Happily Ever After? (24 page)

The Center’s price tag is $1.2 million. Nancy thinks that Tom France will accept $1 million based on the outdated condition
of the facility (it will need a new heating and cooling system, a new sprinkler system, and construction for handicap-accessibility).
Unexpected bonus: After doing some research, Nancy now believes that buying the Center is a promising investment—the Center
is poised to become the outpatient facility for St. Agnes’s Hospital, and more importantly, it’s the only mental health care
practice certified for HMO insurance coverage.

“Buy it,” I instructed.

“Wouldn’t you like to give it further consideration?” she asked.

“At least sleep on it?”

“Buy it, Nancy. Make it happen this week. I don’t want to wait.”

She paused. It was an interesting moment; I’m not accustomed to commanding. “Will do.”

I asked her to arrange a private meeting with Cadence Bradley at 8:30
A.M.
on Friday, and a second meeting with the trustees and executive staff at 9. “Only then,” I said, “will these people find
out who’s behind the acquisition.”

I’ve decided what I want to do with Cadence Bradley. Friday can’t come soon enough.

’Til next time,

V

Diana called to remind me that our first karate class is next Monday. I think I’ll have to beg off. Too much going on right
now.

Pete passed out the invitations after school. Gregory James Martindale never even opened his. According to Pete, he just ripped
it up and tossed it on the floor. “I’d never come to one of your stinkin’ parties,” he screamed, “you stupid dickhead!”

“Then everyone started sort of laughing because Greg called me a dickhead,” Pete explained. “And then they started opening
their invitations and nobody laughed anymore. They were screaming too hard. And then Miss Linda the bus aide yelled at me
for making a commotion, but when I showed her the invitation she
stated screaming too. And she asked if she could come to the party and I told her yes. Is that okay, Mom?”

“That’s okay, Pete,” I said, smoothing his hair. “That’s just fine.”

Nancy called. The Center is officially mine. She said she would drop off the keys and all the paperwork tonight.

’Til next time,

V

Tomorrow is my debut as the new executive director of the Westfield Center for Emotional Wellness. I’m going to wear my baby
blue pants suit and new Prada pumps. The gods must be smiling: I’ve lost five and a half pounds!

’Til next time,

V

I arranged for Pete to spend the early morning at Lynette’s, and arrived at the Center at 7
A.M.
, long before even the earliest of early birds. I waited in the conference room and reviewed the research Nancy had compiled.
I needed to be entirely up to speed on the St. Agnes deal.

By 7:30 I began to doubt myself. What the hell was I doing? How could I possibly assume leadership of a mental health facility
when I could barely sustain my own career? Why had I done this? Just for revenge on Cadence Bradley? Was it worth it?

Absolutely.

Cadence arrived at 8:25 with a coffee mug in one hand, her briefcase in the other. Her powder pink suit was magnificent. Her
face still looked like Henry Kissinger. “What are
you
doing here?” she said, disdainful as ever.

“I’m scheduled for a meeting at 8:30,” I said.

“Well, you’re in the wrong place, because I’m here for a meeting, too, and it most certainly does not involve you.”

“How can you be so sure?” I asked, loving every minute of this.

“Because my meeting involves the new executive director.” She set her coffee down on the table. “So if you don’t mind—”

“Now,
that’s
a coincidence,” I told her. “My meeting involves the new executive director too.”

“That’s not possible,” she said with exasperation. “My meeting is a private meeting.”

“So is mine,” I said, smiling. “With you. I’ve acquired the Center. Cadence, I am your new executive director.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” she said scornfully. “You? You couldn’t manage a lemonade stand. This is all a big
joke, right?”

I said nothing. Just then the delivery boy from Provence walked in with a huge platter of breakfast goodies. He looked at
his slip. “Ms. Ryan? Can I get a signature please?”

I stood up. “Certainly.”

Cadence grabbed her mug. “I resign. You’ll have my letter this afternoon.”

“Wait,” I told her. “My first order of business was to give you a substantial raise. But I can’t do that if you resign.”

She stopped. “A raise?” She put her mug back on the table.

“Correct me if I’m wrong. We’re paying you $140,000.” Cadence pursed her lips and nodded ever so slightly. “Based on everything
you’ve done to broaden the Center’s geographic scope and boost revenues, I think a nice increase is in order. Don’t you?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I’m prepared to bring you up to $300,000, Cadence.”

She peered at me suspiciously. “Why?”

“Because you deserve it.”

“What’s the catch?” she asked.

“No catch,” I said. “But from now on, you’ll be taking direction from me. And the first item on your docket is the Open Mind
Fair. You shut it down. Now I’d like you to start it up again.”

Cadence looked miserable. She was violently opposed to being my underling. But now she was making too much money to quit.

“Please have a plan for reviving Open Mind on my desk Monday morning,” I told her.

“Fine,” she said. “But where’s your desk?”

“It’s in your office. Or, should I say, what was formerly your office. I’m giving you the weekend to move your things out.”
I always loved the view from that office, and the way the sun shines through the windows in the morning. “I’ll have a suitable
space assigned to you by Monday.”

What could she say? She was stuck. And I couldn’t be happier.

’Til next time,

V

Tried to get out of tomorrow’s karate class but Diana whined so pathetically that I gave in just to shut her up. “Just remember,”
I told her, “this is a test. This is only a test. If I don’t like it, I can drop out, no hassles. Right?”

“Righty-oh,” she said. “But I have a hunch you’ll want to stay.”

’Til next time,

V

My first day back at the Center went smoothly. I dropped Pete off at school, picked up an Egg McMuffin, and made it to my
office by 9:15. I sat in on a couple of meetings, approved a new hire, and signed off on Cadence’s proposal. It’s now 11:30
and I’m about to leave for my karate class. Must run.

’Til next time,

V

The karate class was far more eventful than I’d expected.

The room was cavernous and smelled of sweat and vanilla air freshener, and the walls were mirrored. A sturdy-looking woman
appeared. She looked older than my mother but was in better shape than me. “Welcome, everyone. I am Mrs. Snyder and I will
be assisting today. Please take a moment to find a
gi
in your size.”

She gestured toward a large cardboard box full of white uniforms in the corner of the room. “The dressing rooms are in the
back.
Sensei
Scott will be with you in a moment.”

Diana grabbed a size small, naturally. I took a
medium and hoped it would fit, which it did. “It suits you,” she said, pulling her hair into a ponytail. “You look cute.”

“I look like I’m wearing pajamas.”

“You still look cute,” she said. “Hurry up. Class is about to start.” She left me alone in the dressing room. I hung my clothes
up and set my shoes on a rack and took one last look in the mirror. I guess I did look kind of cute.

I was poised to leave the dressing room when I heard someone call out, “Line up, everyone. I am Sensei Scott and I am honored
to welcome you today.”

It was a familiar voice. The accent was British, maybe South African. My heart hammered as I stepped into the room. It was
him! The rather adorable guy from the bagel place! He smiled delightedly when he saw me.

Then he mouthed something. Guinevere.

I think I’m going to like this class.

’Til next time,

V

Debra Kent writes the Diary of V for
Redbook
and Women.com and has contributed to such magazines as
Cosmopolitan, Family Circle, Mademoiselle
and
McCall’s.
She lives with her husband and children in the Midwest.