Angie was cursing at her calculator, unable to figure out how she’d screwed her markup so badly, when the frantic intercom call from Hope yanked her attention away.
“Angie. Get in here. Keith’s office. Hurry up!”
Two questions hit her brain as she stood. One: Why did Hope sound so freaked? And two: What the hell was she doing in Keith’s office? She hated him. Angie hurried down the hall, noticing several others heading in the same direction. When she got to Keith’s office, four of them were already standing in the middle of it, eyes glued to the small television he had set up on top of his armoire. Keith was one of those people who needed constant noise—television, radio, whatever—to help him work.
The television was tuned in to what the bottom of the screen said was breaking news.
“What’s going on?” she asked, her question echoed by the three others who’d followed her in. Even Mr. Guelli was standing in the group.
“A plane flew into the World Trade Center,” Keith told her, his eyes never leaving the screen.
“What?” Angie was incredulous. “How the hell does that happen?”
“Half hour ago. They’re trying to figure out if it was an accident or a terrorist,” Guelli said.
Before any more could be said, the TV reporter’s voice raised in pitch, and he became more animated.
“Oh, my god,” Hope said. “There’s another one!”
The group watched in horror as a second plane crashed straight into the building, an explosion of flames shooting out into the New York City sky.
“Holy shit,” Angie said, as her colleagues shrieked. . They watched the news for long moments, everybody trying to absorb the fact that this had definitely been an attack on the United States. Then the unthinkable happened.
The South Tower began to collapse, each floor caving in on the one below it. Angie covered her mouth with her hands. People around her gasped and cried out.
“Oh, my god,” she whispered. “All those people. All those people.”
Nothing could be done. Nobody could do anything but watch, horrified, as the World Trade Center collapsed on itself, taking the lives of thousands in a matter of minutes.
The group, watched, paralyzed. Finally, Ivan, the graphic artist, spoke up.
“My college roommate lives in Manhattan. I need to make sure he’s okay.” He left the room without a backward glance, and his words spurred on the rest of them to head for a phone or a computer to check on their loved ones.
Somebody had attacked the United States.
It was almost unfathomable. Back in her office, Angie scoured the Internet and gobbled up any reports she could find. Her mother called her cell phone.
“Ma. You okay?”
“Oh, Angelina,” her mother said, distraught. Angie could hear the tears in her voice. “How could anybody do something so awful?”
“I don’t know, Ma. I don’t know.”
Several more calls came in a similar fashion. Maria. Matt. She tried Jillian’s cell several times, but with no answer. She wondered if she’d even heard, or if she was closed up in her classroom with finger-painting six-year-olds. She left messages.
Focusing on work was next to impossible. Her intercom crackled with Guelli’s voice.
“Everybody. Go home. Nobody can concentrate. We shouldn’t bother. Go home. Be with your families. We’re closing early.”
Angie blinked at her phone. Closing early? That never happened. But this day . . . there was something that linked them all. Angie’d never considered herself any more or less patriotic than the next girl, but this day—they were all Americans and they all needed to stick together.
She was packing up her briefcase when her cell rang again.
“Angie Righetti.”
“Angie? Did you hear?” It was Jillian, her voice cracking.
“I did. Baby, are you okay?”
“We’re sending the kids home early. Everybody’s leaving. It’s so awful.”
“I’m on my way home, too. I’ll meet you there. Be careful driving. A lot of people are closing early, so traffic will be heavy. Take your time.”
It was nearly another ninety minutes before they stood in the kitchen, their arms wrapped around one another. Jillian cried in Angie’s arms, then chastised herself for doing so.
“I don’t know why I’m crying. I don’t know anybody in Manhattan. I didn’t lose anybody.” She swiped at her tears.
“Oh, honey, we all did. We’ve all lost somebody. We’ve lost some of our peace, our sense of security. We should all be crying.”
They spent the remainder of that day and well into the evening in front of the television. They held hands, their petty squabbles forgotten and even their difficult issues set aside for the time being. News reports were plentiful. Film of the planes was abundant, and it was played over and over and over again.
“I don’t want to see it anymore,” Jillian whispered, her head on Angie’s shoulder. “But I feel like I have to. For the sake of everybody who died, I feel like it’s my duty to sit here and watch it happen as many times as they show it to me.”
Angie wrapped her arms around Jillian and held her tightly.
“I don’t think the country will ever be the same again,” Jillian said.
“I know, baby. I know.”
They sat.
They watched.
They ached.
Angie dialed Jillian’s cell with the phone on speaker. She answered on the second ring.
“Hi, babe.”
“Hey,” Angie said. “Are you home?”
“Where else would I be at dinnertime?”
Angie tried to ignore what she felt was an implied “the time of day when you’re never here,” and stuffed extra cheerfulness into her voice. “Good. Stay put. I’m almost there.”
“Already?” Jillian’s disbelief was evident.
“Go outside. I have a surprise for you.”
Ten minutes later, she coasted into the driveway, put the car in park and hopped out. She gestured to the Lexus, with a grand flourish worthy of Vanna White. “What do you think?”
Jillian’s eyebrows raised into her hairline. “It’s beautiful. Whose is it?”
Angie dropped her arms in a move that said, Duh! “Mine, silly. Ours. I just bought it.”
“You did? When?” Jillian’s tone fell somewhere between happily startled awe and irritation. Angie tried hard to keep it squarely in the former.
“Yesterday. I went over on my lunch hour. The dealer is a client of mine, so I knew he’d steer me in the right direction.”
Jillian walked slowly around the sedan, running her fingertips along the sleek, midnight blue exterior, her eyes taking it all in. “But do we need a Lexus? It’s not exactly an affordable brand, Ang.”
Angie nodded. She had prepared for this. “I know. I know. But I was going for image.”
Jillian’s barely suppressed her eye roll. “Image again? Angie.”
“Seriously. I read a couple articles in the sales magazines that Keith gets. They talked about how important image is for somebody in sales. It’s like I keep telling you. You need to look successful. Look the part. You need the right clothes, the right shoes, the right car to give the impression of success to your customers. You know? Nobody wants to buy stuff from somebody in an off-the-rack suit who drives a beater.”
Jillian came around the front of the car, having circled it once. “You didn’t think it was something we could have maybe discussed together?”
Angie nodded her agreement. “I know. I should have mentioned it. But it all happened so fast. It just felt right. Remember when Dom joined his firm? He got really nice furniture for his office and traded in his Toyota for a BMW for the same reason. Image.” She watched Jillian’s face, and could see that she wasn’t happy about the purchase and was fighting to keep from lashing out, chewing instead on the inside of her cheek—until suddenly, instead, she accepted it.
“Well?” she said, arms thrown out to the sides. “Are you just going to stand there or are you going to take me for a ride in your new luxury automobile?”
Angie jumped into motion and opened the passenger door for her partner. “Wait until you see the interior. It’s going to blow your mind.”
Angie watched from the copier as Vincent Guelli led the strange man around the office. The guy was young—maybe midtwenties—and Angie was pretty sure she’d seen him before, though she couldn’t place him. Must be a new sales guy, she thought, slightly irritated because she knew she’d probably be tapped to train him. She had enough on her plate with her own clients, but she’d been trying to do anything and everything Guelli asked of her in order to help her work up her nerve. A sit-down with him was her goal. A closed meeting, just Guelli and Angie, talking frankly. He wasn’t getting any younger. His health wasn’t great. He was looking more seriously at retirement; she could feel it. She could see it in the way he’d been spending less and less time in the office, delegating more tasks to others. Guelli was contemplating an exit, and Angie wanted to be there to help him make that transition.
She was more than ready to run the company. She knew it. He had to know it. She’d been there for over a decade and had more than proven herself. She knew sales, and more importantly, she knew the ad specialties business. It had been quite a while now that she’d been studying marketing projections and reading business books. She’d joined a couple of small business organizations so she could network. She knew that changing with the times was paramount, and that Guelli didn’t have a clue. Logo Promo needed a leader to help it slide seamlessly into the new century, to help it use the Internet rather than fight against it. Angie spent countless hours of her free time doing research on how to implement the World Wide Web as part of a growing, timely business, and she had tons of ideas. Logo Promo was solid. She wanted to keep it that way.
Guelli and the young man were headed her way. Angie finished her copies and looked up as they approached her, pasting on a smile and thinking maybe now was the time to set up that meeting. Why wait?
“And this is Angie Righetti,” Guelli said to the young man as they stopped in front of her. “One of our best salespeople. Angie, this is my nephew, Jeremy Guelli.”
Jeremy was nice-looking and clean-cut. With broad shoulders and an athletic build, he stood a few inches taller than Angie, and his handshake was firm. His khakis and polo shirt were neat, his leather shoes shiny, his hair combed. He looked every bit the young urban professional. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said, flashing a perfect, white and very expensive smile. “Uncle Vince has nothing but good things to say about you.”
“What a relief,” Angie said with a grin. “Are you coming on board?”
Jeremy nodded and Guelli said, “I was hoping you could give him a crash course in the ad specialties business, Angie. Jeremy’s got a business degree, but is unfamiliar with how our particular industry works. I told him you could show him the ropes.”
“Of course,” Angie said, suddenly uneasy. Smiling extra broadly, she said to Guelli, “On another topic, do you have some time for me this afternoon?”
Guelli nodded. “Sure. I’ve got to be out of here by five, though, so come see me before that.” Gesturing to his nephew, he said, “I’ll show him around the rest of the office, then send him to you when we’re finished.”
“Sounds good.”
“Nice to meet you, Angie,” Jeremy said as they continued on their way.
Around noon, Guelli buzzed Angie on the intercom and told her she wouldn’t need to spend time with Jeremy until the next day. They’d gotten waylaid. Angie didn’t ask for clarification. Instead, she took the time to get her ideas and information all organized for her meeting with Guelli later.
She’d printed out several articles about using the Internet to help grow a small business. She’d contacted several local chapters of different networking organizations and had compiled information on all of them, along with notations of how joining a few of them could benefit Logo Promo by helping them reach new customers. She’d researched sales managing and how to set up realistic quotas for salespeople, as well as information about sales meetings and how to pump up your sales team. Sales was a very difficult job, and incentives and positive reinforcement were key to keeping your sales force from slipping into frustration. Guelli thought sales meetings were a waste of time, so this one would be a delicate point to make, but Angie was determined. Optimism flooded her. This was it. This was what she’d been waiting for. She knew this company inside and out, and despite the difficulties she occasionally faced, knew she could run it and run it well.
Time to prove it.
At 4:30 on the dot, she rapped on Guelli’s office door, and at his gruff “Come!” she entered. He was in the middle of figuring commissions for one of his salespeople. Angie could tell by the handmade chart on the desk in front of him and the adding machine at his right elbow. Guelli was intimidated by computers, and he hand-calculated and wrote out all the commission sheets for the sales staff. Time and time again, Angie told him a computer program would be faster and more accurate—he’d made dozens of numerical mistakes over the years—but he remained undeterred.
And stupid, in Angie’s opinion.
She sat quietly, if not quite patiently, as Guelli finished up what he was doing, then set it all aside. Folding his hands neatly in front of him, he gave her his attention.
“Okay, sweetheart. What can I do for you?”
Angie bristled at the pet name. He talked to all his female employees that way. Angie knew he shouldn’t, that she should ask him not to, but he was an old, old friend of her parents’, and respect and manners always won out. She could almost hear her father’s voice. He doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s just old school.
Uncertain just where to begin, Angie folded her hands as well and asked, “How’s the golf game?”
That brought a big smile to his face. Though he didn’t appear to have an athletic bone in his body—short with a roundness that was rapidly approaching obesity, thick glasses, and a donut of salt-and-pepper hair—Vincent Guelli was an avid golfer. And quite a good one. Angie was reasonably sure that when the weather was nice, and he wasn’t in the office, he was at his golf club.
“It’s not bad. Had a really good round yesterday.”
“The weather has certainly been cooperating.”
“It has. Much nicer than playing in the wet. I’ll be bummed when it gets too cold. Winter always feels so much longer than summer.”
Time to zero in, she thought. “Seems like you’ve played a lot more this year. Haven’t you? I don’t remember you ever playing this late into the fall.”
If she hadn’t been expecting his eyes to narrow slightly in suspicion, she would have missed it. “I play when I can,” he said.
“With all due respect, you’ve got to be thinking that retirement is just over the horizon, yes?” There really wasn’t a delicate way to say anything resembling, You’re no spring chicken . . . don’t you want to retire soon? But she tried her best, making sure to pair her words with a gentle smile. Part of her plan was to appeal to their family connection, so she went on. “As you know, my dad retired last year. He says it’s the best thing he’s ever done. Never been happier.” Wait a beat. “Not sure my mom agrees.”
Guelli laughed, which was her intention, and he visibly relaxed. “Funny you should mention it. I have been entertaining the idea of retirement lately. A lot.”
Bingo.
Without waiting for an invitation, she handed over one piece of research at a time, explaining each one and how it could pertain to Logo Promo. To his credit, Guelli actually seemed to be listening to her ideas, rather than tolerating them, which was what she usually felt like he did. A nod here, a curious hum there. She had him; she could feel it. He was interested. He liked her suggestions.
A glance at the clock told her she was just about out of time. “I know you have to be out of here in a minute, so we can go over more of this tomorrow if you want.”
He finished looking at the paper in his hand, then gathered them all up and tapped them into a neat pile. “I do have to run.” He stood up, grabbed a jacket off the hook on the back of the office door. Angie stood as well. “This is really impressive, Angie. Really.” Her grin widened. Guelli picked up the whole pile she’d given him and slipped it into his briefcase. “I’m meeting with Jeremy tonight, and I’m going to show it all to him. Then you two can go over the details tomorrow.”
Angie’s eyebrows furrowed as she stood. “Jeremy?” she said, confused.
“My nephew? You met him this morning.”
“Yeah,” Angie blinked several times. “Yeah, I know who he is. Why are you going to show him my ideas?”
“For when I retire, silly,” Guelli said, rather slowly, as if he was talking to a child. “Jeremy’s going to take over the business. Didn’t I tell you that this morning when I introduced you?”
Angie felt like she might throw up. “No,” she said, barely above a whisper. “No, you didn’t mention that.”
“Bah.” Guelli waved a dismissive hand, one that said no big deal. “I introduced him to a dozen people in about ten minutes. I must’ve forgot. Yeah, Jeremy’s my brother’s kid, just out of college with a business degree, really bright kid.” He went on as he gathered up his things and turned off the lights. “We’ve been talking about it for months, him and I. Younger blood will do this company good. He’s got some great ideas, but—” he held up his briefcase containing all the information Angie had so painstakingly collected and winked “—nothing like this. This is great stuff. Thanks, babe.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “See you tomorrow.”
He left Angie standing there, in his office, in the dark. She felt as though she’d been ambushed. How had she not seen this coming? She liked to think of herself as a pretty attentive person, as somebody who was well aware of the world around her. How had she missed a family member taking over the running of the company? And why on earth had she ever thought an Italian, old-fashioned male chauvinist like Vincent Guelli would even entertain the idea of leaving his beloved company in the hands of a female? What a stupid thing to hang her hat on. Moronic. Naïve.
Her knees buckled, dropping her back down into her chair. The office was dark. The building was quiet and Angie had the sudden, discomfiting feeling of being utterly alone.
The only sound was the ticking of the second hand on the wall clock.
Angie’s voice was little more than breath. “Fuck.”
The clock ticked on.