So Much for My Happy Ending (2 page)

I forced myself to smile at the anorexic blonde glaring at me from my office chair. “Yeah, I just talked to her about that. Was she neglecting any customers?”

“That's not the point! She's supposed to be in the front of the department greeting people.”

I never understood this strategy. How was one supposed to greet invisible people? And in a retail setting, how could the absence of customers not be the point? “I'll work with her on it. It won't happen again.”

“Good, when traffic is bad like this we need to be at our best. Has your staff been calling their personal customers?”

Probably not. “Absolutely.”

“Good. Remember, the important thing is to control your controllables.” Ass kissing was the only controllable that held any importance at Dawson's. Do it well enough and you could get placed in a department that was virtually guaranteed to make its numbers.

“I stopped by to talk to you about the Appreciation Meeting Wednesday. Last month I didn't feel like our store was peppy enough. What do you think?”

“We could have been peppier.”

“Oh, I'm so glad we agree.” She pulled gingerly at her pink lapels. “Wednesday, I really want everyone to get into the spirit. We're the flagship store, and I know the regionals expect us to really raise the bar. We need to be cheering, clapping—the whole nine yards. In fact…” Liz reached for something under my desk—
Please God, let it be a hara-kiri sword
.

It wasn't, it was a pom-pom. A pom-pom. “I got all the managers two of these. Mickey's the regional who's going to be conducting the meeting this time, so when she introduces our store I want all of us to stand up and say:

 

‘Oh Mickey,

Our store's the best,

Our sales put others to the test,

Hey Mickey!'

 

And then, we'll wave our pom-poms in the air.”

Where the hell was the hara-kiri sword?

“April? What do you think?”

“I think you can't get much peppier than that.”

“Great! I knew you'd be into it.”

As a little girl I had dreamt of being a curator for New York's Whitney Museum. Now, instead of collecting fine works of art and rubbing elbows with the cultural elite, I was playing with pom-poms and taking poetic license with bad '80s tunes. Funny how life works out.

“Well, I'll leave you alone so you can get on the floor. Remember, all bodies up front and don't forget to call your personals!”

I plastered my Miss America grin on my face and held the door open for her.

Liz froze in place. “What's on your finger? Are you eng
aaa
ged?”

“Yippee?”

“Oh my God, you are! You're engaged!” She started jumping up and down waving her French manicure in the air like an autistic Barbie. She pulled me into a forced embrace and then suddenly released me. “You're not pregnant, are you?”

That's what I loved about Liz, she was all about tact. “No, my eggs are currently unfertilized.”

“Oh, goody!” She was jumping and hugging again. “Well, you just be sure and tell me what days you need off for the wedding and honeymoon. Just don't take off time during any of the four big sales, or the two weeks preceding them, of course. Oh, and I guess it goes without saying that I can't give you any time off around the holidays, but other than that I'm totally flexible. I'm just so excited for you!” She gave me one final excruciating squeeze before leaving me to search for her next victim. I really hated my job.

I silently joined Dorita and Laura in the front of the department and spent the rest of the day trying to figure out how we could call our personals while standing fifteen feet in front of the phone. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough of a dilemma to fully distract me from the two months' salary resting on my finger. I glanced down at my hand. Actually, if that was two month's salary, Tad was doing a lot better than I had realized.

Tad was one of those start-up tech guys or at least that was what I told everyone; it was a little more complicated than that and I'd be lying if I said I fully understood his job. He said he brought different types of technology manufacturers together so that they could make tech products for other manufacturers. He always tried to explain it to me by using a cell phone as an example. If Nokia decided that they wanted to make a phone that featured advanced video games and had an address book that could hold up to five hundred phone numbers it had to go to one outside company for the memory chip and another for the game technology. Tad represented several different kinds of tech companies that complemented each other and then presented them as kind of a package deal to companies like Nokia. Again, I didn't really understand it, all I knew was that it was a little nerve-racking considering that of the large number of start-ups, the majority were failing these days. Tad's business, SMB, seemed to be one of the few that was still going strong. The office space said it all. They were located in the heart of San Francisco's financial district. Tad had two partners at SMB, Sean Miller and Eric Bradley, but apparently they had all agreed that Tad should be the one to negotiate the lease. The man was an expert at getting what he wanted. And to top it all off he was a great dancer, not to mention well-read and fluent in three languages. The man was amazing, and I was marrying him. How could I be anything less than ecstatic?

“Hey, honey, how much for a hand job?”

I turned and looked up at the wiry six-foot man standing next to me. “I'm sorry, we don't do that here, manicures are given up at the spa.”

“But my cuticles need rubbing now! Come on, rub my cuticles. Just one little rub?”

I rolled my eyes. “Honestly, Caleb, I'd stick my boot up your ass if I didn't think you'd enjoy it so much.”

He laughed and for the first time I noticed that he had once again cut his impossibly thin strawberry-blond hair. Caleb was always applying a new thickening product to it but there was no question that he was destined for baldness. Caleb frequently quibbled that when that happened (thanks to his weight and his distaste for gyms) he would look like a prisoner of war, to which I would respond, Americans
like
prisoners of war. We make them darlings of the media and elect them to the senate. If it wasn't for the months of torture everybody would be signing up for a gig. Plus I had no doubt that Caleb's sparkling complexion, impeccable fashion sense and beguiling personality would always make him a hot commodity and there were a lot of men who agreed with me on these points. He thrust his Rolex in my face (a gift from a former sugar daddy). “Six thirty-five. You've put in your required overtime. Let's blow this pop stand.”

“I don't know, I've been ‘spoken to' by Liz. I think maybe I should stay extra late to make an impression just in case she's still around.”

“Mmm, hmm, and which is the largest-volume department?”

“Cosmetics.”

“Who's the cosmetics manager?”

“You are.”

“So if it's acceptable for me, the cosmetics manager, to call it quitting time after a ten-hour day, don't you think that it's acceptable for the manager of some little chickwear department like yours to do the same?”

“Condescending references aside, yeah, I guess you have a point.” I looked around my department: two employees and one customer looking through some of our inappropriately revealing careerwear. Assuming my salesgirls didn't kill each other in order to get the commission, everything was under control. “Wait for me, I'll get my purse.”

I went back to my office, jotted down some notes for the closing staff and grabbed my bag. By the time I got back out to the floor, Caleb had collected a big red hairball, otherwise referred to as Allie. There was more to the lingerie manager than her hair, just not much. She swore that she was both over five feet and a hundred pounds, but I suspected that those figures were obtained while wearing heels and a lead-filled parka.

Caleb waved me over. “Hey, April, come over here and feel Allie's water bra.”

“Oh. Is that what's different?” My hand hovered over her chest. “Isn't it against regulations to feel up co-workers on the premises?”

“Not if it's in the interest of furthering your product knowledge,” Allie corrected.

I retracted my hand without squeezing. “I think I'll hold off until we get to the elevator.”

“Good idea,” Caleb agreed as we walked to the employee elevator. “Give the boys watching the security camera an early bonus.”

The metal doors opened and we scooted inside. I reached out to push the button for the top floor but Caleb grabbed my hand and stared at my ring finger.

“Oh my God, you're pregnant.”

“You know, Liz jumped to that same conclusion.”

Allie snatched my hand away from Caleb and held it inches from her face. “Holy shit, April, it's like the Rock of Gibraltar!”

“Hel-lo! We're just sitting here in an unmoving closed elevator. Don't you think one of us should press the button?”

Caleb grabbed my hand back. “Have you done the rainbow test?”

“The rainbow test?” Allie questioned.

“You're supposed to hold your ring up to the light and if it casts a rainbow…”

“It means you have a good-quality diamond,” I finished.

“No, it means you're a closet homosexual. Get with the program, honey.”

“So why are we just finding out about this now? Why didn't you call us the minute he put the ice on your finger?” Allie demanded.

“It just happened last night and you two are the first of my friends that I've told, so relax. By the way, we're still not moving.”

“You waited almost twenty-four hours to tell us, and now you're impatient because we've been sitting in an elevator for two minutes,” Allie said, completely mystified by my unreasonable behavior. “How did Mommy Dearest take it?”

I started kneading my handbag with my fingernails. “I haven't told her yet.”

“Why on earth not?” Caleb asked.

“She'll tell me not to do it.”

“You never listen to your mother,” Allie pointed out, “why should you start now? I know, tell her that the morning before he proposed, you read in your horoscope that you were supposed to say yes to a very important question.”

I nodded thoughtfully. “That might work. She's coming up to have a late dinner with Tad and me at his place tonight, so we'll see how it goes.”

The elevator door opened and a woman from housekeeping stood before us. “Are you going up?”

“We were thinking about it,” I explained. The woman looked confused, so Caleb reluctantly ushered her in and pressed the top button. We stood there silently for the thirty or so seconds that it took us to go up two floors. I assumed Caleb and Allie were formulating their list of questions about the proposal. My thoughts had already switched to my impending dinner.

My mother had only met Tad once before and it had not gone well. Like an idiot, I had neglected to warn Tad about my mother prior to their introduction, so he had done everything that a suitor is supposed to do when meeting his loved one's parent. He put on a sports coat, shined his shoes, bought her a lovely potted orchid and made a point of calling her Ms. Silverperson. As far as my mother was concerned, he might as well have been wearing a sign that said, “Hello, I am the next Rush Limbaugh.” Now I had to tell her that I was marrying the man she had come to refer to as “The Great White Hope.”

The doors opened once again and we all headed for security where we held open our bags for inspection like the common criminals they presumed us to be.

“You know this really is very cool.” I assumed Allie was referring to my engagement, not the security search. “Still, you should have called us right after saying yes.”

“Forgive me, but it seemed like an inopportune moment to call you two, seeing that I was busy having sex and all.”

The security guy looked up.

“Yes, that's right, I was having sex with my new fiancé. I know that's kind of personal but considering that you are currently rifling through my Tampax, it just doesn't seem like inappropriate conversation.” I snapped my purse closed and walked briskly to the exit elevator.

Allie and Caleb quickly caught up. “Tell you what, why don't I give you two ladies a ride to your respective destinations and April can fill us in on everything in the car? Tad's still at the Pacific Heights place, right?”

“Mmm, hmm.” How much money must Caleb be making to be able to pay for parking five to six days a week?

The cool breeze hit us as we walked out of the building. I loved this moment. I spend the days cooped up in a completely artificial environment: no windows, no fresh air, everything's pretty and tame, and then I walk out the door and there it is—my city. San Francisco. Locals racing down the sidewalks pulling their leather jackets around them, cars honking at each other, shivering T-shirt-wearing tourists taking pictures of minor traffic accidents, and the occasional drag queen. Everything's in motion, everything's excessively real. It's the moment I look forward to every time I go to work at Dawson's…leaving.