Twelve Months of Awkward Moments

by Lisa Acerbo

  I spend my morning hours at meetings, half listening, half contemplating how Mina and Garry get their hair to shine blindingly, while no amount of conditioner will tame my brown, curly frizz. Some days, I slip out of the meeting and into the bathroom. On good days, I repeat the mantra that “everything is fine” over and over. Other days, I shed a few nervous tears and hate myself for the weakness. And then it’s back to the meeting, hands under the table, nails punching holes into my palms. At one point, a discussion of comp time comes up as the meeting is being dismissed.

  “What’s a comp day?” I ask as I stand to leave, forcing my chair back, which causes it to bang uncomfortably against the wall.

  “Doesn’t anyone explain anything?” Geany sneers with frustration, which I have learned is her normal expression. She’s wired tight, something I understand. “For every weekend you work, you get one day during the week off, but you are not supposed to take it on a Monday because usually you’re needed to report.”

  I nod, taking in this new information. I’m tasked with creating invitations. I have no idea how to do that. I also need to call the presenters about saving the date for the conference. I can write a script of what to say, making the task bearable. I will endure. Though the final site has yet to be selected, the conference will be held in six weeks. Maddie and I must find a place and reserve it soon. Hopefully, we will find the perfect hotel this weekend.

  Before leaving, I confirm the hotels: Naples, Hilton Head, and Orlando, and the flights with the airlines, all the time wondering exactly what Maddie is left to do. I’m too afraid to ask. I’m about to head out. I still have homework and classes, but I wander in to Geany’s office to say goodbye and tell her I’ll be in tomorrow at noon after class.

  I knock on her door, and she waves me in.

  “God, that girl drives me crazy.” Geany slams down the phone as I enter.

  “I’m sorry, is this a bad time?” I ask.

  “No, come in, Danielle.” Geany motions to me to close the door and directs me to sit in the comfy leather chair. “How are you enjoying your job here at Primus?”

  Honesty may be the best policy, but I also want to keep my job. “Everything is new and a little overwhelming, coming from the small office I worked at before. I like it, and I’m learning so much.”

  She beams. “That’s good to hear. That you like the work.”

  “I just have a couple questions about the hotels. Each contract is different in terms of video equipment and audio visual and I.T. techs. I don’t know anything about it. What’s standard?”

  “If only Maddie would step up.” She huffs in disgust. “You shouldn’t be trying to figure out all this yourself. Everyone is extremely busy. I’m off to my own meeting this weekend, or I would have come to help the two of you.” Geany fiddles with a pen, doodling on the sheets of paper that cover her desk, as if deciding to continue the conversation. “Maddie’s only been her a few more months. Laura is impressed by her background. Grew up in Greenwich, attended a great college, but she’s been hell to work with. But I’ve watch you handle her well. You seem mellow and low-maintenance. That’s why we paired the two of you.”

  “Great.” I try to make my smile genuine.

  Retreating to my desk minutes later, I have no additional information on contracts, and I now understand I’ve been paired with an evil witch who I have to spend a weekend with doing an on-site inspection.

  Friday, the day of departure, arrives too soon. I sit through my last class, stomach churning, hoping not to throw up in front of everyone, but too embarrassed to leave class and actually head to a bathroom. I hold my fear and my food down. After classes, I run to the apartment to change.

  This is too much stress. I’m not drowning, I’m buried. Before I can take off my T-shirt, I’m running for the bathroom and vomit in the toilet. Sitting on the cold tile, I plan to call in and quit.

  “Stop doing this to yourself.” Tanya talks me off the ledge. “You make yourself insane.”

  I sit up taller. “I do not.”

  “Stop being a ninny.” Tanya offers me her hand and helps me up.

  “Who says ninny anymore?”

  “Me.” Tanya leads me back to my room, helps me dress, and forces me out of the door.

  I had spent most of the previous night packing and repacking my luggage, which had been purchased Wednesday evening from Macy’s. Prior to this trip, a backpack accompanied me on those few instances I had to travel. Owning real luggage, akin to having a real job, is too much of a transition toward maturity, sparking waves of self-doubt. With the lack of sleep adding to overwhelmed senses, I fumble as I start the car and head to work.

  Maddie is waiting, smiley and perky in an expensive tan suit that is unable to hide the rolls of belly flab behind a too-tight shirt. I don’t feel nearly as appropriate in my flowy, flowered skirt with leggings and black shirt. I nod in acknowledgement and head off to say goodbye to Samantha and Geany before the company car arrives. I’ve never had a car take me to the airport, and I’m happy I don’t have to drive. I can relax to the best of my ability before the plane ride.

  I had planned to put my ear buds in and ignore Maddie for the ride down to LaGuardia airport, but now that we’re away from the office, she’s my instant best friend and fills me in on every aspect of her life.

  “My boyfriend is just the best,” Maddie says as we cross into New York state, “We’ve been dating since freshman year of college and I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

  I attempt polite conversation, but I wonder if Maddie being nice is actually a trick. “What does he do?”

  “He works on Wall Street. He’s making so much money for a junior account executive. I’m sure he’ll get promoted soon.”

  “That’s great.”

  “I’m a virgin,” Maddie blurts out. “Are you?”

  The question is a little shocking, coming from someone I don’t know or trust. I shake my head.

  “Ashton and I aren’t having sex until we’re married.”

  “But don’t you live together?”

  “We are so totally lucky. My parents helped us move into the cutest little apartment in a luxury townhouse. It was the biggest steal ever. Waiting for marriage is hard, but if you commit to something, you have to see it through.”

  If only she had the same strong ideals about work. “Good point,” I say, hoping to bring the conversation to a close.

  Maddie keeps talking. I try my best to listen intently, nodding and mumbling appropriate responses, until a pesky itch on my ankle distracts me. I force my eyes away from Maddie’s flushed and eager face spewing the syrupy stories of her perfect life. I scratch at the irritation and twist my legging inside out, finding an offending plastic tag. Along with anxiety, I’ve grown up with sensitivity to fabrics, refusing to wear anything tight or itchy my entire life, and clothing tags and crunched socks were still the bane of my existence. All tags get cut out, and socks worn as little as possible.

  “Oh, my God. I can’t believe you have a tattoo,” Maddie screams into my ear.

  My skin crawls with ants, and I’m not sure if it’s the itch or Maddie that has caused it.

  “Yes,” I say, a little uneasy.

  Maddie wants to hear every detail. “Did the tattoo hurt?”

  “Not too much.” The nervous ants now march across my wrist as I stare at the horseshoe.

  “How long have you had it?” She eyes the ink.

  “I got the tattoo recently. My best friend Kyle went with me.”

  “Do you have any others?”

  “No, and probably this will be the only one.” It’s the first time I’m able to string together more than a few syllables in Maddie’s presence. I’m wary, but in the spirit of reconciliation, I tell the story, even admitting my anxiety.

  Our arrival at the airport gate ends the conversation. I’m not a huge fan of flying, but the trip isn’t horrible. As a bonus, due to a crowded plane, Maddie and I are separated. We land in Tampa witho
ut problems, and another car, punctually waiting for us, whisks us to the hotel.

  Still unexplainably chatty, Maddie discusses how a site visit works. “We get the rooms comped. I usually do this myself, but since Laura requested that I take you along. I had to say yes.”

  “Thanks.” I mean it sarcastically.

  Maddie doesn’t read my words that way and smiles at my appreciation of her kindness. “Sometimes, the hotel provides goodies, from a free dinner to gift baskets, hoping to lure our company into hosting one or many meetings at there.” Maddie goes on in detail, obviously enjoying the benefits of these visits and not willing to share the perks on a regular basis. “This will probably be your first and last trip to preview hotel accommodations. You just needed to see how I work.”

  “That’s fine,” I say. “I don’t really like to travel.”

  Maddie’s face registers shock. “Really? How is that possible?” Her smile returns. “But good for me then.”

  I walk into the first hotel, a little concerned about the neon decorations from the seventies dominating the lobby. I try not to judge. Maddie and I take a rather old elevator up to the third floor to our adjoining rooms. I open the door and step in. The rug underneath my shoes squirms with moisture, alive. Someone has either forgotten to get a dehumidifier working, or their wet vacuum has gone awry. Bright Caribbean colors cover two small double beds, clashing with a bright montage of uncoordinated decorations.

  Maddie, who I assume has gone into her room, arrives at my door before it closes. “There’s no gift basket,” Maddie says. “This will never do. We’re out of here.”

  “You think the gift basket is the reason we should leave?” I can think of several other perfectly logical reasons. This place is a wreck. I’m not expecting a response, and I don’t get one.

  Maddie exits the room, her luggage in the hallway, already grabbing for her cell phone and notes. She dials a number and speaks. “I need a car from the Tampa Golden Palm Tree Resort to the Grand Suites Orlando. No. I need the car now. It’s for Primus Medical Education. Yes, it was originally supposed to be tomorrow, but I want it now. Yes. Thank you.” Without taking a breath, she says, “Come on. Leave the keys. We’ll wait outside this dump.”

  “Shouldn’t we tell someone?” I ask. I have no idea what I’m doing, but it seems rude to leave after the room had been comped without letting anyone know.

  “No one cares,” Maddie drawls. “I’m leaving, and you’re following.” Towing her luggage, she marches down the hall and outside to wait in the blistering afternoon Tampa sun.

  I’m drenched in sweat from my shirt. Black is not a good color in Florida, ever. I begin to reconsider the wardrobe choices as we wait, but Maddie is in full tirade mode, making positive or any thought difficult.

  “Look at these stats.” Maddie’s words prick like needles. “I should have guessed, with no golf course or spa and only twelve thousand square feet of meeting space, that the place would be a total dump. I bet this was one of Geany’s picks because rooms are only two hundred nineteen a night. Seriously, we can’t put our doctors here.”

  I’m grateful when, thirty-five minutes later, the town car arrives, air conditioner blasting. It whisks us away toward Orlando. Thank God we didn’t have to board another plane, even if it is a three-hour trip north. Maddie busies herself on her cell phone, reorganizing the schedule: flights are changed, and hotel visits and tours rescheduled.

  This gives me some peace, and I’m on the verge of dozing off in the car when Maddie announces our arrival.

  “Now this is more like it,” she beams as we cruise up the long driveway.

  I take in the view as the driver unloads our luggage. A shimmering fountain greets us. Heated outside pools peek from behind extensive, manicured foliage. Cascading waterfalls fall like jewels around lavishly set tables overlooking an expansive green leading to the golf course.

  We check in and are escorted to a plush bedroom suite tastefully decorated in muted beige and ivory. Maddie delights in her fruit basket and free spa treatment.

  “I can’t wait to use this tonight,” she says, grabbing an apple out of the basket and sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “The hotel is absolutely gorgeous,” I say, realizing instead of being able to enjoy the luxuries, I would likely be spending my night in the room, studying for an upcoming quiz.

  “We have work to do.” Maddie leaves her half-eaten apple on the desk. “We’re meeting the hotel staff in half an hour. We should unpack and change.”

  Maddie scrutinizes each room, choses hers, and disappears. I head into the other room without compliant. The hotel room is bigger and more elegant than my apartment bedroom. After unpacking, I change into my least wrinkled items: black pants and a button-down green shirt. I hope the rest of my clothes might, by some miracle, be less wrinkled by morning if I leave them hanging.

  I meet Maddie in the ornate lobby thirty minutes later, where Jackie, the hotel liaison waits. We tour the hotel, and Jackie takes us through the forty-treatment room spa center and the one hundred twenty thousand square feet of meeting space that includes thirty breakout rooms. She also shows us the view through the panoramic glass windows of the outdoor heated pools and the eighteen-hole signature golf course. Of course, we’re close to Disney World, but few guests elect to go. We view a standard room, a bargain at three hundred nine dollars. The suites start at a very reasonable four hundred twenty-nine. Finally, Jackie introduces us to the audio visual and Internet technology staff, who discuss the plentiful equipment the doctors would have on hand for their presentations.

  When the meetings end, I’m too exhausted to even study. I just flop on the bed, glad for a little time alone.

  After her luxury spa treatment, Maddie gets her second wind. “Let’s do dinner,” she says.

  She drags me to dinner in the hotel restaurant, which is decadent and delicious. Then we go out to the bar. I hate bars when I’m not with Kyle or Tanya, but even though Maddie isn’t exactly a fashion model, she easily finds men willing to talk and flirt with her. I play her wing-woman to the best of my ability, but excuse myself at midnight, leaving Maddie with two reasonably respectable and handsome strangers.

  * * * *

  The room phone goes off like a detonated bomb, ringing at seven-thirty in the morning. I glance at the alarm. Checkout isn’t until ten, and the alarm is set for eight. I wonder groggily if I messed something up and overslept. I pick up the phone.

  “Hello?”

  Geany’s voice is harsh and loud in my ear. “Do you understand how hard it was for us to track you down? The Palm Tree Resort said you never showed up for the meetings or checked out. We were so worried. You could have been dead.”

  “Maddie said it was fine to leave like that,” I say in a whisper.

  Geany rants, “Jesus. Don’t either of you two know better? This is not how we want to present our company to the public.” A few more minutes of yelling numb my ear before she demands to speak with Maddie, who is not answering her cell phone.

  I shuffle over to her door in the suite and bang on it until she wakes. There’s contempt in her sleepy eyes and something else I can’t define. I peek in her room and notice something in the bed. It’s lumpy like a body, but I can’t be too sure as the shade are drawn.

  “Geany is on the phone.” I inch away.

  Maddie presses her hair into place before she answers. I watch her respond “yes” and “no” and “but” during a rather lengthy conversation. When she hangs up, those now fully-awake eyes narrow and glare at me before she stomps off to shower.

  Sunday turns out to be rather quiet, with Maddie saying as little as possible to me as we travel to check out a site in Hilton Head, South Carolina, before heading home. The only time Maddie is friendly is when she is charming the hotel staff. I enjoy the day.

  #lovetotravel

  Chapter 10

  May 8

  Time plays tricks on you. Some moments take forever to arrive, and others breez
e in like the arrival of spring. Some slam doors while others leave you with little more than a hiss of breath. Time doesn’t care about you. It keeps going. After all, all the world is a stage, and all that Shakespearean nonsense.

  * * * *

  It is two days before my graduation on May 10, which also happens to be my birthday. I’m enjoying a rare day off. I’ve saved my comp days, and I’m also taking time off until I graduate. I’ve slept in, and now I’m at Dunkin Donuts to get my morning fix.

  The door slams closed behind me, loud and fast, as I trip over the miniscule step. Inside, I’m greeted by frosted holiness. The aroma of coffee beans and sugar laces the air, and people twirl themselves into snake-like lines. My heart beats a little faster in anticipation. Addicted much? I wonder as I watch the glazed-eyes, caffeine-deprived patrons inch slowly forward. Work and school have fueled my need for never-ending cups of coffee.

  I force my way into the crowd, joining the back of the line, hoping to escape scrutiny after my less than graceful entrance. The wait becomes physically painful when the person in line ahead of me orders for the entire office. The poor woman working behind the counter scrambles to concoct seven different types of coffee blends and five bagel sandwiches. Why can’t more people just ask for regular coffee, light and sweet?

  Suddenly, the tiny hairs lining the back of my neck jump to attention. I automatically stare at the entrance, waiting for my stalker, holding a gun, to rampage through the door in order to complete his quest to take me down. Instead, my recent past stares at me.

  It’s Brice.

  Oh, no, runs through my mind as I scope out a bathroom to hide in. Why me? I peek back in his direction to confirm Brice’s existence. He’s gone. Am I dreaming? Can this be something worse? I wonder if paranoia and hallucinations can be brought on by an extreme lack of coffee. Insanity has arrived on four horses.