A few hours later, Nikki arrives home to find me in a state of utter misery. I’m on the couch, in my PJs, surrounded by used Kleenex, and eating ice cream.
My best friend takes in the scene and is at my side at once. “What happened to you?” She takes the bowl of ice cream from me to sniff it, and her nostrils flare. “Is this real ice cream?”
I nod.
“Industrial, processed ice cream?”
I nod again.
“No soy?”
I shake my head.
“Dairy?”
Nod.
“Saturated fats?”
I make a wimpy sound.
“Ah.” Nikki places the bowl out of reach and drops onto the couch next to me. “I thought you’d spent the weekend with the boss…”
I stare at her with big eyes, trying to transmit telepathically what happened because saying it aloud is too painful.
She catches my vibes at once. “And before the day was over, you asked him where you stood…”
Nod.
“He freaked out.”
Nod.
“You went on the defensive and lashed out.”
Whimper.
“Richard got mad, too, the argument escalated, you both became petty, hurt each other as much as you could until you stormed out of his house, banging the door behind you. How am I doing?”
I drop my face into my hands and shake my head.
“Awhooo,” Chevron comments.
Nikki sighs. “And all this in front of the dog?”
Face still hidden, I nod.
“The poor thing is traumatized.”
I give her a look of desperation.
“Come on,” Nikki pulls me into a hug. “Everything will be all right.”
“How?”
“You two just have to talk.”
I snort. “Yeah, because Richard is so good at expressing his feelings.”
“Give him time. You ambushed him when he wasn’t ready. You should’ve let him get more used to you.”
“I know I was supposed to wait. But what if I don’t want to? What if I want to tell him how I feel when I feel it? Why is that so wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. But it’s wrong to expect Richard to be on the same page right away. Give him some time.”
“Oh, he has all the time in the world.”
“Meaning?”
“I’m not taking another step toward him. Not one.”
“So you’re just going to pretend the past forty-eight hours didn’t happen?”
“Exactly. If Richard changes his mind, he knows where to find me.”
***
Monday morning, I put on a brave face and go to the office. I wear a simple blouse, black capris, and sneakers to be switched with wedges in Brooklyn. Because Richard doesn’t like wedges. I don’t want to spark any extra tension, sexual or otherwise. I just want to get through the day, ignore him, and be ignored back.
I sit at my desk, bend my head low, and will myself to stare at my screen and just my screen. I don’t even blink when Richard walks in. He supplies a generic, “Hello,” that leaves me free enough not to reply, and then moves on to his office without a second glance in my direction. At least from what I can tell using only my peripheral vision.
So he’s going for an avoidance strategy, too. Very well! I am the queen of avoidance, I can keep my silent treatment going for weeks if I want to.
Mon, June 12 at 8:37 AM @PinkPanther has logged in
R u mad at the boss?
I guess not everyone is willing to ignore me though.
Mon, June 12 at 8:38 AM @PoshSpice you are now logged in
I don’t want to talk about it
We’re not talking
Okay
I don’t want to talk
Write
Or even think about it
???
Leave it alone
No can do
Please let it go
I might start crying
And I’d really rather not
Oh!
Yeah, oh!
You slept together
I’m logging off
I was wrong
And she’s successfully baited me into asking…
About what?
The boss being a lost cause
No, you weren’t
Yes, I was
It's clear from the way he keeps looking at you
(every five seconds)
A dart hits my heart. Hope? Fear? Love? All three? I don’t know. But I don’t have the luxury of indulging in false expectations. Richard has made it clear where he stands. His fear comes before his feelings and that’s not going to change no matter what I do.
He’s probably just mad
We had a big argument
That’s not the face of a “mad man”
Even if he could pass for a younger Jon Hamm
Not in the mood for jokes
I wasn’t joking
The boss isn’t mad
What is he then?
Terrified
That he is for sure.
And how's that better?
He’s terrified because he cares
Doesn’t matter if he doesn’t care
Or if he’s terrified he does care
The bottom line stays the same
We aren’t happening
Give it time
He’ll come around
Have you read the column?
No
Read the column
Whatever
Don’t you have any work to do?
All right Miss Crabby McCranky…
Talk to you later
Mon, June 12 at 9:26 AM @PinkPanther has logged off
I log off for real this time. It took all my willpower not to open that damn column over breakfast this morning, and now Indira is making my resolve crumble. I can read a column. It wouldn’t be like talking to him. It’s only words on the screen. I mean, what harm could come from it? Before I second-guess myself, I click on the magazine’s homepage and open the column.
Someone Once Told Me
by Richard Stratton
Last night I couldn’t rest. Unable to sit still in my apartment with only my thoughts as companions, I went for a walk... and I met Sally.
Sally? Another woman? A sharp pain in my chest makes me swallow as my mouth goes dry with fear. I grab my water bottle and chug a good half before I can bring my eyes back to the screen.
No, my name is not Harry, and this isn’t a romantic story.
Utter relief.
Sally is a woman in her late fifties, who has been living on the streets of Brooklyn for the better part of ten years, and who could easily pass for a seventy–year–old with her white hair and weathered features.
On a regular day, I would’ve passed Sally without even noticing her.
Not last night.
Someone once told me how easily homeless people disappear in the eyes of passers–by, almost becoming invisible. And how surprised I’d be if I stopped for a minute to hear the stories these people have to share.
So I stopped.
I asked Sally what her favorite sandwich was and what she wanted to drink. I bought a meal for both of us and we ate it together sitting on a bench in the park.
And Sally told me her story...
Not one of drugs or alcohol abuse, abandonment, or delinquency. Simply the story of a business investment gone terribly wrong, and Sally’s inability to get back on her feet after she lost everything.
I keep reading the details of how Sally invested all her money in a business that ran profitably for fifteen years before she had to file for bankruptcy, losing not only the business but everything else she had, too. But it is the conclusion of the article that gives me pause.
Sally told me all this, not with an air of bitter regret, but with sweet nostalgia in her voice. And when I asked her if she’d change any of her past choices, she told me that no, she wouldn’t. She had followed her dream. Sally had bet everything she had and lost. But she’d do it all again, as those years had been the best of her life...
Richard ends the article with a question.
Would you risk everything you have for a dream?
I don’t know, Richard, would you? Seems clear the answer is still no. Is he comparing me to Sally’s business? Saying love will give temporary ecstasy followed by an inevitable hard crash? Why did Indira make me read this? I’m the “someone who once told him,” but she can’t know that. So what’s the message here? My brain and heart are too exhausted for guesswork. Sorry, Richard. If you want to tell me something, you’ll have to say it to my face.
After reading the enigmatic column, I spend the rest of the day battling my instincts. All I want to do is look Richard’s way, but instead, I force my gaze ahead, not straying once.
***
There’s an art in avoiding people. In the next few days, I perfect mine. I time everything so I’ll never risk crossing paths with Richard. Step one, arrive at the office before him and never leave last. Step two, wait for him to come back from his lunch break before I take mine. Step three, whatever else Richard does, make sure I’m always one step ahead or behind so we never bump into one another.
Wednesday night, dead tired after three days of sitting on needles, I’m slouched on the couch when my phone rings, “Umbrella Corporation HR” appearing on the screen. Yeah, I’ve renamed Évoque after the zombie-apocalypse-causing corporation in Resident Evil! What do they want? Aha! They realized their mistake and want me back.
My exile in Brooklyn is over!
“Are you going to pick that up or you’re just going to let it ring?” Nikki asks from the other end of the couch.
Oh, I’m so picking up. “Blair Walker.”
“Blair, good evening, this is Natalie Rivers speaking. I’m Emilia Peterson’s executive assistant.”
“Of course, Natalie. How are you?”
“I’m well, thanks. You?”
“Same here.” Pleasantries over, I cut to the chase. “What can I do for you?”
“We recently had an opening for the position of Junior Fashion Editor and we wanted to see if you’d be interested in coming in for an interview.”
“Oh, I thought there weren’t going to be new openings for a while…”
“Yeah, um…” Natalie sounds embarrassed. “We had a person resign and so the position is open now.”
“Is this ‘someone’ Aurora Vanderbilt?”
“Yes, she quit after… well, I’m sure you know.”
I wonder if Aurora really quit or if they gave her a choice between resigning and being fired. Now the tax evasion scandal is out in the open, Évoque will do everything they can to distance the magazine from Maison Vanderbilt. Guess their money is no longer good now that everyone knows where it comes from.
What a bunch of hypocrites.
“Anyway,” Natalie continues. “Emilia has an opening in her calendar Friday morning at eight, would that work for you?”
“I’d need to take time off work. Would it be possible to have an appointment in the late evening?”
“I’m sorry, Emilia’s very busy. This is her only opening.”
That presumptuous bitch. She’s asking me to come in for an interview, but of course, I have to adjust my schedule to hers. She knows I want the job more than she wants to give it to me. As much as I can’t stand her, this is a real job, at a top magazine. My dream. No matter if I can’t stand the HR Manager, it’s not like I’ll have to work with her. I only need to survive the interview. Yeah, and go back to work at bitchland, leaving all the nice colleagues, work independence, and the boss you’re in love with behind.
Stop it, Richard won’t factor in this decision. Period.
“Okay, Natalie. I’ll adjust my schedule. See you on Friday.”