news.” Max was standing over me at my desk again. Maybe he’d found out that I hid Cadbury Eggs under the paperwork in my file drawer. “Want to take a walk?”

I nodded and followed him down the hall. Away from the office and toward the elevator bank. I looked at the pastel paintings of sunsets and whooping cranes we passed and tried not to panic.

When we were suitably out of hearing distance of the rest of my coworkers, he said, “There’s been talk of lay-offs.”

“What?”

“I wanted you to hear it from me before you got blindsided.”

I didn’t know what to say. My stomach felt like it wanted to rise into my chest, which made it hard to form words. And what was there to say, anyway? I knew how the economy was going, and this wasn’t exactly a shock.

“They have been saying we have too many associates. The firm’s expenses are exceeding revenues.”

The elevator made a quiet
beep
before the doors slid open. A woman I didn’t recognize walked out and I gave her a large, over-compensating smile in an effort not to reveal what was going on. She smiled back and squinted her eyes to study me, probably assuming she must know me from somewhere rather than the truth of the matter: that I was a lunatic.

As soon as she disappeared down the hall, Max continued, “I’m sorry, Kate. I know this isn’t good news, especially on a Monday.”

“So I guess that’s it, then.” I considered asking Max if he knew which brand of paste would be most efficient at permanently gluing my lips to Sam’s ass, but kept that thought to myself.

“If there’s anything I can do to help you, I will.”

“Why, Max?”

The elevator stopped again and let out a few people from our floor that Max had to greet and make nice with.

I grinned the whole time, once again refusing to let anyone watch me bleed.

As soon as they were gone, Max said, “What did you ask me?”

“Nothing. We’ll talk later?” I said and he simply nodded.

With my cheeks hurting from the strain, I kept up the façade until I entered the ladies’ room.