The Bureau of Holiday Affairs

by Andi Marquette

  “A couple of people thought you were, and I quote, a ‘libtard’.”

  Robin made a disgusted noise in her throat. “I have a pretty good idea who they are.”

  “A few others were cautious, but thought your organization was great. And they liked the music.”

  Robin laughed as they got off the elevator. “Well, that’s something.”

  “The entire board is pleased.”

  “That is also something. Want to grab lunch?”

  Laura looked at her, surprised.

  “The board is eating with Frost and friends.”

  “You got an invitation.”

  “I called Pruitt’s temporary assistant directly a couple days ago and made my excuses. Client issue, and we want to present Frost in the best possible light, of course.” She smirked. The truth is, she didn’t feel like sucking up, and she didn’t feel like bringing her little rebel out and stabbing Brady with a fork. After yesterday’s conversations with both Laura and then Magnolia—if she hadn’t imagined that—she was glad she’d made the decision.

  “Why wouldn’t you want to go to that?”

  “I’d rather have lunch with someone who at least gives me the benefit of the doubt than a bunch of guys who really don’t give a shit who I am or what I do. Although after today’s presentation, it would’ve been fun to see Frost trying to say nice things about me to the board members that liked it.”

  Laura raised her eyebrows at Robin’s assessment and smiled. “You could probably still go.”

  “Lost my taste for that kind of meal. How about you? Lunch?” Robin asked again.

  “Yes.”

  “Great. Let me get my stuff.” She went into her office for her coat and turned her personal phone back on. Caroline had texted to say she could come to the opening, but Robin wasn’t as sure as she had been about that. Krampus had said the future she’d seen with Jill and Madison could change based on changing the present. Wouldn’t one option for changing the present be making sure she doesn’t hook up with Jill? And wouldn’t it be that much easier to avoid if somebody came into Jill’s life who she hit it off with? Because Robin wasn’t sure she trusted herself to make the right decision where Jill was concerned. She put her coat on and left her office.

  CHAPTER 10

  Robin waited for her coffee to achieve its required strength. Krampus’s business card was still on the counter but she refused to touch it, afraid it might conjure him or the Bureau. She’d ignored checking her work phone yesterday evening and instead made plane reservations to visit Frank and then contacted her accountant and checked a few financial things. Frost was a dick, she realized, and would probably throw her under the bus sooner rather than later. She wanted to get her ducks in a row and prepare for the hatchet. He had the weekend to plan something, after all.

  Funny, how she didn’t care. She’d spent all the years since college making sure she was smart with her money, and her business degrees had taught her a thing or two about investing. She’d built a decent portfolio. She’d be all right. All kinds of things were in motion in her life, and though she wasn’t sure where everything would settle, she’d decided to go with her feelings, and see what opportunities came up. Not her usual approach, but it was one she’d used years ago. Until her mom died and things went south with Jill, it had served her pretty well.

  Where would she be if she hadn’t worked so hard to stay unattached and uninvolved?

  Happier, probably. She poured herself a cup of coffee and left it next to Krampus’s card as she retrieved cream from the fridge. Her personal cell dinged from the living room with a text message, but she finished doctoring her coffee first. When she did check and saw Jill’s name, she smiled. She’d sent a photo. Robin opened it and kept smiling. Jill was skiing again, and she’d taken a selfie at the top of the run, grinning beneath her racing goggles and bright red hat. Bet you’d enjoy yourself up here, the message said, and Robin read it a few times, knowing she shouldn’t like the way it set something to glowing within. But she didn’t try to stop the feeling, either, because it was deep and safe—two things she hadn’t experienced in a while.

  The memory of Krampus’s visit knocked that sentiment right out. Clearly, in that alternative reality, hooking up again did Jill no favors, though Robin had caught herself thinking about it, and what it would be like to kiss her—and more—again. The clouds parted, and sunlight streamed into her living room. She opened her sliding glass doors and stepped out onto her balcony into the juxtaposition of winter cold and teasing warmth from the sun.

  Bet you’re right, she texted back to Jill. Hope you’re having a great day. She sipped her coffee, and after a few more minutes admiring the view, the cold sent her back inside. She’d accepted a dinner invitation with a friend and a few acquaintances, but she had the whole day to kill, and she wondered at herself, taking her second Saturday in a row off. But it felt really good, so she poured herself another cup of coffee and opened her sketchpad.

  “Girl, don’t make me put this size ten stiletto up your behind.”

  Robin jerked awake and lay still in bed, listening. She’d already had her three visits from the Bureau, plus some bonus hallucinations for good measure. What was Lady Magnolia doing in her apartment? After what might’ve been a minute, Robin relaxed. Damn dream. Her clock read a little past three in the morning. She’d only gotten into bed a couple of hours ago, spending time drawing after dinner. Good thing it was Sunday. Hearing nothing but the competent whir of her refrigerator from the kitchen, she closed her eyes again.

  “Didn’t you hear anything Mr. Rampus said, child?” Lady Magnolia’s drawl sounded, both close and far away.

  “What are you talking about?” Robin mumbled, half asleep but deciding that she’d play along with the dream. It took less energy than waking up.

  “Change your perspective, and you change the outcome,” Lady Magnolia said.

  “What the hell does that mean?” And who had said that first? Oh, yeah. Krampus. Her limbs were heavy and warm, like she was lying in oatmeal. She giggled, but she was so relaxed that it sounded more like a soft little bark and a snort.

  “Oh, Lord, sugar. My mama always told me that when opportunity knocks, you don’t leave her waiting on the porch.”

  “Thanks for the advice. Can I sleep now?” Robin was really tired, and there was nothing she could do about whatever Lady Magnolia was talking about. Besides, there was nobody at her door. This was a secure building. She’d just sleep for a while. Robin sank into darkness, and when she woke up, daylight flooded her bedroom.

  She didn’t remember opening the blinds in here, but it wouldn’t surprise her if she had, since she’d developed the habit of doing it in the other room. Almost ten. She never slept this late on the weekends, but she realized that, for the first time in a long time, she enjoyed sleeping in. How long had it been since she’d done that? Too long. Much too long.

  Her phone rang from somewhere else. She listened to it for a couple of seconds before she remembered it was in the living room, and then it dawned on her that the ringtone was one she’d programmed for Jill. She didn’t normally do that, give people their own ringtones. She wasn’t sure why she’d done it for Jill’s number, but maybe their shared past gave Jill extra weight in Robin’s life. It was too late by the time she got to the phone, dragging one of her blankets behind her. One foot had gotten wrapped up in it.

  Robin speed-dialed Jill.

  “Good morning,” Jill answered.

  “Hey.”

  “Oh, hell. Did I wake you up?”

  “Um. Not really.”

  “You sure? You have your just-woke-up voice on.”

  “No, I was up. I haven’t had my coffee yet, though.”

  Jill laughed. “You want to call back after you take care of that?”

  “No, it’s okay. But I will start making it while you talk.” It occu
rred to Robin that Jill remembered what she sounded like in the mornings, after all these years. She smiled as she kicked the blanket off and went into the kitchen.

  “Okay, so I’m done with all that skiing in Vermont, and I got back into the city last night. I’m wondering if you wanted to have lunch again,” Jill said.

  Robin finished pouring coffee beans into the grinder. God, she wanted to…“Yes,” she said and then wondered why she’d voiced that aloud. Was this even a good idea? “But hold on a sec. Grinding.” She pressed the button on the grinder down but could still hear Jill’s laughter over the phone. A few seconds later, Jill spoke.

  “All done?”

  “With that part, yes. Go ahead and tell me your plan for lunch.” Robin prepared the French press, filled her electric kettle, and turned it on.

  “Feel like meeting me somewhere near the gallery?”

  “Sure. Just tell me where and when.”

  “How much time do you need for your coffee?”

  Robin grinned. “It’ll be ready in about ten minutes.”

  “And then there’ll be about twenty minutes for that first cup, another twenty for the second…unless you’re feeling mellow. How about a later lunch? Meet me at one-thirty?”

  “Done.”

  “Great. I’ll text you the restaurant.”

  “Need-to-know basis. How James Bond of you.” Robin poured the boiling water into the press.

  Jill chuckled. “You know, for someone who insists she’s an asshole, you sound pretty relaxed. And a lot like the woman I met in college.”

  “You say that now, but seriously, a month ago, there is no way in hell you’d be asking me to lunch.”

  “What changed?”

  Robin hesitated. “Epiphanies, maybe.” Sure, Jill would have lunch with her now, but if she knew about Decker and Lady Magnolia and Krampus, she’d back slowly out the door. Then again, maybe she should tell Jill. That would ensure Jill’s future would be secure because she’d think Robin wasn’t quite right. She pressed the plunger on the press with a slow, practiced motion.

  “I know a few things about those,” Jill said, and she sounded thoughtful but also empathetic.

  Robin poured herself a cup and sipped it black. “I’m betting you do. Some can be a real kick in the butt.” An image of Lady Magnolia’s stilettos came to mind, and she stared at Krampus’s card, still on her counter, and wondered if she’d dreamed last night’s conversation. God, she hoped so. But still. What the hell was that about opportunity? Something tickled her brain about how Magnolia had phrased it, but Robin couldn’t put her finger on it.

  “Agreed. I’ll let you drink your coffee in peace. Let me figure out what restaurant needs us to grace it with our presence. See you in a bit.”

  “Yep. Later.” Robin hung up and put her phone on the counter then leaned back against it. She sipped her coffee and remembered how Jill had made her coffee in a battered espresso maker on a hot plate after their first night together. Jill had been wearing a baggy flannel shirt and nothing else, And when she’d rejoined Robin in bed with two cups, her lips tasted of coffee. How young they’d been, even with their respective baggage. Jill used to joke that the trick was making sure your luggage complemented your partner’s. It didn’t have to exactly match, because that would be boring. And then Jill would kiss her, sometimes soft and searching, other times hard and needy. A pleasurable chill sent tingles up her spine, and Robin took another drink from her cup to try to tamp it down.

  This was not part of her plan, these feelings. They were dangerous. Getting mixed up with Jill would only fuck up Jill’s future and, after all the shit Robin had seen over the past two weeks, being responsible for that made her feel sick. Hopefully, Jill would hit it off with Caroline, and then she could get on with whatever came next. Whatever it was, Robin was pretty sure it wouldn’t involve Frost Enterprises.

  What should she do about that, she wondered as she sipped again and stared out at the city. There wasn’t much she could do, she realized. No matter her own title, she was just some outsider lesbian who had sealed her fate with that presentation on Friday. But wasn’t that one of the five things that would ensure victory, according to Sun Tzu? “He will win who knows when to fight and when not to fight.” She’d read The Art of War her second year of business school. This was a fight she knew she couldn’t win, because even if she managed to curtail Brady and bypass Frost, she wasn’t sure she could live with the results of it.

  The worst-case scenario was that Frost would fire her. Or rather, “let her go,” in corporate parlance. If not that, he could demote her and send her to one of the company’s other departments, maybe in the far reaches of the building. No more corner office with the great view. And then she’d have to put up with the pitying looks from some and the supercilious sneers from the younger men striving to be in the good old boys club. The second scenario would force her to put up with it or resign.

  Robin topped off her coffee, a little surprised that she didn’t seem to care what Frost decided to do. And if it came to resigning—she took another swallow of coffee and ran that thought through her mind for a while. How did that feel, to actually contemplate resigning?

  Fine, she realized. Maybe even liberating. Had she been that stifled, and she didn’t even realize how much? The view out her balcony doors beckoned, and she left the kitchen with her coffee cup.

  The sun glinted off the river, and a couple of barges moved slowly, almost regally, under the closest bridge. Robin imagined them as giant turtles, one swimming with the current, the other against, and that made her think about the way Northwest Coast Indians portrayed turtles, geometric stylized shapes in bold, primary colors.

  Should she wait for Frost to show his hand? Or should she resign because it was the right decision for her, to hell with what Frost decides? Frost would be careful, because she could play the gay card and claim she was discriminated against because of it. That would get ugly, because she’d demonstrate that Cynthia didn’t seem to have a problem texting her or calling her, so how the hell could Robin have possibly sexually harassed her?

  Or she could pull the woman card, and Laura might be able to help her with some kind of documentation regarding that, because women only made it so far at Frost but no further. God, that would be a long battle.

  And as Robin stared down at the water and thought about Seattle, she knew it wasn’t one she wanted to fight.

  So Frost would probably go for demotion. Or rather, transfer. Some unknown department, where she’d keep her title and salary, but get loaded down with crap work and not have anything more to do with building accounts and attracting clients. She’d be effectively silenced unless she resigned. Frost’s hands would be clean. He could claim that her talents were needed elsewhere.

  That’s how people disappeared in corporate America. Robin finished her coffee, pissed that Frost could basically get away with whatever he wanted, but she’d built up a nice financial cushion, and she had a hell of a network. Resigning wouldn’t hit her in the pocketbook. Not really. It was preferable to being fired, but Frost probably wouldn’t do that, especially since he knew a few of the board members liked her.

  She still had a card or two up her sleeve where Frost was concerned. Robin would engage in self-preservation if she had to. She’d been doing it for years and she was damn good at it. Her phone dinged with a text message, and she returned to the kitchen to check it. Jill, telling her to meet her outside the gallery where her New Year’s Eve showing was scheduled. Robin texted an affirmative back, left her cup on the counter, and went to shower, thoughts of Jill supplanting Frost, and they were far more pleasant.

  CHAPTER 11

  This gallery wasn’t too far from the one Jill had taken her to a little over a week ago. It felt as though it had been much longer since the last opening. This building looked more upscale, but that might have been because of its nearly full-g
lass front. The door was also glass, the handle a sleek steel vertical bar.

  Robin peered inside at the honey-colored wooden floor and the white walls, mostly empty because Jill and gallery staff hadn’t put Jill’s works out yet. Track and recessed lighting. Nice for bringing out various aspects of whatever art was being shown. The colors and forms in Jill’s pieces would look really good here, Robin knew.

  And there was Jill, approaching from inside, her hair not spiked today, but rather falling to the side in a way that made her look Asian boyish. She wore faded jeans that fit her just right, a pair of battered black Converse sneakers, and a baggy blue flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing the long white sleeves of the T-shirt beneath. In a moment of déjà vu, Robin saw Jill walking into that classroom the first time she ever saw her, except this Jill—the one who was using a key to open the gallery door from the inside—carried herself with the confidence acquired through a life truly lived and surviving hard choices. Beneath the warmth and humor in Jill’s eyes, Robin saw that Jill knew both of those—hard choices and a life lived.

  “Hi, there,” Jill said with the kind of smile that meant she really was glad to see Robin. “C’mon in.”

  Robin did, immediately comforted by the faint odors of paint, canvas, and wood—the universal smell of artists’ studios and galleries everywhere. She took her gloves off and shoved them into one of her coat pockets while Jill closed the door behind her and relocked it.

  “I had a cool thought,” Jill said, and Robin was disappointed that the statement didn’t come with a hug.

  “And that is…”

  “Let’s eat in.”

  Robin waited for her to elaborate.

  “This place has a studio apartment upstairs where they house visiting artists—that would be me—and it’s furnished.”

  “Um. So we’re cooking?” Robin looked past Jill toward the back of the gallery, dubious.

  “That is an option, but I’m not feeling it. So I ordered Thai.”