by Angela Terry
A minute passes, and I realize I’m not going to throw up. Instead, I just hyperventilate quietly. I was all mentally and emotionally geared up for a Kate run-in, but running into Stacey hadn’t crossed my mind. I don’t know why, since of course she’s always at these things. Anything to skip out of sitting at a desk all day.
It’s fine, I tell myself. She didn’t see me. But all my mojo to confront Kate has left the building, and I think I should too.
I’m about to text Suzy my plan to leave when I hear voices outside my stall.
“So did you hear about Stacey?”
Okay, fine. I won’t be leaving the building soon.
“I know!” squeals the other one, with what I can’t tell is actual glee or schadenfreude.
“I just can’t believe it!” the other one exclaims.
I peep through the crack to see if I can put faces to the voices.
“I wonder if that’s why—”
The bathroom door opens violently and someone rushes into a stall.
The girls stop their conversation. And when I look at them again, they’re making eye contact in the mirror. I will them to restart the conversation, but instead they reapply their lip gloss.
The other person emerges from the stall and I can hear them washing their hands. I don’t have as good a vantage point on them, but when I move to the side, I catch a glimpse of floaty floral fabric. Oh god.
“Are you okay?” asks one of the women. “You look a little pale.”
“Late night,” Stacey says, giving one of her girlish giggles meant to impart that her evening was anything but innocent. “Guess, I shouldn’t drink champagne on a school night.”
The fabric of her dress swishes out of view and I hear her stilettos clack toward the door along with any ounce of courage I had.
I peer back at the two girls in the mirror giving each other meaningful looks again.
“Late night,” the one whispers.
“Champagne,” the other one says.
They laugh and head out of the bathroom.
My phone buzzes and it almost gives me a heart attack. I pull it out of my purse.
I’m here! says Suzy’s text.
There’s no way I’m going out there. Rumor be damned.
Sorry, I’m leaving, I type back. Stacey sighting. I’ll explain later.
OMG! No need to explain. Just go, go, go!
My sentiments exactly.
Twenty minutes after hiding in a bathroom stall at The Peninsula, I’m back in the self-help aisle at Barnes & Noble. A book spine entitled How Could She Do That? pops out at me. When I pull it out to read the back copy, I learn it’s about female friendship gone bad. Now this is something I need. This morning was the first time I was able to muster up the strength to try to talk to Kate since she’s started ignoring me. And Stacey I would rather never speak to again, even though I want to ask her, How could you? but I’m not sure I’m in a place where I could do that without wrapping my hands around her neck. For now, it’s best we keep our distance. But deep down, I fear Stacey and Kate might be why I’m dragging my feet on looking for another PR job—I don’t want to stay in the same circles as them. Chicago can be a small town that way, and considering what happened today, I would prefer to avoid industry events altogether if it meant I would never have to see them again.
Luckily, it’s a different cashier behind the register today. Three self-help books in such a short time span is not a good look.
AT HOME ON my sofa, I open up the book with a sigh. I didn’t know how to read the people closest to me; thus, the “people person” that I thought I was might need a little more insight when it comes to the people I choose as friends.
The book begins by explaining how important female friendships are and that, as life changes, our friends usually change as well. Though on a rational level I know this, I still feel a heavy weight press down on my chest and think about my friendship with Jordan, since right now I couldn’t imagine having a better friend at my side and only hope that one day I can repay the favor. It discusses the various complexities of female friendships and promises to identify toxic friends, what to do when a friend betrays you, and how to identify and maintain healthy friendships in the future. It’s pretty much a dating advice book, but for girlfriends rather than men. It describes all the emotions surrounding a friend’s betrayal—confusion, disappointment, hurt, anger, depression—and while I feel these things toward Neil, it’s also rolled up with Stacey and now Kate. My hatred for Neil is so draining that I haven’t been able to even focus on Stacey’s part in their affair until now. So when the book starts with a quiz, I find myself answering questions as they relate to Stacey. And, oh boy, more journaling.
How similar are you to your friend? Did you have an instant connection? Does your friend compete with you? Do you compete with her? How do you feel after spending time around her? My brain starts firing in anger.
I actually knew Stacey before PR Worldwide. She was a year ahead of me in high school, and we hung out with a similar crowd. She was on the cheer squad, and we’d see each other at the same parties, but our close friends tended to be people in our own class. So while Stacey and I were friendly, we weren’t friends. Frankly, I was a little intimidated by her. She was the queen bee of her year, and, if I knew anything, it was—don’t step on her toes and never try to outshine a queen.
When Stacey and I first met up again at PR Worldwide, we bonded over our shared connections and history in high school. Then the more we got to know each other, we realized we also shared a similar sense of humor, were both outgoing, and liked to have fun. We were alike in so many ways—looks, career, interests (and apparently men). People used to ask us if we were sisters, and we’d laugh and revel in our similarities. We constantly wondered why we hadn’t been BFFs in high school and made up for that lost time. We’d go to lunch together at work, schedule mani/pedis or hit up a happy hour after work, regularly brunched and clothes shopped together on the weekends, and had been friends for basically most of our adult life—until now.
Even though we were on the same career ladder, I didn’t feel any competition on my part, but I always tried to downplay any achievements for fear of hurting her feelings. Whenever something good happened to me at work, Stacey would smile and congratulate me but was always visibly moody afterwards. She’d make backhanded compliments—“Congrats on getting the Florio.com project. That’s amazing, given that you screwed up that presentation last week,” or braying, “Guess you’ll be on start-up hours now and spending some late nights here, ha-ha-ha!” I took a lot of her comments with a grain of salt because I knew that she wasn’t happy at Worldwide and felt overlooked.
Sure, when she was in a mood or didn’t get her way, she could be passive-aggressive and a little catty. But nobody’s perfect. (And since Jordan recently pointed out my tendency to drop friends for men, I can’t really throw stones.) Even though Stacey ultimately moved on from Worldwide, we still remained friends.
Then she stole Neil. Isn’t that the golden rule—you don’t steal your girlfriend’s significant other? But was it her first betrayal? Did I miss some signs? Did I do something to cross her? Was this a Single White Female situation? Had she been plotting some grand scheme all along? Do people out there really do that? Is my life simply some made-for-TV movie plot? I stay up all night reading to find out these answers.
I FEEL AWFUL this morning. If there’s such a thing as a book hangover, I have it. Spelled out in black and white, all the signs were there—Stacey was a frenemy from the beginning. Though I didn’t see it at the time, looking back, even those early days of our friendship were plagued with toxicity.
When she moved onto a new firm, I’d assumed our work competition had stopped. Yet, in hindsight, it seems that everything with Stacey was always a competition. If I tried a new diet, she’d try it. If I mentioned a new store or nail salon, she’d check it out. If I started doing something different to my hair, she too would soon be sporting the sa
me style. Ditto if I got a cute new pair of sandals or a stylish new tote bag. Since we were already so similar in tastes, I took it as a compliment that she imitated me rather than Single White Female-ing me. But looking back, I realize that her copycat behavior got worse when I got engaged. Like with her jobs, Stacey had flitted in and out of relationships while I stayed with Neil, moving from dating to moving in together to getting engaged. I sensed she was jealous, but I thought that it was because she wanted to settle down too—and not because she wanted to settle down with Neil. Was cheating with Neil simply another form of one-upmanship, or was something deeper going on that I missed?
Whereas Jordan showed herself to be a true friend from the get-go, why did I make excuses for Stacey? All the warning signs were there, and I ignored every single one—until she took my fiancé. I made this woman my maid of honor! Am I really just figuring out this friendship thing in my mid-thirties? What’s wrong with me? And I saw Stacey flirt with Neil, constantly. Jordan and Kate were always friendly with him but didn’t hang on his every word, or constantly touch his arm while laughing too loudly at his jokes, or compliment him incessantly, as Stacey did. But I blindly brushed it off as Stacey’s PR personality. So perhaps, for now, it’s a good thing that I’m not surrounded by PR folk, though I also can’t narrow down all my friendships to corporate litigators. Maybe this lying low is a good chance to do a new friend detox until I can trust my judgment again.
“WOW. JUST WOW.” Jordan leans back in the tiny bistro chair where we’re having lunch outside and where I just recounted everything Darren told me over cocktails. “What a B!” Jordan exclaims tactfully. There is a toddler seated at the next table over, and the mother gives us an appreciative nod.
I widen my eyes and nod in agreement. “Yes. And while I don’t believe in using that term, I’m going to make an exception here.”
“Honestly, Allie, you know how to pick ’em. First Stacey and then Kate. Who knew PR people were so vicious?”
“As opposed to lawyers?”
“No.” Jordan holds up her hand. “In law you go into it knowing that everyone you work with are going to be assholes. Litigation is the one profession where it pays to be an asshole. But public relations? Who knew?”
I glance over at the mother, who gives us an it’s fine shrug as her kid is too immersed in throwing French fries on the floor to pay attention to our language.
“It’s like anything, I guess. Everyone wants the top spot, the sexiest campaign, and the biggest client. But Kate was my friend. I mentored her.” I lean forward to emphasize this next part. “But she didn’t learn this type of backstabbing from me.”
“It looks like her true colors came out.” Jordan also leans forward and looks me straight in the eye. “But are you really surprised?”
I blink a couple times and consider this. “Actually, yes.” In hindsight, Stacey was a Brutus in the making, but not Kate. “Stacey’s betrayal is starting to make sense. It was like we were too alike, and so she had a one-upmanship with me. But Kate and I are totally different.”
“Yes. She’s a bitch and you’re not.” Jordan mouths “sorry” to the mother next to us. I roll my eyes, but I can’t disagree with this assessment. I would never do to my worst work enemy what Kate did to me. Turning back to me, Jordan says, “I agree that you and Stacey had a lot in common, in particular your taste in men.” She pauses. “Is that okay? Can we joke about this yet?”
“Still too early, but I’ll let it pass.” With my fork, I stab a piece of lettuce in my salad, pretending it’s Stacey’s face.
“Sorry.” She scrunches up her nose for a second to show her contriteness before continuing. “But I always sensed that Kate also wanted what you had and was secretly jealous of you. Let’s be honest, she’s not exactly the most pleasant person to spend time with, and she’s permanently hunched over from carrying that chip on her shoulder. She probably has to work a million times harder at what you’re naturally good at. I can’t believe that clients would rather go to her than you? That doesn’t make any sense.”
Though I don’t totally agree with Jordan’s assessment, being that Kate isn’t on my favorite person list at the moment, I’m not inclined to rise to her defense.
“It is what it is.” I give a resigned shrug, twisting the ends of my hair and noticing some new split ends. “That’s it then. I’m not falling into this stupid frenemy trap again. From now on, I’m only making friends with people who are richer, smarter, skinnier, and better looking than I can ever hope to be.” I’m being sarcastic, but a little part of me is starting to believe it.
“Hey, what about me?”
“You’re all of those things, so we’re good.”
Jordan laughs. “And you’re a liar. But I’ll take it.” She cocks her head and gives me an amused smile. “Frenemy trap?”
I nod wisely. “It’s from this book I read about toxic friendships. All this women-supporting-women stuff is a bunch of BS. Women are the worst.”
“Interesting. I’d assumed you’d be bitter about men for a while. I didn’t see this coming with women.”
“Oh, I’m bitter about men too. Don’t you worry.”
“Are you sure a spa retreat is going to be enough? Something more drastic sounds in order, like doing an Eat, Pray, Love type tour? Or go to Italy and become like Diane Lane in Under the Tuscan Sun. Sell the condo and get a fixer-upper farmhouse!” She slams her hand down on the table as if this is her best idea ever.
I laugh and shake my head. “I don’t even own a hammer. I had to call my building’s engineer to hang a mirror in my place.” Also, both those stories lead to a new leading man and romance is the last thing on my mind. And unfortunately, the glaring difference between me and Elizabeth Gilbert is that she rejected her old life, whereas my life rejected me.
“Okay, okay. Sorry, I guess I’m just fantasizing for myself. I’d like to go to Italy and eat a lot of pasta and buy new jeans.” She looks wistfully into the sky, away from our little bistro table in the Loop.
“And you totally deserve to do that. But, in the meantime, you can also just stuff yourself with pasta at Eataly and then buy some new jeans at Bloomingdale’s. Earth to Jordan?” I tap my fork against my plate to disturb her reverie and get back to my practical dilemmas. “So now I know what the rumor is, but what do I do about it?”
Jordan thinks for a moment. “First things first, I would confront Kate.”
“I already tried with getting my portfolio samples and she was unresponsive. And, anyway, then what? My job is already gone. My reputation trashed.”
“That’s not true. Anyone who really knows you will know it was a case of office politics. So work those contacts, go to another firm, and lure back your clients.”
“Yeah,” I respond numbly. Jordan makes it sound so easy, but if it were so easy, I can’t help but think the recruiters would’ve found me a job already. “But maybe I’ll wait until after this trip to get some mental clarity before making any sudden moves.”
“Speaking of moves, I better move it back to work. My phone’s been vibrating on and off the last hour and has become frantic these last ten minutes.”
I walk Jordan back to her office so we can chat a little longer, and then I decide to walk the mile home.
Jordan is on Team Allison, so I understand that she wasn’t going to give Kate the benefit of the doubt, and I’m trying harder not to make excuses for people these days. While what Kate did was inexcusable, and I can only hope karma will bite her in the long run, I still wonder if I let her down somehow. But when and how? Perhaps karma is biting me in the ass. People don’t just turn on others without a reason—well, unless they are pure evil like Stacey. I’m trying to be mature by examining my part in all of this so that it never happens again; but, honestly, I feel like a victim (something the books advise against). The people closest to me betrayed me. I’m clearly doing something wrong or missing something.
ON MY WALK home, I pass The Cauldron and spot Eric insi
de. He sees me and waves. I wave back and, since it’s not like I have to hurry anywhere, decide to pop in.
“Hey, Allison. What are you up to this sunny afternoon?”
“I met a friend for lunch and am just walking home. How are you today?”
“Good, good. Can I get you anything?”
I hesitate. That’s right, I’m a customer so I should probably order. “How about an iced green tea?”
“You got it.” Since it’s not that busy, Eric pours it himself. “Here you go.”
I start to pull my wallet out of my purse, but he shakes his head. “Nah. It’s on the house.”
I shake my head back at him, scolding gently, “You should really rethink your free drink policy. You haven’t been open that long.”
He gives me a smirk. “It’s okay. This is all part of a long-term strategy. Besides, you can repay me by being my taste tester.”
“Any new recipes?”
“Now that you mention it … wait right here.” He disappears into the back and returns with what looks like the darkest, gooiest, most delicious-looking brownie I’ve ever seen.
“Whoa! What’s that? It looks decadent.”
“I’d prefer that you taste it first and let me know what you think it is.” He carries the plate with a fork over to a table, sets them down, and then pulls out the chair for me.
I’m still full from lunch, and I wasn’t even planning on stopping for a coffee. Probably sensing my hesitation, Eric lets go of the chair and straightens up. “Oh, sorry. Am I being presumptuous? I didn’t mean to interrupt your day if you have to be somewhere.”
“Nope.” I give a little laugh. “I have nowhere to be except here eating whatever that delicious-looking treat is.” Also, I could use a break from going over my problems.
I sit down, and he gently pushes my chair in and then takes the opposite seat. He props his chin on his hand and focuses intently on my face before I’ve even taken a bite.
I laugh. “You’re going to stress me out staring like that.”
