by Angela Terry
“Race research has changed to spa research.”
“I see.” Eric cocks an eyebrow. “In that case, have you been to Ojai?”
I shake my head, and he continues, “It’s outside of Santa Barbara. It’s supposed to be amazing.”
I give him a bemused look. “And how do you know so much about spas?”
He laughs. “My sister just got back from there and was talking about it at my mom’s.”
“Ah! I see.”
So he has a sister. I wonder if she’s older or younger and if it’s only the two of them like my family. Eric strikes me as the responsible older brother type. It’s such an innocent question to ask, but since I’m keeping the door closed on my personal life, I don’t want to risk asking him anything about his. For now, small talk suits me just fine.
Once again, I realize that I might have been staring at him for a second too long as I contemplated this. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll look it up.”
“Anytime. Let me know what you find.” He looks toward the front door and at a customer making his way to the register. “Guess I better get back there.”
“Talk to you later.” I smile and watch him walk back to the counter.
Once he’s behind the register, he catches me looking back at him and grins. Yes, he’s definitely the older brother. What must it be like to be healthy, good-natured, and have your life together? All the things I thought I was. Eric seems like someone who has it all figured out, and maybe one day when I’m ready to share my own situation, I can ask him how he did it.
For now, though, I research spas. The Oaks at Ojai does look amazing, and I almost want to go just so I can tell Eric about it. Once I start researching places in California, I find another one near San Diego that also offers yoga and healthy activities, so that way Jordan and I can get in spa treatments and work off our evening wine, even if it’s wine we need to smuggle in. I email Jordan a list with a few different options and wait to hear from her.
When I’m over-caffeinated and can’t sit still in my chair any longer, I look around to say goodbye to Eric. Not seeing him, I stand up and sling my laptop bag over my shoulder all the while trying to peer through the round window on the door to the back.
Brian catches my eye and says, “Eric had to run to Lincoln Park.”
“Oh!” I feel my cheeks start to flush. “I, uh, was just taking off. Have a good night!”
“You too,” Brian says. “See you tomorrow.”
It’s silly to feel called out by Brian, and even more ridiculous to feel a tweak of disappointment at not being able to say goodbye to Eric. After all, Brian’s right; I’ll probably be back tomorrow.
My Sunday yoga class is filled with a mix of people rather than the inquisitorial and territorial yogis I encountered during the mid-morning, midweek class. As I flow through my vinyasa, I feel much more balanced and like myself.
Afterwards, as I’m walking home with my yoga mat strapped over my shoulder, I notice that the knot between my shoulders has finally disappeared, the tension in my jaw is gone, and my mind is still. My phone rings and in my blissedout state, I answer it.
“Hi, Mom. What’s up?”
“Allison? Where are you? What’s all that noise?”
“I’m outside walking home from the gym. Where are you?”
“I’m at home.” She huffs.
“What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” She parrots back, her voice rising another octave. “What’s wrong is you haven’t talked to me since last weekend.”
“O-kay.” Her voice is like an ice pick ready to chip away at my peaceful mood, and I try to defuse her. “Mom, if you were worried, you could’ve just called me.” Granted, I’m not so sure I would have picked up.
“If you haven’t noticed, I was giving you the silent treatment.”
I stop walking. “Why would you be giving me the silent treatment?”
“Because, Allison, you’re not telling me what’s going on, so I thought I’d give you the same treatment.” I can picture her putting her hand on her hip as she says this. When I don’t say anything right away, her voice softens. “Have you gone to the doctor yet?”
The doctor?
Oh! She’s not worried about me; she’s worried about my eggs.
My jaw starts to tense up again, and I feel my blood pressure rising. “I haven’t told you what’s going on because absolutely nothing is happening. Status is the same.” I pick up my pace. “I’m about to reach my building and get in the elevator so I’m going to lose you.”
“Call me when you get inside.”
“I have to shower when I get in. I’ll call you later this week.”
With that I hang up and don’t actually reach my building until five minutes later. The entire elevator ride, I fume: How dare she give me the silent treatment? It’s times like this when I wish my mother were more nurturing. Sure, she offered to pay for my treatment, but even then she had her own selfish motives.
Right now my Zen state of mind is utterly zapped and I need to get on this spa trip stat.
WHEN I GET home, my phone rings again, but this time with Jordan’s ringtone.
“Hey, I’m looking at your email now,” she says as soon as I pick up, not bothering with a hello.
“What do you think?”
“They all look amazing. You pick your favorite and I’m game. There’s just one little thing.”
“What’s that?”
“What have you done to figure out that rumor?”
“Oh, that.” I sigh. “Nothing yet.”
“I know you’re fragile, even though you’re doing a great job,” she gently reassures me. “But that’s just it: You need a job. Maybe use this trip as a deadline to make some progress on this rumor?”
“You’re right, you’re right. As soon as we get off the phone, I’ll reach out to someone at Worldwide.”
“Call them. Set something up. Then let’s book this bad boy.”
“Consider it done. I want to be anywhere but here on my wedding day.” I feel myself veering into fragile territory as I say this.
“Good girl,” Jordan says. “And now I have to get back to work so that I can forget about work during our weekend.”
When I hang up with Jordan, I take a deep breath. I don’t know why I’m dragging my feet on this since this rumor has been hanging over my head ever since Julie’s call. Granted it’s uncomfortable, but I’ve never shirked from doing the hard or responsible thing. So I wrack my brain and try to decide who to contact.
The obvious person would be Kate, except that she has totally ghosted me. Paige was my mentor, but also the one to fire me. Awkward. Darren is probably the next person I’m closest to there, but he’s also HR. If he knows anything about the rumor, it would probably be a breach of contract for him to offer me any information. But he was also incredibly kind on the day my life burst into pieces, and it would be good to see him. So, Darren it is. Even though it’s not exactly making progress on figuring out the source of the rumor, it’s still a baby step to reaching out to Worldwide.
Email seems the most nonintrusive method for contact, and since my phone is still in my hand, I start typing before I can lose my courage.
Hi Darren –
Hope this email finds you well! Wondering if you’d be up for drinks or coffee this week? Let me know.
Miss you!
Allie
Before I can think too much about it, I hit send and whoosh it goes. Now all I have to do is sit back and wait.
I text Jordan: Email to Darren sent. Start packing.
With that uncomfortable task lifted off my shoulders, I call each of the spas on my list to get a little more information on pricing and services. I decide on the one near San Diego since it has something for both of us—a nice restaurant and a large spa menu for Jordan, and lots of yoga and hiking for me. Jordan is not averse to working out, but it’s not a priority, and she’ll only do it to humor me, her friend the jilted bride. I’ve just fi
nished booking our room when I get an email back from Darren.
Miss you too, girl! So sorry to hear about Neil. That calls for cocktails, not coffee. Happy hour tomorrow?
Hugs, Darren
To my surprise, my eyes start to well up. While I’ve been licking my wounds and trying to figure out my next steps, I still have friends out there missing me. It’s that sensitive situation where you’re not sure whether to reach out to or give a friend space. So I can only assume mine have been respectfully keeping their distance, or knew about Neil and are too embarrassed to reach out. Either way, I need to get back out there. I immediately email him back to set up a time and place.
Suddenly, the prospect of restarting my social life makes me feel better about my life in general, and the rush of warmth I feel toward Darren makes the world seem a much more rosy, welcoming place. I might even call my mother to apologize. But then again, maybe it’s better that I don’t. This momentary upswing might just be that—momentary.
I’M WAITING FOR Darren at the Violet Hour, a pre-prohibition-style cocktail bar in Wicker Park, far from the Loop and PR Worldwide’s office. While I’m sipping my drink and looking at my phone, I hear his voice behind me. “You started without me?”
I laugh and turn around. “Hey, I’m brokenhearted! You’d have me sit at a bar all by my lonesome with no drink in hand?” I mentally pat myself on the back for acknowledging one of the elephants in the room and being able to joke about it.
“Aw, you come here.” Darren opens his arms and gives me a big hug. “It’s so good to see you. It sucks not having you around the office.”
And there’s the second elephant.
“Let’s get you a drink and you can catch me up,” I say.
“More like catch up with you.” He winks at me as a bartender places a menu in front of him.
Once we’re both settled in with drinks, Darren says, “First off, I’m so sorry to hear about the wedding. My condolences on that.”
“Thank you.” I nod gratefully, but don’t really want to talk more about it.
“I wanted to reach out, but I wasn’t sure how after everything went down at work. I didn’t know if you hated me or not.”
“I could never hate you. You know that. Besides, you didn’t fire me. You were just there doing your job.”
He grimaces. “Some days I hate my job. That day was probably the worst. Thank you for being so gracious.”
“So, how are things at work?”
“Not as fun as when you were there. Obviously. Kate, though, has probably suffered the most since Paige reassigned all your clients to her. That girl is there from the crack of dawn to the depths of night.”
“All of them? Paige didn’t parcel them out? Wow, poor Kate.”
“You’re surprised?” Darren looks at me quizzically.
I give him an equally questioning look. “Shouldn’t I be?”
“Oh, honey.” Darren puts his hand over mine. “I know you were friends, but I never knew if it was one of those keep your friends close and your enemies closer type of relationships.”
A sharp chill runs up my spine and I shudder. “What do you mean? We’re friends. She was one of my bridesmaids.” My voice falters.
Darren clucks his tongue and says, “That bitch backstabbed you. Did you really not know?”
Et tu, Kate? I feel angry tears start to well up. Unable to speak, I shake my head to indicate that I had no idea.
“Oh, dear.” Darren gives me another hug and then gestures to the server for another round. “You better finish that up. You’ll need another to hear this story.”
Over our next couple drinks, Darren spills that the reason I got fired was because Kate was covertly trying to steal my clients. I had used her as my sounding board for projects, and according to Darren, she took that information and used it against me. Apparently, she had been secretly schmoozing with my clients and pointing out what she’d do differently to their campaigns. She’d also pointed out any mistakes and oversights (real or imagined) on my part to those over me, campaigned for her ideas on my projects, and surreptitiously presented them while boasting that she could cut costs to get my same results. She undermined me any chance she had—Well, you know with the wedding, Allison hasn’t been focused. Here, let me handle that. And if she sensed any hesitation from those she was disparaging me to, then she went for the jugular, suggesting that I planned to quit once I was married, so wouldn’t it make sense for her to take on my projects now rather than leave clients in the lurch?
As Darren recounts all this to me, I can’t even form questions. I’m completely stunned into silence by how vicious and calculated her betrayal, and that everyone believed her. My fist clenches my cocktail glass and my cheeks begin to burn with rage.
Wow! First of all, I can’t believe HR Darren is divulging so much. Second, I can’t believe Kate. She told anyone who would listen that I wasn’t focused on work. It didn’t matter whether it was the truth or not. Third, I can’t believe that everyone simply took her word that my mind was no longer on work and that I planned to quit the second I got married.
“How do you know all this?” I ask. And how could I have trusted Kate for so long?
“Paige told me after you left. I was in shock. She said that Kate went completely over her head to the higher ups. And, by the time she found out, it was too late because Tim and Allen’s minds were made up.”
“But I gave twelve years to that place.” It comes out as a whine and I’m not proud.
“I know, honey, I know.” Darren pats my back gently. “But combined with the rumor that you planned to quit anyway, when someone with the lower salary is going around saying they can handle the work, the person with the higher salary will be let go.”
“But it’s so malicious.”
“Totally. And the truth is: She can’t handle the work. Like I said, for the last few weeks she’s been burning the midnight oil and has probably put on ten pounds from living on takeout. And get this—she didn’t even get a raise.” He leans back to let that last comment sink in. “But, hey, she got what she wanted and karma’s a bitch.” He emits an evil little cackle. “Let’s just say that bitch Kate set herself up for serious failure.”
“Still.” I continue to shake my head. It doesn’t bring me much comfort that Kate is miserable, because at least she’s still employed and I’m not.
“Hey, chin up! You’ll be okay. Paige will give you the best recommendation, and you’ll get another job when you’re ready. She said she was really upset to lose you, but her hands were tied. I wish I could’ve helped, but the wheels were already too far in motion. It was too late. I’m sorry, Allie.” He looks contrite.
“Oh, god. Please, you have nothing to be sorry for. And, thanks for telling me all this.”
“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, but I thought you knew. Everyone who knows you knows it’s bullshit. You should be able to get another job like that.” He snaps his fingers.
“Except I haven’t,” I say meekly.
“Well, of course, not with the wedding debacle. That’s a lot for anyone. You should be taking the time off. Take a vacation to decompress from everything.”
Not wanting to tell him about my experience with the recruiters and that I’ve been actively looking for work, I feel this is the perfect segue to talk about my upcoming spa trip. We drink too much and talk vacations, gossip, and discuss Darren’s long-standing battle between his prima donna pup and prima donna husband. But while we catch up on more pleasant topics, in the back of my mind I wonder (a) how I’m going to overcome this reputational disaster and (b) what exactly did I do to piss off Kate so much?
AS IF SUZY’S ears were buzzing from my conversation with Darren the night before, I get an email from her in the morning asking if I’m attending the Publicity Club of Chicago’s luncheon today. “Might be a good opportunity to get some intel,” she wrote.
She’s right. Paige is one of the speakers at today’s luncheon panel, “Gett
ing on the Air.” I was supposed to be attending as her right-hand woman at the event. If everything Darren said last night was true about Kate taking on all my old duties, then I assume Kate will also be taking my place at the event. These monthly luncheons are pretty easygoing, and this month’s talk is at The Peninsula. Since my RSVP is most likely now Kate’s, I could probably still show up and mingle before and after. And, yes, by mingle, I mean stalk.
I email Suzy yes and then go to plan my outfit.
I ARRIVE IN The Peninsula’s lobby early and stand behind a pillar, hoping to spot Suzy before anyone else. When I don’t see her, I text: I’m here. Where are you?
In cab. There in 5. Hang tight!
Five minutes might as well be five hours with how anxious I am. I’m wearing a beige linen shift dress with nude heels, the closest thing to camouflage I have in an attempt to blend in with the lobby’s interior. Though I arrived early, I was not the first person with this thought. The lobby is crowded and loud with the clack-clack of heels and women’s voices. This is the first time I’ve been out in public in the PR community, and suddenly I feel a little woozy. I notice that there’s a bar set up on the other side of the room and consider slinking by to get some liquid courage while I wait for Suzy.
Just as I’m about to make my way over, I hear a high-pitched cackle that rises above the other voices and I stop cold. I’d know that braying laugh anywhere. My eyes scan the room again hurriedly and there she is in all her attention-gathering glory—Stacey!
My wooziness makes me stumble in my heels, and I think I’m going to faint. Instead of her usual bodycon dresses, she’s in a floaty, ethereal, floral maxi-dress. Her hair is loose and longer than I remembered. And she looks healthy and happy and like some high-fashion, hippie goddess, and not at all like the fiancé-stealing, horrible ex-friend she actually is.
The cold clamminess that comes over me has me rushing to the bathroom instead of the bar. I’m pretty sure I’m going to throw up, and opening the bathroom door, I avoid all eye contact with anyone in there and head straight into an empty stall.
