Margo’s attempt to starve me out of my new office has failed. With Laurie on the case, the matter was resolved in hours.
“The building manager said it was the first he’d heard of your electrical problem,” Laurie says when she stops by to deliver the good news. “Margo lied about calling.”
“Margo lies? Now there’s a shocker!”
The Minister’s sudden appearance startles us both. “Lily, I’ve been calling and calling you. Why aren’t you picking up your phone?”
“My phone line still hasn’t been transferred from my cubicle, Minister.”
She scowls and stalks off without another word. Laurie and I tiptoe to the door in time to see her enter Margo’s office.
“Margo, I have had just about enough of this,” she screeches as she’s closing the door.
Richard pokes his head out of his office to see what’s going on. When he sees us, he smiles, cups a hand to his ear and winks. I shoot him a smile before ducking back inside.
“What was that all about?” Laurie asks, following me inside.
“I suppose the Minister has had enough of Margo’s power pranks.”
“That much I got. I mean, what’s going on with you and Richard?”
“Nothing,” I squeak. Laurie raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Honestly, nothing’s going on,” I repeat in a calmer tone.
“Yeah, a whole lotta nuthin’ if you ask me.”
The next morning, my office phone rings for the first time.
“Libby, it’s Margo.” Figures, the woman who resisted hooking it up is the first to use it. “The Minister expects you at Casa Loma tonight for the Culture Vulture black-tie.”
“She told me I don’t have to attend,” I protest.
“I reminded her that someone must tend to her needs while I’m making contacts for future program support.” In other words, she needs me to hold the Minister’s purse while she networks with the cheese tray. “Be there at seven sharp,” she says, slamming down the phone.
The nerve of her, ordering me to attend an event outside of work hours and at the last minute—as if I have no life. I have a life, I just don’t have anything to wear. I’m tired of Roxanne’s lucky dress and in my current crush-weakened state, I fear finding myself with a dozen new ball gowns and only creditors to appreciate them.
Richard walks past my door and doubles back when he catches me staring into space.
“Trying to decide which party dress to wear tonight?” he asks, leaning against my door frame. “I liked the little black number you wore to the Opera Company affair.”
The guy has more talent for mind reading than Elliot, but he’s awfully forward, especially for a consultant. I should probably display a little righteous indignation, but I don’t waste my energy.
“I’m still waiting to see what Versace has lined up for me,” I say.
“Say, have you checked CNN’s Web site today? There’s a piece on Chicago’s Culture Vulture Week, which I presume is what we’re copying here.” He approaches my desk, comes around and leans over my shoulder to grab my mouse. “Allow me.”
“Libby.”
I jump at the sound of Margo’s voice. Richard jumps too, but recovers instantly.
“Hi, there!” he says cheerily. “What’s up?”
“I’d like to have a word with Libby, if you don’t mind,” she replies, stiffly.
“Not at all.” Seemingly undaunted, he adds, “Listen, when are we going to have a one-on-one about the trip to the north?”
“It seems like you’re booked solid with one-on-ones these days.”
“I’ll always make time to chat with a beautiful woman,” Richard says, turning on the charm. Margo flushes and looks down. With her personality, she probably doesn’t get compliments that often. Winking at me as he leaves, Richard says, “I think you’ll find that article very interesting.”
“Libby,” Margo whispers as soon as he’s out of earshot, “is he bothering you?”
“No, he was directing me to a review on the CNN Web site.”
“Well, you let me know if he’s bothering you and I’ll take it up with the Minister.”
“I appreciate his help, Margo.”
Since she didn’t have a reason to drop by in the first place, she leaves without further discussion.
To: Roxnrhead@interlog.ca
From: Mclib@hotmail.ca
Subject: Gathering momentum
Rox,
Just thought you’d like to know that the geologic disturbance you felt on the European continent last night was not an earthquake, but the aftershock of my crush shifting into third gear. Richard has turned up the heat on the flirting. Today, he told me he likes your lucky dress! You were right about its powers!
What a relief. Third gear means I can acquire candles and perfume without guilt. I booked an appointment at the Aveda spa for a facial and eyebrow waxing—time to surrender my simian ridge for a provocative arch!
Third gear protocol also permits the purchase of a new ball gown. Now, don’t give me a hard time, Rox. I’ve got a formal event this evening and Richard has taken too much notice of your frock for me to wear it again so soon. Besides, I need to show more skin to offset the mouth guard. I so wish it came off today instead of tomorrow. Lola recommended a place in Yorkville that sells used designer cast-offs from the city’s jet set. I picked up a silver-gray strapless Ralph Lauren for a mere $200! It’s a little big around the bust and since there’s no time to alter it before tonight’s event, I plan to use double-sided tape to anchor it in place. If it works for Jennifer Lopez, it will work for me.
Thank God I’m triple the Minister’s size. Imagine if I showed up in one of her cast-off frocks? Gotta run. It’s almost 4:30 and I’m sneaking away early to tape my dress on!
Lib
It’s a miracle that I’m only twenty minutes late arriving at Casa Loma. Margo caught me just as I was leaving and demanded I reformat the Minister’s remarks a font size larger. By the time I sweet-talked the balky printer, there was no time to buy double-sided tape. Instead, I secured the dress with loops of ordinary transparent tape, which should do the trick. Soon I’ll be so burdened with bouquets and clutches that no one will even see my dress.
Laurie, who also received a last-minute decree to attend, greets me at the castle door.
“Hey, Cinderella, is that a new gown?”
“Well, new to me.”
“Trying to impress the Big Dick?”
“Laurie!” I exclaim, looking around quickly. “That’s Prince Charming, if you don’t mind.”
We’re still giggling a few minutes later when the Minister makes her grand entrance, dazzling in a silver, sequined, strapless dress.
“Libby,” Margo calls, “we could use a little help over here.”
As I take her coat and wrap, the Minister favors me with a look of such intense loathing I fear I’ve stepped back through a time warp. What have I done now?
“You’re wearing silver,” she snaps. “We look like the Double-mint twins. Stand away from me, please.”
“I can’t imagine anyone will confuse us, Minister,” I reply, drawing myself up to full party height of six foot five. “My gown is gray and yours has sequins.”
“They’re virtually identical! Put my wrap on,” the Minister commands, as she pushes Margo, in her sensible navy taffeta, between us.
“I am not wearing a wrap all night, Minister—it’s warm in here. If my dress bothers you that much, I’ll keep to the other side of the room.”
“I don’t think so,” Margo says. “We need your support. Put the wrap on.”
She stands on her tiptoes and tries to slip the Minister’s shawl over my shoulders. I shrug and it slides off onto Margo’s head. Tousled but undefeated, she tries again.
“Stop it, you two,” the Minister whispers, before calling out, “Why, Tim! What a pleasure to see you!”
Tim Kennedy is standing at the entrance, apparently transfixed by the sight of Margo and me wrestling with the wrap. At his side is a stunning woman with sleek blond hair. A wave of nausea rolls over me as I look from Tim to his date. I let my hands drop to my side and Margo seizes the moment to hoist the wrap onto my shoulders. Tim eyes me coldly, then turns his gaze on the Minister and signals that he’ll be right over. He turns to help his companion with her coat.
“Minister, let’s invite Tim and his girlfriend to sit at our table,” Margo says.
I glance down to see Margo watching me watch Tim. She may not know the source of tension between us, but she instinctually recognizes an opportunity to make me suffer. I snatch the Minister’s wrap from my shoulders, roll it and shove it under my arm.
“Lily, be careful, that’s cashmere,” the Minister says. “By the way, your dress looks very familiar… Is it Lauren?”
Richard’s arrival saves me from responding. He strides across the hall and plants a kiss on the Minister’s mouth.
“Clarice, you’re absolutely enchanting,” he booms. “And Margo,” he adds, stooping to buss the wretched one’s cheek, “Aren’t you smashing?” Margo blushes to her rosy roots.
“Richard,” Mrs. Cleary pouts, “don’t you think Lily’s dress is too similar to mine?”
“Of course not, Clarice, you’re in a league all your own. I promise all eyes will be on you. But,” he adds, winking at me, “Libby does scrub up well.”
He puts a warm hand on my bare shoulder and I almost drop the cashmere wrap. When I look up, I find Tim watching me swoon. In retaliation, perhaps, he places his hand in the small of his date’s back to guide her across the room toward our table. To my relief, however, they sit at the other end, leaving me flanked by two painfully boring bankers.
The Minister is the first speaker of the evening and despite a hurried belt of champagne, she delivers my toast brilliantly. I’m elated with the audience’s warm response. Tim speaks next. I’m impressed with his ease and his humor, but my enjoyment is ruined by his date’s overly enthusiastic applause. Look at her showing off those big white teeth, the shameless hussy.
Speeches over, the waiters begin circulating with trays of food. Most guests are free to mingle, but I’m on a short leash, never more than ten feet from the Minister as I wrangle her purse and her wrap. Not that I miss out on the refreshments. I have learned to stake out a spot where I can place my drink and goodie plate, which allows me to indulge with one hand. In fact, I’m enjoying a plate of shrimp when Richard approaches.
“You did a nice job with that speech,” he says, spearing two of my shrimp.
“I’ve got my hands full, but somehow I manage.”
He leans over to wipe a tiny speck of cocktail sauce from my arm. “You can dress a girl up…”
“Careful of the cashmere. I can’t even afford the dry cleaning.”
“Richard,” Margo’s piping voice shatters the moment. “I don’t believe you’ve met Tim Kennedy.” She has Tim and date in tow and I suspect her timing is deliberate. “Tim runs the Ontario Youth Orchestra and this is Melanie.”
Tim ignores me as he shakes Richard’s hand. No one introduces me to Melanie so I stand by awkwardly, until Margo instructs me to fetch Tim and Melanie a drink from the bar. This is a particularly humiliating move and even Tim seems embarrassed.
“No need, Margo,” he says. “We’ll head over to the bar in a minute.”
“I’d be happy to get you a drink,” I say, eager not only to avoid another scene, but to avoid having Tim detect my mouth guard. I hand Margo the Minister’s things and set off.
“Pick up a tray of snacks, too, Libby,” she calls after me.
Having noted earlier that Melanie, like Tim, is a red wine drinker, I request two glasses of white. I take my sweet time about delivering them, too. I am duly punished, however, when I find Tim sitting alone at our table, making it impossible for us to avoid each other. The Minister and Melanie have disappeared, while Margo and Richard have moved a few steps away and are speaking in hushed tones. At first, I assume they’re discussing the northern tour, but then, to my shock, Margo actually laughs—a sound I’ve rarely heard. Richard raises his wine and they clink glasses.
As much as I’d like to observe them longer, Tim’s presence is too distracting. I set the drinks on the table in front of him; he simply nods his thanks.
“So, how are you? I hope Stella is well,” I say.
“Fine,” he replies, icily.
“Great! Well, I suppose I should see to the Minister…”
I’m about to bolt when I notice Margo has left the Minister’s purse and wrap beside Tim. Reaching for them abruptly, I topple the table’s floral centerpiece, which rolls toward Tim. As I lunge across the table for it, my right breast blasts through the tape loops and over the top of my dress.
“I wouldn’t leave that out where Clarice can see it,” Tim says smiling, as I clumsily stuff everything back where it belongs. My face is so hot it feels as if my head could explode. “Relax, Libby,” Tim says, thawing marginally. “I’ve seen it before, remember?”
Finding my tongue at last, I say, “It’s all Stella’s fault. She ate my best party bra.” When he laughs, I seize the moment to say, “Listen, Tim, I really want to—”
“What’s going on?” Margo interrupts, arriving with Richard.
“Libby is taking her frustrations out on the flowers, as usual,” Tim says, retrieving the centerpiece from the floor. “Aren’t you chilly, Libby? Maybe you should put this wrap on.” He stands and arranges the Minister’s wrap around my shoulders; I clamp it to my sides with my elbows.
Margo is suspicious and she toys with me further when Melanie returns to the table.
“So, Libby,” she says, with false chumminess, “Melanie writes for Maclean’s magazine. Isn’t that exciting? You went to journalism school too, didn’t you? I was just telling Melanie that you often help the Minister with her speeches.”
Melanie gives me a puzzled smile, but Tim appears to enjoy the abuse. (Maybe I just imagined a thaw?) Richard, however, steps forward chivalrously and hands me a glass of white wine.
“She drinks red,” Tim says.
“You do?” Richard asks me.
“This is fine,” I say quickly, “although I often drink red.”
“I’ll get you a glass of red, then.”
“No, I’ll get it,” Tim says. “I have to get some red for Melanie and me, anyway.”
While Tim gets the wine, I ponder whether he is trying to make me feel small for the white wine stunt, or is jealous of Richard. He soon returns and hands me a glass, but I’m afraid to raise it to my lips, lest a boob escape.
“So, Libby, Margo’s been keeping you chained to your desk?” Tim asks, with a trace of bitterness.
“Very busy, yes,” I mumble.
Margo says nothing, but watches closely, alert for clues.
“Oh, she gets out,” Richard says. “We met at a bookstore recently.”
Both Margo and Tim look annoyed at this—and Richard has only begun peeing around me.
“That was shortly after I arrived from London. Of course, I still go back every other week to consult with two major British corporations. So, remind me what you do, Tim?”
“I teach.”
“University?”
“High-school music.”
“Oh, an artiste,” Richard says, condescendingly. “I suppose you’re also quite an accomplished musician?”
“Quite.”
“I see. What a rewarding career—although not financially, I’m sure, unless they pay teachers better here than they do in Britain.”
Suspecting that Richard will only stop posturing if I leave, I call out to the Minister, who’s across the room chatting up the Chair of the Art Gallery of Ontario: “On my way, Minister! Please excuse me,” I say to the others, “the Minister waved me over.”
“She didn’t,” says the ever-helpful Margo.
“She did. I don’t expect you can get a good view from your position. I do have the height advantage,” I say sweetly.
Tim, Richard and Melanie all laugh. I’ll pay for my impudence tomorrow, but at least I’ve lifted the mood. I bid a polite good-night to Melanie and Tim and nod curtly at Richard before I leave. How dare he suggest there’s something between us? And how dare he mark his territory by diminishing Tim?
I spend the rest of the evening avoiding them all. As much as I’d like to follow through on my earlier attempt to apologize to Tim, I keep out of harm’s way, huddling behind a pillar, swathed in the Minister’s wrap. Tim and Melanie certainly seem very comfortable with each other. How could he be that comfortable with someone else so soon? It’s only been a few weeks since our last date. Maybe he was already seeing her, the cad!
Meanwhile, Richard cuts a dashing figure as he works the room. He may be a pig, but he’s the sexiest pig I’ve ever met.
“Lily, for heaven’s sake, give me that wrap. I am catching a chill.”
Dr. Hollywell completes the final work on my veneers and hands me a mirror. At this point, I hardly care how they look, but to my relief, they’re great! I flash my new teeth to the women in the office, then hurry off to the MAC boutique to select four new shades of lipstick. Now that it’s done there’s nothing to do but enjoy my own beauty!
Not one colleague notices my new choppers—not even Richard, who’s been holed up in his office. It’s rumored he’s working on a campaign to bring order to this office and the first step will be shooting down Margo’s idea of a road trip through the northern constituencies. The Minister has called a meeting to discuss Richard’s preliminary observations and for a change, Laurie and I are invited.
The Minister is in a good mood when we arrive in the boardroom. She’s sitting beside Richard and keeps touching his arm. Dour Margo, who has a coffee stain over her left breast and red jam on her sleeve, is on the Minister’s other side. Laurie and I take seats at the end of the table, where the air circulation is a little better. I’m worried my pheromone receptors might overload, even though I’m still annoyed over the way Richard treated Tim.
Richard begins by delivering a short presentation that deftly congratulates us on past successes while pointing out areas for improvement.
“My media analysis revealed a great deal of favorable coverage, due in no small part to Margo’s efforts,” he says, smiling at her. “I would like to hear more about your plans with respect to traveling to northern Ontario.”
Margo says that the trip would give the Minister a chance to promote Club 3:30 in a region she hasn’t yet visited. In response, Richard suggests, in the nicest possible way, that she’s a complete idiot. He says that the trip is unnecessary, given the heavy media coverage that program has already received across the province. After our recent adventures on the road, we’d be better to focus on generating press through a series of positive announcements about our upcoming programs. We’re far more likely to get good press about the arts in the big city. In fact, we’ve been getting consistently good coverage of local events, he notes, “thanks to some excellent speeches from Libby.” The Minister beams at me.
Richard concludes by saying that he’d welcome further discussion with Margo, who has turned an unusual color. She must be beside herself, because she storms out of the boardroom without so much as touching the tray of perfectly good pastries.
A battle is heating up between Richard and Margo. They’ve been ignoring each other all week, speaking only when absolutely necessary. The Minister has called another meeting to discuss Richard’s findings.
I am making my muffin selection when Richard and Margo file into the boardroom. Wasting no time on pleasantries, they start throwing punches. Apparently, Margo has continued to plan the trip to the north, despite Richard’s disapproval.
“Minister,” says Richard in a rare show of protocol, “I want to remind you of the words of Albert Einstein: ‘We cannot solve problems with the same thinking that created the problem.’ We must try something different.”
“With all due respect to Richard, Minister, I believe I understand the political environment in Ontario a little better than he does.”
“I’m sure you have an excellent understanding of Ontario’s unique perspective, Margo,” Richard says, “but I have nearly two decades of experience in anticipating the reactions of average voters—of Ma and Pa Backporch, as it were.”
“And how many back porches do they have in London, Richard?” Margo retorts, holding her own.
Richard glares at her. The Minister, on the other hand, appears amused. I suspect she rather enjoys bringing combustible people together to create a little drama in her life.
“Margo, Richard, please… I am open to being convinced either way on this, but we won’t get anywhere with you sniping at each other. What do you think, Lily?”
Lily is in a bit of a bind: her heart pounds for Richard, but her brain remembers that Margo currently controls her career. On the other hand, she’d rather endure another round with Dr. Hollywell than sleep in the same room as Margo again. So Lily hops onto the fence.
“Minister, I see Richard’s point and I see Margo’s point. Since we have nothing new to promote on a road trip, why don’t we try Richard’s way first? Perhaps we could travel to the north sometime down the road.”
Margo and Richard are clearly unimpressed.
“Well, I’ll need to think about it,” the Minister concludes, adding with a tinkling laugh, “I hear Wawa is lovely this time of year.”
“Minister,” says Margo, with a smug smile, “perhaps our new consultant could give us an unbiased opinion.”
“New consultant!” Mrs. Cleary and Richard exclaim in unison.
“Yes, we’ve hired Mark O’Brien from Sanders and Stevenson to provide the Ministry with advice.”
“On what?” the Minister asks, furiously. “How could you hire another consultant without asking me first?”
“Actually, the Deputy Minister made the decision. I’ve been trying to brief you on this for over a week, but you’ve canceled our meetings. The Deputy wants strategic advice on introducing the new programs we’re planning.”
“I will speak to him about this directly. It’s ridiculous! How many consultants do we need around here? I do apologize, Richard.”
“Not at all, Clarice,” he replies. “I welcome Mark’s input.”
The Minister adjourns the meeting and as Margo stands to leave, she tears the tops from two muffins and stashes them in her briefcase. I’m not sure how she convinced the Deputy Minister to buy it, but it was a masterful stroke. With Mark as her mouthpiece, she’ll be far better able to counter Richard’s Rasputin-like influence on the Minister. I have no doubt at all that she’ll manipulate Mark so thoroughly that he won’t have an opinion to call his own. Richard will recommend one thing, Mark another and the two will effectively cancel each other out. A government dream come true!