The Night I Got Lucky (25 page)

I turned and walked the gray carpeted hal way toward Roslyn’s office, half praying she was there, half fearing. But I knew I could find her somewhere in the building, since Roslyn was rarely anywhere else. This job at Harper Frankwel was her life. Her whole life. I wanted the job, too—one I enjoyed—but I wanted the other parts of me to flourish as wel .

My heart rate picked up as I neared her office. The suit I was wearing suddenly felt stifling. I blew my bangs away from my forehead with a puff of air. I tried to clear my mind and think of how to say what I knew I had to say.

Roslyn was at her desk. “Hel o, Bil y,” she said when she saw me. “Nice of you to come in.”

“Can I have a minute?”

“I’d like that. I think we need to talk.”

I closed her door. “So do I.”

She took off her glasses that were affixed to a silver cord and let them fal onto her chest. She tilted her head a little and said, “I think we both know that you weren’t sick the last two days.”

I coughed, not to fake il ness, but because she’d surprised me. I hadn’t expected her to cal me on it so quickly. Yet I was glad. I wanted to be honest with her, and she’d just opened the door. Wide.

“I’m sorry, Roslyn.” I said, “You’re right. I wasn’t sick. I had some…family matters to attend to. And I have something to discuss with you.”

She gave me her patented tight-lipped, raised-eyebrow smile, which said,
This better be good.

I swal owed hard. I sat up straighter. “I want you to demote me. I’d like my old job back.”

Roslyn sat back in her chair so quickly that her breath seemed to have been shoved out of her lungs, causing her to make a loud “humpph” sound.

I enjoyed a childish moment of triumph. I’d shocked the unshockable Roslyn.

“You want to be
demoted?
” she asked. She began to laugh. Admittedly, being scornful y laughed at was not as fun as shocking her.

“Yes,” I said with force in my voice. “I’d like to be an account exec again.”

Roslyn got her mirth under control and sat forward, elbows on her desk. “Bil y, you’ve been a VP for how long now?”

About four weeks,
I wanted to say, since
Blinda gave me that frog.
But I remembered that first morning, when everyone thought I’d been a vice president for a whole lot longer. “Wel , geez,” I said, deciding to bat the question back to her, “how long has it been?”

Roslyn opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She clamped her mouth closed. “Hmm,” she said. “I can’t remember. Troubling.” She shook her head, her perfectly styled hair never moving. “Anyway, the point I was trying to make was that you’ve been in this position for a while, so why in the world would you want to backslide and become a—” she shuddered

“—an account exec?” She said “account exec” the way others might say “child molester.”

“Let me ask you something. Do you think I’m a good vice president?”

She pursed her lips. “Wel , I wanted to talk to you because I think there are definite areas that require improvement.”

“Exactly. I’m real y not great as a VP. But did you think I was a good account exec?”

More pursing of lips. “You weren’t bringing in the big clients.”

“But bringing in the big clients is only important if you want to be a vice president, right?”

“I suppose that’s true. You did have your own cadre of smal -time clients, and you handled them quite wel .”

“And I did a good job on other people’s projects, right?”

“Yes, you’re an excel ent team member, but—”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Roslyn, but I think you see my point. I am better suited to be an account exec than a VP.”

“But Bil y,” she said in a chiding tone. “How embarrassing. To be demoted? It’s unthinkable.”

It would have been unthinkable to me in the past. Back then, I was al about forward motion, at least in my mind. I wanted to get a job, get engaged, get promoted, get married, keep moving, keep achieving. What I’d forgotten to do was stop and look for the quality, the satisfaction in each station. I’d also forgotten to actual y
decide
what direction I wanted to take next. I’d been walking a scripted path, never halting to ask whether it was the right path for me. Not everyone needed to be an officer of a company. Accomplishment, I’d realized, needn’t always come in the form of a raise or a title. Instead, I would find accomplishment in giving the best performance I could in a job I loved.

“You demoted Scott Bil ingham last year,” I pointed out to Roslyn.

“Wel , he was horrible. He deserved it.”

“I deserve this. I
want
it.”

Roslyn gazed at me with a perplexed expression. “What would we tel people?”

“I’l handle it. I’l send out the memos and explain to everyone that we both thought it was best.”

She gave me a wry smile. “Now you’re acting like a VP.”

I smiled back.

“Wel ,” she said, “we are stil looking to fil Alexa’s position, so your timing couldn’t be better.”

My stomach cramped. “Oh, no, I couldn’t step into her job.” How could I possibly take Alexa’s space when I’d so unfairly axed her?

Roslyn shrugged. “That’s what’s available, Bil y. Take it or leave it.”

“What about
my
old position? The one that was vacated when I was promoted?”

Roslyn scoffed. “That was fil ed eons ago.”

“By who?”

Again, she cocked her head. “I can’t remember now. Good Lord, what’s wrong with me? But it doesn’t matter, that position is long gone. You’l have to take Alexa’s spot.”

“Couldn’t we rehire her? I know I asked before, but real y, she’s such an asset.” I’d send myself to the street if it meant getting Alexa her job back.

Roslyn gave me a queer look. “You’re right, we have discussed this, and as I said then, this company does not rehire people who were terminated for cause. End of discussion. You’l be taking her position. Effective Monday.”

My arms quivered as I walked the hal way, trying to shrug off my jacket. It felt as heavy and hot as armor. In my head, my overachieving sisters sang a chorus—
What have you done?

What have you done? You’ve given up an officer’s position!
They were loud and hitting lots of high notes, which made my body tremble more. I’d just wil ingly tossed away the position I’d strived toward for over a decade. I heard my father’s voice—much weaker—chime in with,
Sometimes you have to know when to double back.

I got a flash of what it would be like to come in Monday morning—quizzical, pitying looks from coworkers, packing of my office and retreating to a tiny cubicle, attempts to explain it (a lame, “I thought this would be best for me”), receiving of assignments from people
I’d
been ordering around lately. I began to sweat.

I took off my jacket and rol ed my shoulders to release the tension, reminding myself that it didn’t matter how this would look to others, it only mattered how it felt to me. And the truth was, when I peered around my panic and examined the rest of my mind, I spied sheer relief.

Except for one thing. I had to talk to Alexa and soon, before she got wind of this. I wasn’t even sure if Alexa stil spoke to anyone from Harper Frankwel , other than myself, but I knew it had to be me who told her. And this was a conversation that had to take place in person, I decided. In a strange way, I’d come to enjoy Alexa’s friendship, and she deserved face-to-face honesty. I looked at my watch—4:15. I stopped at an empty cubicle and dialed Chris’s number. His secretary said that she thought his dep would last at least another two hours. Just enough time for me to stop by Alexa’s.

I hustled toward the elevator, tossing my jacket over my arm, but a voice made me stop.

“Getting ready for me?” Evan said.

I turned, and there he was, al blond hair and dimples, smiling a private smile. “Excuse me?” I said politely.

He gestured with his chin toward the coat I’d stripped off, and gave me a wicked raise of one eyebrow.

“Ev,” I said.

He took a few steps until we were only an inch apart. “I missed you,” he said in that low voice.

I took in the tanned skin of his face and the brown flecks in his green eyes. I glanced at those lips, the lower one pil owy and much larger than the top. But instead of feeling thril ed and stirred inside, I felt il with remorse, and now I started noticing everything Chris had that Evan didn’t. Chris’s eyes were kind while Evan’s, at least to me, were blatantly sexual. Chris’s mouth was generous, waiting to tel stories about Shakespeare’s myth and his own hunt for the perfect Raclette cheese, ready to smile at me or kiss me on the forehead, while Evan’s mouth was ready only for laughs and raw pleasure.

I had outgrown my crush.

“Can I talk to you privately?” I said.

The eyebrow shot higher. “Anytime.”

I turned and walked toward my office. Might as wel use it one more time. I closed the door behind us and leaned my back against the door. Evan perched on the desk.

“I thought I explained on the phone,” I said. “I asked you to respect me and my marriage. None of this—” I waved my hand between him and me “—can happen again.”

His cocky grin fled his face, and he looked at me pensively. “I did listen to you. I’m leaving Harper Frankwel .”

“What?” I stepped away from the door, toward him, thinking now of Evan only as my friend, my one friend in this firm.

“I’m going to New York. To Norwich & Towney. I just accepted the job five minutes ago.”

Right when I was demoting myself. “You can’t leave Harper. You’ve been here forever.”

“Exactly. Time to move on.” He loosened the col ar of his blue and white checked shirt. “And like you said, I had to respect your decision. With me gone, nothing wil happen.”

“Oh, God, Ev. I’ve made such a mess of this.” I covered my face with my hands. I’d wished for Evan to be interested in me. More than interested—I’d hoped for him to lust after me. I’d gotten the interest, I’d gotten the lust, and I’d made such a spectacular muddle of it Evan felt he had to leave.

“You didn’t do anything,” Evan said. “I’ve been thinking about New York anyway.”

I raised my face. “You were?”

“Hel , yeah. I’ve dated al the women in Chicago, right? Greener pastures and al that.”

We both laughed, but they were smal , weak laughs.

“You’re sure?” I said.

“I’m positive. Two weeks, baby, and I’m living on Spring Street.”

“When wil you tel Roslyn?”

“Right now.”

“I don’t know if now is a good time, especial y after the conversation I just had with her.”

“What conversation is that?”

“I demoted myself.”

He scoffed. “C’mon.”

“I’m serious. I asked for my job back as an account exec.”

His mouth dropped open a little. “Are you kidding? Why?”

“I’m no good at being a VP.”

“You were good enough. You just didn’t like it.”

I thought about that for a moment. “You could tel ?”

“Of course I could tel . We grew up together around here.”

We were both silent.

“You know, Ev,” I said, breaking the silence. “Roslyn is going to ask you to leave immediately.”

“I know.”

I thought about the first time I’d seen Evan—standing at the receptionist’s desk with his brand-new briefcase. I thought of our closed-door meetings in his office where we’d gossip about coworkers, and I thought about our lunches discussing dates and families and career paths. Now those paths had diverged. Our lives were heading for opposite ports. Hopeful y, like friends from the past, we’d always remember the exceptional moments spent together.

“I’l miss you,” I said. “I’l miss our friendship.”

He touched me on the shoulder, then took his hand away, leaving a cold spot. “We’l always be friends,” he said. But it sounded like a greeting card designed for high school graduation, and I knew the situation was probably the same. We promised to be close forever; we’d mean it. But new friends and daily routines would get in the way.

“I should talk to Roslyn,” he said. “You know, give her time to forge a warpath to my desk and set fire to it.”

“Right,” I said. “Make you an example for others.”

“Exactly.”

I opened the door and stepped back to let him pass. I wanted to hug him, but it no longer seemed an option. We’d gone past the point of friendly embraces.

“See you,” I said.

He grinned. “Yeah, see you.”

I knew we were both lying.

At Alexa’s building, I asked the cabbie to wait.

“Make it quick,” he grumbled.

The warm weather had brought everyone to their cement stoops, and I had to pick my way past four teenaged guys to get to the buzzer. They stopped their conversation. They eyed me predatorily, as if I was holding the latest video game that featured mass kil ing.

“Hel o, sweetheart,” one of them said under his breath. The others giggled—snide sounds.

“Hel o,” I said, with al the primness of an English governess.

I hit the buzzer for Alexa’s apartment, trying to appear efficient and nonchalant, but fear and dread grew inside. I glanced at the cab. I could get to it in ten steps if need be. God, was this what Alexa went through every day?

“Hola,”
someone said through the buzzer.

“Hi, uh, it’s Bil y Rendal , I’m here to see Alexa, if you could just buzz me in…” I spoke the words so fast, I wasn’t sure anyone could decipher them, but the buzzer sounded. I pushed the door hard, slamming it closed behind me, stil under the watchful eyes of the teenagers.

I took the stairs quickly.

Alexa opened the door. “Bil y! How are you?” She gave me a quick embrace, which left me flustered and flattered. “Come in, come in,” she said, as if I always stopped by. “I have to show you something.”

The place was much as I’d seen it last time—old, mismatched furniture, a TV with rabbit-ear antennae, toys scattered throughout. The kitchen, viewed from the living room, was tidy, but the Formica tops were yel owed, the linoleum floor cracking.

“Look,” Alexa said proudly. She held out her arm, gesturing toward the corner of the living room, where an old door had been laid across two stacks of blue milk crates. On top of the door, sat a host of papers and pens and, in the middle, a silver cel phone.