The Heidi entourage looked back at me, confused.
“You guys always look sooo stylish! Heidi, how do you afford all your gorgeous clothes? Jasmine – I love my hair. Chloe…uh…hi.”
Stevie dashed up, rescuing me. “Sorry, ladies. She’s had a little too many espressos this morning.”
“What were they spiked with?” Chloe asked as Stevie led me away.
“I appreciate that you were trying to make friends, honey, but now’s not the right time. Come, I got you some breakfast.”
“I’m not scared of them,” I proclaimed.
“Good, good. When is your meeting with Caden?”
“Oh my God! What time is it?!”
“It’s nine twenty.”
“Thank God,” I breathed a sigh of relief, “It’s at one.”
“Good, you have plenty of time…to relax.”
“Stevie, do you think my shoes look like stripper heels? I mean, not that that’s a bad thing. Just wondering. Wait, no! That is a bad thing.”
“No, they’re gorgeousness. And you can dress them up and dress them down. What kind of prude told you that?”
“Uh, I would be that prude,” Sydney said, approaching us.
“No offense,” Stevie said, refraining from a wisecrack.
“None taken,” Sydney shrugged. “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”
“Hey! These are expensive trash!” I protested, hands on hips.
“Listen, Caden’s admin came by looking for you. She wanted to know if you’re available at nine thirty. Something came up in Caden’s calendar later today.”
“Ready? I was born ready!” I did an uncoordinated skip and hop on the spot.
“Are you sure?” Stevie asked. “I think it would be better to reschedule…”
“She looks pretty ready to me,” Sydney observed. I was now doing a very uncool sort of hip hop jig on the spot to show off my readiness.
“Sydney, you were so nice to help me with the Gi-Spot party!” I put my hand up to high-five her.
“It’s no big deal,” she gingerly high-fived me back.
“OK, just please eat something first.” Stevie insisted. “I left your breakfast on your desk.”
“Thanks! I’m so hungry!” I made a mad dash back to my desk.
“Why are you so obsessed with her? Aren’t you gay?” I heard Sydney ask as I ran off. “And you definitely can not dress down stripper heels.”
I had been imagining this moment for weeks – behind closed doors with Caden! Be still my maniacally beating, caffeine-overdosed heart.
Caden led me into his sexy lair (OK, it was just his office, but a girl needs her fantasies), placing his hand on my lower back. At his touch, I gasped and jumped up like a high strung cat.
“I’m sorry – you scared the shit out of me!” I exclaimed, somehow making an awkward moment even more awkward.
“No worries. Here, have an espresso,” Caden offered further fuel to the fire. Frankly, it would have been rude not to accept. I shot it back, Ronnie style. Caden laughed, perhaps uncomfortably, but at least it helped lessen my high-strung anxiety.
“I’m so excited to finally talk Gi-Spot with you! Yay Gi-Spot!” I exclaimed. Yay, Gi-Spot? He laughed again.
“I mean… Gi-Spot party.” I laughed nervously.
“Of course, of course. Veronica, it’s great to see you so excited. So, how do you like Gisele so far?” He leaned back in his chair and looked me up and down. I felt a little self conscious by his obvious examination but was glad I put the extra hours into getting ready this morning. And for the stripper heels.
“I’m loving it!” I sat down hastily. I indiscreetly scanned his desk for photos of a significant other. Nothing. Yay!
“Veronica, love the hair. It really suits you. Makes you look very sophisticated and older.”
“Thanks,” I realized I was crossing and uncrossing my legs frantically and stopped suddenly.
He smiled. “So, how’s Gi-Spot been going?”
“It’s great! And the party planning is great too…” Uh-oh, was that an inappropriate joke?
But Caden laughed; oh happy day! I sat up like a proud peacock, thankful for the excessive amounts of caffeine in my system. I would have melted from his hotness by now were it not for the adrenaline.
“I’ve briefed three event planning agencies and our PR agency. We should be getting proposals by next week. I’ve also prepared a timeline of key milestones which I can leave with you for review.” Desperately in need of oxygen, I stopped to audibly take a deep breath.
“Excellent. No need to review the timelines. You have it all under control. All I ask is for it to be hot. Gi-Spot is edgy and sexy. That’s what makes you perfect for the party.”
Was that inappropriate for him to say? Who cares! He thinks I’m sexy! Bring on the inappropriateness! Take that Tracker!
I realized that Caden was keenly reading my thought process through my facial expressions, made even more expressive with the energy provided by eight cups of espresso. I immediately stopped grinning like a Cheshire cat.
Caden smiled again. Or perhaps, knowing the effect it had on women, he kept a perma-smile on his face. “Here, I want you to watch something. Gi-Spot UK launched with this 60 second spot during the MTV Europe Awards.”
As I watched the TV spot, my excitement turned into slight discomfort. Sexy edge? This was more like porn. It was a little awkward watching soft porn with your VP, particularly if all your G-rated school-girl fantasies of him involved cuddling, holding hands and kayaking, (I figured Caden’s rugged good looks would encourage me to embrace the outdoors). The spot ended with a post-coital naked model looking down at the direction of her crotch and then slyly back at the camera, saying, “This is my Gi-Spot. Go find your own.”
“What do you think?” Caden asked.
“Uh…” I had absolutely no idea what to say. I felt as prudish as Sydney.
“Pretty hot, huh?”
“Hot and bothered,” I agreed. Is it hot in here? He raised an eyebrow. Oops, did I just say that out loud? Yes, gauging from his face, I definitely just said everything out loud.
He smiled. “Now you have a better idea of what I’m looking for.”
I was confused at first. “Oh, you mean for the party! Yes! Totally! Can’t wait!”
Caden laughed. “You’re funny.”
“It’s gonna be hot,” I promised him. I wondered if he found charity sexy.
“Good, can’t wait.” He winked at me, making my heart flutter. Or was that the caffeine?
“How did it go?” Stevie showed up promptly at my cube two seconds after I sat down. I was still hot and bothered from my meeting.
“Awesome. But I think I need a cold shower.”
“Ew. What happened?”
“We watched porn. It was great.”
“Please tell me you’re joking.” Stevie’s face had gone white. Mine was still flushed.
“He showed me the UK Gi-Spot TV ad. It’s basically soft porn. He wants the Gi-Spot party to be as hot and bothered as…well, soft porn.”
Stevie sighed. “Oh no, he’s awful. He has such a bad reputation for hitting on young marketers. Don’t let him seduce you.” I was outraged at this accusation and didn’t want to believe Stevie. Caden may have been slightly inappropriate and did flirt quite frequently but he would never cross the line. Well, depending on which line we’re talking about.
“Too late.” I felt my coffee high slipping slightly.
“Oh no…” Stevie left me alone with my hot and bothered thoughts. I tried to get work done but I found myself reading the same email over and over again. I was growing increasingly concerned with Stevie’s accusation of Caden’s inappropriate behaviour with young marketers.
My phone rang. It was Savannah. “Please come see me in my office,” she demanded. Uh-oh, did Stevie tell on me?
“Good news,” she told me when I arrived, breathless, seconds later. Her Medusa hair seemed calm. The snakes
appeared to be napping. “I’m assigning the Phat Lash Mascara launch to you.”
My eyes widened in distress. How was I going to plan my hot and bothered party, make women buy ten times more mascara than they need and launch fat makeup at the same time?
“I know. You’re welcome,” the corners of Savannah’s mouth pulled up in a laboured smile. “It’s going to be very high profile. Phat Lash uses revolutionary new technology. It’s enriched with cellulite.”
I half laughed and half gasped. “Seriously?”
“I’m sorry? Did I just say something funny?” Savannah’s sharp voice cut short my amusement.
“No,” I replied, quickly assuming a serious expression.
Savannah launched into a detailed description but I was distracted by happy thoughts of Caden and me laughing in his office over Gi-Spot puns.
“Veronica!” Savannah shrill voice interrupted my happy place. The Medusa head of snakes stirred. “Pay attention. I’m not going to repeat myself. This product is revolutionary and I want to pay it justice with an innovative launch, not just recycle the US launch plan. I’d like to see your first crack at a go-to-market strategy in two weeks.” Shit. Clearly, Savannah did not think that sleep was a requirement for me.
As usual, when in distress, I went to go visit Stevie for help. Hopefully he had recovered from my hot and bothered meeting with Caden.
Sydney was in Stevie’s cube. They were speaking in hushed voices, which is very unusual for both of them. I heard the words CLM, soft porn and espresso addiction so they were obviously talking about me.
“Stevie, are you dumping me for Sydney because I was cheating on you with Caden?” I joked.
“Dude,” Sydney said with her usual poetic tact. “Stay away from Caden or the shit is going to hit the fan.”
“Says who?” I challenged.
“I’d give you a few examples but they’re no longer at the company,” Sydney replied. This was certainly a strange turn of events. Were Sydney and Stevie ganging up against me?
“That’s convenient. Give me some credit, guys. I’m not going to do anything.” I kind of lied. Sydney crossed her arms, not convinced.
“Can’t a girl lust after a hot executive that she happens to report into without being accused of a CLM?” Stevie and Sydney remained stone-faced and silent. “OK, that didn’t sound good,” I admitted.
“So are you going to lay off the Caden?” Sydney asked.
“Well, I’m going to be too busy anyway, because I just got assigned some fat mascara launch. And, Savannah wants me to be ‘innovative’.” I made air quote gestures for emphasis. “Whatever that means.”
“The Phat Lash mascara launch?” Stevie gasped.
“How do you know everything?” I asked in disbelief.
“That’s fabulous news!” Stevie exclaimed.
“Yeah, one less thing I have to do.” Sydney was relieved to be relinquished from the duty.
“When am I going to find time to do everything?” I moaned. “I need an espresso.”
“No!” Stevie and Sydney yelled simultaneously.
Chapter 9: Playboy
It was becoming evident to me that Savannah’s empty diet and social life led to her a constantly angry state. She seemed to live on the brink of collapse on a diet of baby carrots, champagne and contempt for others. She entertained herself by searching for ways to feed the vacant void in her soul by brutalizing others into an equally miserable existence.
Today she summoned me into her office for a ‘coaching session’; i.e., closed door session in which she would scold me for my complete incompetence until I admitted my inferiority and begged for emancipation. Her Medusa head of snakes were very active during these sessions and would sneer at me. Then, satisfied with her progress, she would release me from her evil lair so she could continue her sinister plans to join Klaus in world domination. OK, it didn’t really happen exactly like that…only in my recurring nightmares.
The key learning from this coaching session was that I was not terrifying enough to my cross-functional team members because they actually liked me, which apparently was a bad thing. Indeed, I was not action-oriented enough because I was unable to strike the fear of God into the hearts of my team members. This coaching session was part of my boss’s grand plan to brainwash me into thinking the only way to succeed at Gisele was to become her clone, or in other words, the spawn of Satan. Needless to say, this was not a key learning that I would carry with me to Amnesty International.
In addition to my inferiority, I was also left painfully aware that I had not yet started my assignment to wow Savannah with something “innovative” for the Phat Lash launch. As a huge coup to all Gisele marketing peons, Klaus was in Paris representing Gisele Canada with the global powers-that-be so next month’s Marketing Review meeting was cancelled. Luckily, it also bought me more time to find out the secret to revolutionizing mascara usage among Canadian women.
When I returned to my desk, I changed my Facebook status to:
Veronica is traumatized.
Seconds later, my phone promptly rang.
“Hey, drama queen,” Stevie’s voice piped up over the phone. “Snap out of it. I need you to be fun tonight.”
I was Stevie’s date at a chi-chi gala at the Italian Business Consulate. Stevie was invited because the Gisele fragrances he managed were being sampled in the swag bag. He promised to find me an Italian stallion in exchange for being his date. Italian stallion or not, I was looking forward to being Stevie’s date. I owed him several favours and I hoped that this would begin to repay him.
“Oh no, is that tonight?” My heart sank. I had dinner plans with the girls tonight. I had offered to take Lindsay out to make up for my selfish behaviour caused by my lesbian rocker mullet hair cut. It turned out that Lindsay had very little sympathy for sexually ambiguous haircuts and insisted that I treat Jackie and Calista to dinner because my diva behaviour was equally as offensive to them.
Lindsay had already posted a comment to my Facebook status:
What’s wrong? Another lesbian haircut? LOL.
There was an ominous silence on the phone.
“I have nothing to wear,” I decided. It was a half lie – I had picked up a cheap frock at H&M as my rapidly expanding wardrobe was just as quickly leading me into debt.
As Stevie rhymed off a number of expensive options completely out of my price range, I responded to Lindsay’s comment on Facebook:
Something came up at work. Feel horrible. Rain check?
I felt as cowardly as a high school boy breaking up over email.
Stevie’s romanticized description of the gala was a far cry from reality. It was actually a networking business event, comprised of questionable Italian businessmen. The guests were uncomfortably donned in formal attire and just as uncomfortably attempting to make polite conversation with their business adversaries.
The average age of our table was eighty. Within minutes of scanning the room, I knew I wasn’t going to find my Italian stallion. I resigned myself to a long evening ahead of me, which could only be made tolerable by excessive alcohol intake.
“Whatever you do, don’t drink everything that they serve you,” Stevie warned me as we sat down at our table. I had promised to be a good date so I obediently but resentfully heeded his warning.
Stevie’s advice was only intended for me, because he proceeded to drink the seven rounds of alcohol that was served with each course, plus the ones that I didn’t drink. By the time I realized his strategy, it was too late. This resulted in his total inebriation and misperception that the people at our table were actually interesting and fun. He spent the dinner engaged in what appeared to be fascinating conversation while I attempted awkward small talk with a seventy-year-old businessman and his beautiful mute wife.
I wondered whether she simply had no conversational abilities or whether her husband trained her to only say yes, please and thank-you in public. In any case, I didn’t care. Within minutes I had established
that they were very boring, completely disinterested in me and only present for networking purposes. They were also possibly involved in money laundering.
There were gales of laughter from Stevie’s side of the table. Apparently, another one of Stevie’s talents was to instantly connect with the most obscure and unlikely people. I tried to join Stevie’s conversation but despite the promise of witty entertainment, it was completely incomprehensible to a sober participant.
When the dinner was over, our table was asked to pose for a group photograph. As the strangers assembled into a forced family photo, the photographer referred to me as Stevie’s wife. Stevie and I almost burst into raucous laughter but, mindful of our surroundings, we quelled our hysteria and let people believe what they wanted to. When we later saw the photo, Stevie and I were the only ones smiling in a group of somber, stiff Mafiosos.
As if the evening couldn’t get any worse, I saw Mateo approach who, judging from the way he walked, had also consumed all seven rounds of alcohol.
“Hey Mateo.” I accepted my fate as I had nowhere to run. The eighty-year old Mafiosos and Stevie had just hit the dance floor.
“Hey Veronica,” he pronounced my name with a Spanish accent. “You look almost as beautiful as Heidi tonight.”
“Uh…thanks?” I wasn’t aware that Heidi was the epitome of beauty but was not surprised that the high-end escort look was appealing to Mateo.
“Dude, I got it bad.” He slumped down, uninvited, beside me. “Heidi’s the hottest girl in the world. She makes Miss America look fake.”
“Mateo, I had no idea you had a thing for Heidi!” His behaviour certainly did not support that he had his sights set on one woman, much less Heidi. But hey, he was drunk, and the truth serum was talking. “How do you know you don’t have a chance?” He had no chance in hell.
“I just have to work up the nerve to approach her when she’s alone. But she always has those two chicks around her and they’re as scary as Russian gymnasts.” He had a point. Maybe they weren’t mean. Maybe they were just hungry and malnourished. “I try to get her to notice me by hitting on other chicks.”
Why I Love My Gay Boyfriend Page 7
