The Bureau of Holiday Affairs

by Andi Marquette

Jill laughed again. “Badass?”

  “Yeah. I have a feeling that Madison—as awesome as she is now—is going to blow that out of the water when she hits adulthood.” And she was going to be a solid foundation for Jill, but Robin didn’t say that because she wasn’t sure how much of the past two weeks was dreams or hallucinations. For all she knew, this was a dream, and she’d wake up with the hole in her deep down that she would never be able to fill. Thinking that the time she was currently spending with Jill might be some kind of delusion was painful. Pretty awful, actually. And Robin hoped this wasn’t a dream, because she had to make sure that Jill found someone who was worthy of her. No way was Robin going to allow that future to come to pass.

  “She is pretty amazing,” Jill said with parental pride. “And you’ll get to experience some of that in your super aunt role.”

  “I hope so. I want to be the cool lesbian aunt.”

  “As opposed to the uncool one?”

  Robin grinned. “Yeah. As opposed to that one. I’m working on not being that.”

  Her blinds were still open, and she stared out at the neighboring buildings, their dark facades broken by interior lighting that emanated from myriad windows. Beyond those, the river was a smooth black, darker than night, beneath the spiderweb cables of the closest bridge. She’d never really noticed the lights on the bridges, never really appreciated how a nightscape was its own kind of life under the cover of darkness.

  “I think you’re going to be an excellent aunt,” Jill said.

  “I’ll probably need tips, so can I keep you on speed dial?”

  Jill didn’t answer right away, and it dawned on Robin that maybe Jill thought she was flirting.

  “Absolutely,” Jill said. “When’s the baby due?”

  Robin relaxed. Jill’s tone hadn’t changed. “June. Right around my birthday.”

  “That’s almost too perfect.”

  “Smart kid.”

  “Must run in the family.”

  “Probably Deb’s side—Frank’s wife.” A red light approached the closest bridge. A helicopter, Robin figured, and she wondered how she’d managed to miss all the little things that happened outside her windows.

  “Maybe that’s it,” Jill said, and Robin could tell she was teasing.

  “So when are you done playing in Vermont?”

  “A couple of days. I have to be back no later than the twenty-ninth so I can get things ready for the show on New Year’s Eve.”

  “Don’t forget to text me the location and time and all that.” Robin toyed with the idea of asking her if she wanted to grab lunch again, but decided not to. She’d see her in a few days, after all, and she still had to figure out how to change the future’s trajectory. How, basically, to save Jill from Robin.

  “Don’t worry. Thanks for talking. I’ll see you later.”

  “Yeah. Bye.” Robin hung up and thought about her friends and acquaintances. Did she know anybody who would be a good match for Jill? The lights on one of the distant bridges blinked, and she watched it for a while. Three of her single friends came to mind who might be possibilities. Robin decided to text them and find out if they wanted to come with her to the art opening. If they all came, that was three opportunities for Jill to click with one of them.

  Robin stretched out on the couch with a blanket, deciding she wanted to fall asleep with her blinds open to the night, and to whatever possibilities might be in it. Tomorrow, she’d text her friends about the art gallery.

  “Hey, Mike,” Robin said to the security guard. He looked at her, surprised. “Didn’t get a chance to give this to you Christmas Eve.” She placed a Starbucks gift card on the information counter.

  He picked it up, still staring at her. “Did you have a good Christmas?”

  “Yes. You?”

  “Lots of family. Hectic, but nice.” The phone at his station rang. “Thanks, Ms. Preston.” He held the card up and answered with his free hand.

  Robin nodded and waved and caught the elevator to her floor. She had not wanted to come to work, and it should have bothered her, how little she cared about Frost Enterprises and its bottom lines. It was like the movie The Matrix, she thought as the elevator ascended. Everything she’d thought was real and important and defining in her life wasn’t, and she wanted something real, something simple, something that fed whatever it was that stirred inside. Maybe she should watch more movies. She’d gotten out of the habit when she started working at Frost, only taking time once in a while these days to stream something.

  “Hi, Laura.” She put a gift card for a nearby restaurant on Laura’s desk. Her outfit today was a tasteful but conservative navy suit with a light-blue blouse. “Forgot to give this to you before you left Tuesday.”

  Laura looked at the card, then at Robin. “Thank you. How was your Christmas?”

  Robin smiled. “Revealing. Yours?”

  “Fun with my family.” She said it with an expression that conveyed how important that was to her.

  “Glad to hear it. Sorry we’re back in the fray today. I’m pretty sure I have at least one meeting, and I’ll be working on my presentation for tomorrow, so I’ll be around if you need anything.” Robin went into her office. She started to shut the door, thought better of it, and left it partially open. For the first time since she’d been working here, a closed door made her feel claustrophobic.

  Fortunately, her current office wasn’t the one from Christmas Future, and for that she was glad. Still, it looked and felt corporate, like how someone who thought she was important would set up an office. Heavy desk—both expansive and expensive—leather chairs and couch, track lighting, and art she hadn’t chosen herself. Most of it was generic photographs of parts of the city that probably came from a visitors’ guide. Jill’s “Port 9” would look really good in the light from the windows—she caught herself. None of Jill’s art belonged in this fake, sterile, and cutthroat environment.

  Robin threw her coat onto the couch and set her satchel on the floor next to her desk but then changed her mind and took it over to her couch, where she set up her laptop so she could put her feet up on the coffee table. No punk T-shirt under her blouse today, but she wore three rings and tiny skulls-and-crossbones earrings. She’d left her hair down. It made her feel freer, somehow, not to have it pulled back all the time.

  She checked her calendar. Meeting in an hour. Then to her email, one marked urgent from Mary in HR. Fortunately, Lydia Evans and Joseph Spinelli had agreed to return and could she please sign the paperwork? Damn right she could, and she printed it out and did just that.

  “Ms. Pres—Robin.” Laura poked her head in.

  “Just a sec.” She checked to make sure she’d initialed everything. “Could you make sure Mary in HR gets this ASAP?” Robin handed it to Laura.

  “Yes. I just wanted to let you know that I have some ideas about your presentation, if you have some time this afternoon.”

  “I think you’d know whether that was the case. If I do, put yourself in that slot, and we’ll go from there.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Laura retreated, but Robin thought she saw her smile.

  Time to get ready for this damn meeting. She’d much rather be drawing, she thought as she plopped down on the couch again to work. Twenty minutes later her personal phone dinged with a text message. She checked it and smiled. Jill, sending her the time and place for the art opening. Robin knew of this gallery, though she’d never been inside. If she recalled correctly, it had been a shipping warehouse in the early twentieth century. She vaguely remembered a lot of brick and two huge windows in the front.

  With this information, Robin texted her friends, hoping all three could come. That would be ideal. She was about to put her phone down when instead she looked at the selfies she’d done with Jill. She stared at them for a long time, thinking about the few weeks before the breakup.

  Jill
had been distancing herself, Robin realized, but not because she wasn’t in love with her. Robin hadn’t fully recognized it and instead figured something was going on with Jill’s family, which was usually the case when Jill withdrew. She knew now that was correct, but when Robin finally tried to get Jill to tell her what was going on, Jill withdrew permanently. But here she was now, making goofy faces with Robin, like they used to do in cheap photo booths in Oregon. Robin scrolled to a photo she took of Jill alone, and she studied Jill’s face, seeing the woman she’d loved long ago, but also someone else who’d gone through her own difficult times but still managed to bring her old self along and fuse it to the new.

  Robin set her phone aside. Dangerous, looking at those photos, because she had a future to prevent and looking only seemed to make her poke through ashes in hopes of finding an ember. Which was just as off-the-wall as what had been happening for the past two weeks.

  Her calendar dinged its fifteen-minute pre-meeting warning and Robin set her laptop aside and retrieved her tablet from her bag, not looking forward to spending the next hour with a bunch of men, some of whom might resent her for her title. Her Matrix comparison sprang to mind as she walked down the hall, and she wondered if the Bureau handed out red pills, in addition to its “scared straight” program. Those thoughts amused her, and she took a seat toward the end of the big conference table, opposite where Frost usually sat.

  Cynthia’s husband came in and sat across from her. She greeted him, but he ignored her. Whatever. Frost’s executive guys weren’t always the friendliest bunch and a lot of them had issues with women. Hopefully, Cynthia moved on to her latest toy, and she’d forget all about Robin. That would be one less mess to deal with.

  The meeting started, and Robin dutifully recorded updates from the departments who’d shown up, but she didn’t care. She surreptitiously looked at rental properties in Seattle again, as if that provided her a lifeline, though she wasn’t sure she had the gumption to grab it. Baby steps.

  Finally, the meeting wound to a close, and she got up, dutifully chatting to others as they left. She and Brady were the last two in the room, and he shut the door before she exited, sealing them in, and proceeded to get right up in her face.

  “Listen up, Preston.”

  “What—”

  “Shut up.”

  “Excuse me?” Adrenaline surged through her, and she checked the door, debating her chances of making it out before a scene erupted in here.

  “I’m going to say this once,” he said in a low, dangerous tone. “You stay the hell away from my wife.”

  Stunned, she could only stare. So this was how Cynthia was going to get back at her. She should have figured as much.

  “Goddamn dyke, coming on to every woman you see.”

  Robin regained her voice, and she kept it level despite her rising anger. “That’s way out of line.”

  “I’ll tell you what’s out of line,” he snarled. “Sexually harassing my wife.”

  “Harassment? What the hell are you talking about?”

  Her tone may have conveyed adequate outrage, because he stepped back. “Don’t play fucking stupid.”

  “And don’t make bullshit accusations.”

  He glared at her. “Do you deny trying to seduce my wife?”

  “I don’t have to answer any of your goddamn questions. Maybe you should ask your wife what she does in her spare time instead of throwing crap like this around.”

  His face flushed red, and he clenched his fists. Robin was reminded of a documentary she’d seen on volcanoes. “This isn’t over,” he said.

  “It damn well is. I don’t want anything to do with you or your wife. Stay the hell away from me.” Nobody was going to push her around. Especially not like this.

  “Watch yourself, Preston,” he said, raising his index finger in her face to emphasize his point.

  “Fuck off,” she snapped back as he stormed out of the room, leaving her to stare after him. Maybe she shouldn’t have said that last thing. Not very professional of her. But then again, neither was accusing her of sexually harassing his wife. Fuck you, too, Cynthia. Good thing she’d saved all her texts, though there was nothing overtly sexual in them. But they did prove that Cynthia sure wasn’t uncomfortable with Robin contacting her.

  Once the adrenaline from the encounter wore off, her stomach churned with anxiety. What exactly had Cynthia told Brady? More importantly, what would he do with her lies? She clenched her teeth and went back to her office, but she couldn’t calm down. Should she contact Cynthia and have it out with her? No. Bad idea. It would only add more fuel to her sick revenge fantasy.

  She glared out the window. What options did she have? She couldn’t go to Frost, because that might bring down an investigation. Even though her relationship with Cynthia had been consensual, a whole lot of dirty laundry would get aired, and they’d find a way to get rid of her. Going to Cynthia was out of the question, because she was setting Robin up to take a fall. Cynthia would probably demand sex to make the story go away, and there was no way in hell Robin would allow Cynthia to blackmail her. That thought made her stomach twist even more.

  What about Brady? Maybe if he saw the texts to Robin from Cynthia, he’d back off. Or he’d push for Robin’s resignation or firing, whichever came first, to make it go away. Plus, he wouldn’t want to be made to look like a fool if he knew his wife was playing him, too. Still, that was an angle Robin could exploit. Join forces with Brady, and isolate Cynthia.

  The idea faded quickly. Cynthia was the quintessential trophy wife, from an equally monied and powerful family. She could no doubt make all kinds of trouble for Brady, too. For all Robin knew, she had dirt on her own husband and she probably used it. She forced herself to take several deep breaths. Robin didn’t have to approach Cynthia in the first place and talk her into bed. Some of this was her own fault. She grimaced. Now that Brady had put her on notice, maybe the issue was over.

  But she doubted it. Brady had lackeys who would love to see Robin take a fall. She groaned. This was revenge on Cynthia’s part, but it was also politics. And nothing got uglier than a mixture of those two toxic ingredients.

  She’d also bet money that no matter what she did or said at tomorrow’s meeting, there was no way in hell she’d get promoted or even recognized. Especially if Brady went to Frost and planted ideas with him She half laughed. All this time, she’d been playing politics so hard, working the system in ways both moral and not, and ultimately, it probably didn’t mean dick. If she hadn’t gotten mixed up with Cynthia, something else might have knocked her off the corporate ladder.

  And what did it matter, ultimately? She’d either gone nuts in the past few days or had an epiphany and neither of those was conducive to her current corporate culture. What to do about it was a whole other matter, and not one she was ready to deal with.

  Robin went to get some lunch, though she wasn’t hungry. But she’d be damned if she let Brady or any of his people see her sweat about this.

  CHAPTER 9

  “Ms.—Robin.”

  Robin looked up from her couch, which was proving infinitely more comfortable than her desk, though this area of her office was starting to look like her brother’s college bachelor pad. Her to-go containers from lunch were stacked on the coffee table next to a couple coffee cups, and she’d tossed her shoes on the floor next to it. Laura stood in her office doorway holding a stack of papers and a tablet. Her gaze swept the coffee table and her expression went from confused to amused in a matter of seconds.

  “Oh, yeah. Time to talk about the presentation. Where do you want to sit?”

  “The table is probably easiest. I have some things to spread out, and it’ll be easier for you to see them over here.”

  “Sure.” Robin got up with her laptop and padded over to the table in her stocking feet. She loaded the presentation and positioned the laptop so both she an
d Laura could easily see it. Laura spread some documents out on the other end of the table and placed her tablet next to the laptop, also with a slideshow loaded. The two of them sat down.

  “I’ve done two different versions,” Laura said. “One falls more in line with what Frost has been doing for years. The other—” She stopped. “Well, that’s my wishful thinking presentation, based on trends I’ve been seeing in business and corporate policy.

  “Let’s see the one that’s in line with Frost.”

  Laura obliged, and Robin noted that it had incorporated most of Robin’s slides in a slightly different order, and with better accompanying figures in some cases. Laura was good, and Robin wished she’d tapped her expertise earlier.

  “Okay, let’s see the other one.”

  Laura switched to it and halfway through, Robin stopped her. “This is brilliant.”

  “You haven’t seen all of it.”

  “Fine. Let’s go through the rest, but I’m pretty sure my opinion is not going to change.” Laura had brought in about a third of Robin’s slides, but she’d contextualized them in terms of progressive corporate policies that emphasized investing in human capital over bottom line, citing several examples from many successful businesses of varying sizes, up to a multinational. It was everything Robin wasn’t until recently, and everything Frost’s culture stood against.

  “I love this.” Robin started it from the beginning. It was refreshing, and rebellious, two things she was enjoying more of these days. “How long did it take you to do it?”

  “Not very. These are all things I’ve been following for months, and they’re issues that I dealt with in college. I’m one of those bleeding heart social sciences majors. I studied sociology with an emphasis on business culture.”

  Robin vaguely remembered that from Laura’s résumé. She turned from the tablet and looked hard at Laura. “Can I use this tomorrow? And I’d like you to come as well, and team with me in presenting it. I can do a quick background read on most of this, since I’m familiar with it, too, but I’d like to have you there as the expert.”