I didn’t update them on the embarrassing encounter with Caden in the church basement that had triggered my demise but I did tell them about how I had ratted out Stevie and how he had de-friended me. I didn’t know whether they associated Stevie with my change in behaviour but they did not seem that devastated for me, nor did they try to hide it.
“Oh well, life goes on,” Lindsay said. Jackie and Calista clinked their glasses together in approval.
Lindsay’s wedding was in a couple months and while I had been unbridesmaid-ed, I was nonetheless relieved to still be invited after my obnoxious behaviour over the past year. I didn’t know if things would ever get back to normal with my girl friends but at least they were giving me a chance to earn their trust back.
“Did you ever become friends with anyone else at Gisele?” Calista asked.
“No,” I answered. I considered putting in a good word about Sydney but then thought it would be too complicated to explain. I was still a little upset about her abrupt decision to end our acquaintance based on Stevie’s account of what happened, but then I too would be forever distrustful in that environment.
“Whatever happened to Caden?” Jackie asked.
“Banished to Japan,” I laughed. Lindsay appeared physically relieved. “Turned out he was a douche.”
“Well, I hope young Japanese girls don’t like douches,” Calista said.
Alas, I did not believe that Japanese girls would be immune to his charms. Out of curiosity, I had visited dontdatehimgirl.com and read every morbid detail about Caden. The Internet certainly isn’t the binding authority on truth and can be a great venue for love-scorned women to vent vengefully. But the entries were so numerous and consistent that it was hard to deny Caden was a douche bag. Had I known the extent of his douche bag-ness, I wasn’t sure it would have changed anything. I would rather reserve judgment for myself, even if my judgment has proved to be hugely inaccurate and biased by good looks.
A few days after I gave Savannah my two week’s notice, I received a letter in the mail via international courier. It was a glowing reference letter from Japan. I read the contents, baffled.
“What the hell?” I said out loud when I saw that it was signed by Caden.
I kept reading it over and over in confusion until I realized there was someone watching me. My cube neighbour, aka Gossip Girl, was peering over our shared cube wall looking at me, completely oblivious to how creepy he looked.
“Did you get it?” he asked.
I looked back at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“The reference letter from Caden,” he replied in a stage whisper.
“I don’t get it. Did you forge it?”
He shook his head and continued to talk in a stage whisper. “I bribed him.”
“Oh, how sweet of you.”
“With his affair with Chloe. I didn’t blog about it because I wanted to save it for something juicy.”
“Makes sense. But how is my reference letter juicy?”
He looked around furtively. “That way you won’t tell anyone about me.”
“Well, I never would have anyway,” I replied. Still fresh from the trauma of backstabbing Stevie, the notion of ratting out someone, even if they deserved it, made me ill. Gossip Girl looked dubious. It seemed I was way beyond the point of winning over my less-than-savoury colleagues. “But thanks, I guess.”
“I’m going to miss you,” he said. “As a neighbour. I get a lot of material from sitting beside you. I hope your replacement is as screwed up and loud as you are.”
“Uh…thanks.” I was certainly appreciative of the mutual benefit of Gossip Girl’s bribe but made a mental note to warn my replacement to watch her back.
Indeed, Savannah reinforced my expendability by the speed in which she found a suitable replacement for me. The new hire made me feel old and jaded. She was a pretty little thing, fresh out of school, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed like Bambi in spring time. She was going to get skinned alive.
I was glad that I would have the opportunity to bring her on with the diligence and respect that Stevie granted me. It made my betrayal sting more when I thought back to his eagerness to help even when he barely knew me. Of the many things I learned from Stevie, he taught me that you don’t have to save the world to be charitable.
“Thank you so much for all your help!” Bambi gushed to me on my last day as I sincerely wished her good luck. “I hope that I can do half as good a job as you did.”
I looked at her like she was Jackie refusing a first date. “Who told you that?”
Bambi blushed. “Well, Savannah just says that I have big shoes to fill.”
“Oh.” I hated to admit just how proud that made me feel.
“Do you mind if I ask you why you quit?”
“It just wasn’t for me.” I shrugged, not wanting to bias or worry her with my experience.
“Well, I hope it’s for me. I have so much to learn!” Was this how ridiculously naive and idealistic I appeared to everyone when I started?
“Let me ask you one thing,” I said. Bambi leaned forward as if to receive a blessing. “New York or Paris?”
“Oh, right here,” she replied without hesitation. “I’m happy right where I am. But I’m open, because, well, things always change.”
“I think you’ll be just fine.” Bambi was smarter than I thought. “And also,” I raised my voice for the sake of Gossip Girl. “There’s no privacy in this cube environment so don’t ever have any private or personal conversations in your cube.”
“Never!” she assured me with big doe eyes. I thought I heard Gossip Girl say, “Bitch.”
On my way out, I stopped my Savannah’s office to say good-bye. Savannah wasn’t what one would label as the sentimental type, but I was surprised that I didn’t even get a card or a nice working with you, if not for the sincerity then for the gesture.
“Have a glass of champagne with me,” she suggested.
“Right now?” I was hoping to never see her again, much less meet up for a drink with her.
She opened a desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of Veuve Clicquot and two plastic champagne glasses.
“It’s my favourite,” she explained in response to my raised eyebrows, as if it were a logical and appropriate response.
“Should I close the door?” I asked.
“No, we’re good,” she said as she smoothly and effortlessly popped the bottle.
“Well, I didn’t realize you were this happy to see me go,” I joked.
“I’m happy for you,” she replied, handing me my glass. We clinked plastic glasses. I took a sip as Savannah downed the whole glass in one gulp. I awkwardly continued sipping.
“So, any plans?” Savannah asked, pouring herself another glass. She offered me a top-up but I politely declined.
“No, not really. I’m just going to see what’s out there and what fits me best.”
“Well, here’s a few good recruiters. If you need any references, I’m happy to be one.” She handed me a piece of paper containing a list of recruiters.
“Thanks,” I took the paper, surprised at the gesture. It was, well, nice.
“Don’t do the charity thing. It pays crap. Stick to marketing for now,” she advised.
“OK.”
“Yeah, stick to marketing,” she mused. “You’re not bad. I just hope you can find a good company that could help you, you know, get better.”
“Uh…thanks.”
“And you should get a boyfriend your own age. It will help keep you from…distractions.”
I hastily finished my glass of champagne. “Well, thanks for all your help and advice. I really learned a lot from you.”
She nodded. “Good luck.”
As I walked out of Gisele’s lobby for the last time, I noticed the life-size posters of models lining the walls and remembered how terrified they made me feel on my first day. Now they looked ridiculous to me, trapped forever inside of their contrived images. I was free.
I met Oompa Loompa coming out of the elevator, who was on his way down from the executive level to Gisele’s main level.
“You are always welcome back,” he said and kissed me on both cheeks in his usual ceremonious manner.
“Thank you,” I said, knowing that wasn’t true.
Outside, it was unexpectedly raining. I didn’t have an umbrella on me but it was a warm, light autumn rain and it was nice. I walked home at a leisurely pace, happy that the rain perhaps hid a few tears. I wasn’t sure whether they were tears of relief, joy or even sadness. But what I was sure of was that it was over.
I spent the next few weeks rebuilding my friendship with my girls, reducing the volume of my obsessive communication to Stevie, meeting recruiters and assessing available marketing jobs. Unlike my post-grad hysteria, I was in no rush and had no unreasonable restrictions, such as must allow me to save the world or will only consider Amnesty International. That, combined with having Gisele on my resume, really opened my options. I didn’t yet know my life’s calling but that was OK because I had my whole life to figure that one out.
During this period of reassessment, I bumped into Will at the garbage chute, of all glamourous places.
“Hey, how’s your band?” I asked.
“Good, great,” he responded.
“How’s your gay boyfriend?” he asked as a joke.
“We broke up.”
“Oh? I’m sorry.” He looked vaguely confused and uncomfortable.
“Yeah, well,” I shrugged.
“Well, see you around,” he said as I stopped at my door. He kept walking.
I braced myself and took a deep breath.
“Hey, Will,” I called. He turned around. “Does the offer still stand?”
“What? For the banana milkshake?”
“No, definitely not for the banana milkshake. To help me assemble the Ikea unit.”
“That’s still not assembled?” he asked.
“Yeah, I suck.”
“Yeah, sure. I could do that…sometime.”
“OK, well, I’ll be around so just let me know,” I tried to say as casually as possible.
“OK,” he nodded, trying to look just as casual.
“OK,” I said. We stood looking at each other, nodding so I added, “Great.”
“Yeah,” he said. “So…how about tomorrow night?”
I smiled. “Perfect. I’ll be right here.”
As for Stevie, he never did return any of my emails. I continued to send one once a week anyway, just to let him know how I was doing in the slim chance that he still actually cared. I came to think of it as my weekly diary entry. At first I used to picture him secretly looking forward to receiving my emails but after awhile of no response, he became such a distant memory that he almost seemed imaginary. At least he was to my girls. Since they never met Stevie, they claimed he was a figment of my imagination, a mirage brought on by excessive fatigue and stress-induced insanity.
Eventually, the shame of betraying Stevie stopped gnawing at my chest, and I found myself smiling when I thought about him. Yes, I will forever remember his invaluable fashionista advice but what left a much deeper imprint in me was his generosity of spirit, his empathy for the troubled and his flair for living. That’s why I love my gay ex-boyfriend. If we were to never see each other again, I will always carry these pieces of him with me.
It made me sad that Stevie may never know or see how he inspired me to be a better person and a better friend. I didn’t know how much longer I would remain hopeful that Stevie would one day return my emails. But Stevie did leave some hope for me and I think it’s one of the best gifts he gave me: after all the disagreeable human behaviour I encountered and perpetuated over the past year, I believed even more in the good of human nature. And that is, I must say, pretty honourable.
About The Author
Sabrina Zollo is a marketer and author who lives in Toronto, Canada. She has been compulsively writing stories since childhood. She graduated with an MBA from York University and has worked in brand management for almost ten years. Sabrina is a consummate lover of Pinot Grigio, dark chocolate, shoes and spin class.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to all my dear friends for your love, kindness, help and advice throughout this journey. I am touched by your unwavering support and belief in me.
Thanks to Rebecca Doll for the coaching and discipline that helped me take the words out of my head and heart and make a novel out of it.
And finally, a big thanks to Michelle Halket and Meghan Tobin-O’Drowsky for taking a chance on me and publishing this book.
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