Departure (Vivienne #3)

by Karen Gordon

  I reply back.

  There?

  Martin quickly answers.

  Vegas

  Fuck! I throw the phone on the floor. When it hits I wonder if I broke it then realize it doesn’t matter. It’s a company phone and I doubt it will be mine by the end of the day. But it bleeps again. It’s not dead.

  Still no sign of Jack

  The only thing I can think to tell Martin to stay put. We’re hedging a calculated bet that Jack is there. If we are right it might pay out with us keeping out jobs—a prize I’m not sure I want anymore.

  I text Martin back to stay put, that I’ll track Joel’s plane and try to think of a plan.

  I’m way too agitated to sleep now but I’m still exhausted. I order a pot of strong coffee from room service and call the local flight dept.

  ✈ ✈ ✈

  I call Dom and catch her up. I need a good back-up brain. She doesn’t have any immediate ideas but soothes my jangled nerves by reminding me that I haven’t been fired, yet, and that I have no idea how this will play out. After years of practice she is amazing at talking me off my over-thinking ledge.

  At three p.m. Martin is still waiting on Jack, Joel is in flight and I’m drinking coffee and pacing, holding my phone, watching the miles add up on my pedometer app.

  At four thirty Martin finally spots Jack or what’s left of him. He’s a mess, definitely drunk and possibly drugged up, and full of piss and vinegar. I get bit and pieces of their encounter.

  He’s here

  I’m about to reply with my relief when I get another text.

  He’s a mess. Not sure he knows me. Didn’t plan to see me here

  I reply.

  Tell him his dad is on the way

  Martin lets me know.

  He said to fuck off

  Oh he’s the big man and all talk when he’s far away and dads not here. I don’t have time for this.

  Tell him “Maybe later but right now we are going back to Vegas”

  The next text is from Martin’s phone but I get the feeling it’s Jack.

  Viv

  I hate it when he doesn’t use my full name and he knows it. I suppress my irritation and focus on ending this crisis.

  Come back to Vegas

  The reply confirms that it has to be Jack. He must have taken Martin’s phone.

  u want me

  I ignore his lame sexual advance and keep my response businesslike.

  I want you here, where you are supposed to be…working. Your dad is on his way.

  Not only is he an asshole when he drunk, the also can’t spell.

  Fuk him

  I crack a stupid joke, hoping to ease the tension between us and get him on my side.

  That’s between you and him. I need you back here!

  There is a long pause. I can feel the seconds tick by as I wait for a reply. This one looks like it is actually from Martin.

  Text me the name of the jet charter. We’re heading back.

  I send him the information then wait. There is nothing else I can do. It’s excruciating. I turn on the TV then turn it off again. I break out the ironing board and iron everything I can, including the pillow cases. I’m about to strip the sheets off the bed and iron them when my phone chimes. It’s Martin.

  We’re on our way. Jack is puking.

  I quickly check the flight info on Joel’s plane. He’s going to be landing around the same time as Jack and Martin. This is not going to be pretty. All I can do is warn Martin.

  Joel coming in same time as you. Avoid the lobby. Get Jack in the limo and back here.

  I call and send a limo to be waiting for them.

  For the next fifteen minutes I can’t pace, or drink coffee or even iron. I can only sit and sweat and watch the clock. I refresh my flight tracking app at watch the two planes getting closer and closer to Vegas and eminent disaster. I see Joel’s plane land first, then Jack’s. My heart is pounding and it almost stops when my phone rings. I breathe a little easier when I see its Martin calling and not Joel.

  “We’ve just landed but we can’t get off the plane. Joel is on the ramp standing by the limo.”

  “What? You have got to be kidding me.” Poor Martin. What a freaking nightmare.

  “I wish like hell I was. He looks pissed.” I hear rustling and Martin saying something to Jack or the crew but I can’t make it out. “Jack is trying to leave the plane. He wants to have it out with his dad.”

  I feel a cold tingle all over my body. It’s known as someone walking over your grave but in this case it’s really Jack stomping on the grave of my career. “Can you stop him?”

  “I gotta go. Joel’s getting on the plane.” He barely finishes his sentence when he hangs up.

  Then there’s just silence. Heavy, dead silence.

  Chapter Ten

  I have no sense of time. It feels like I’m sitting here for hours and in that time I resolve myself to whatever happens next. I reason that I have enough money to last for a while. If I’m careful, maybe even several years. I will find another job eventually. Maybe not at this pay level, but I will. Maybe I can help out at Dom’s dad’s restaurant.

  I mentally shrink my world and my budget. Peanut butter is an efficient form of protein. I’ll stock up on jars of a good generic brand. I’ll cancel my satellite and Netflix and borrow movies from the library. Maybe I’ll even take up a hobby. I’ll have time. I can knit again. Oooh, and if I knit I could sell the stuff I make on Etsy. More income. What else can I sell on Etsy? Crochet? Bake goods? Where can I sell some bake goods? I’m one hell of a baker.

  I’m shaken out of my new life plan by the text chime on my phone. I’m afraid to look so I peek. I have to look twice to see it’s from Annalize. I had actually forgotten about her.

  We got the money. Come have dinner. Champagne

  I laugh as I picture the ironic scene of me drinking champagne on the night I get fired. I laugh harder when I picture me with the beautiful Annalize, her hot husband and his Euro-cool friends all toasting their super-sonic jet company and my new Etsy store. Maybe I could get Annalize to wear something I make and it would sell huge in Italy. Do they have Etsy in Italy? I’m about to search when I realize I need to reply.

  Sure! When? Where?

  I have nothing to lose now.

  I find my sexy gold top and pair it with my now-pressed black pants. I try to re-fluff my hair like Annalize had it but it’s a no go. My makeup doesn’t look as stunning as when she applied it either. I shrug it all off and I’m about to walk out the door when Martin texts me.

  I’m fired. Good luck.

  White-hot anger shoots through me then the fight in me dies quickly and I slump over. It’s not like I didn’t see this coming. Joel is known for being decisive and fast when firing.

  I drop to the floor by the door, slam the phone into the carpet and kick at the wall with my heels. God damn you, Jack Rockhurst. God damn your evil, black soul. I know what’s coming next. Joel must be on his way here to fire me. I’ve tried to mentally prepare for this but I realize that’s actually impossible. I’m not a good loser. I don’t accept defeat easily. After a few deep, strengthening breath,s I text Martin back.

  I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve this. Keep in touch, please. I’ll see if I can help you find something else.

  Joel may read it. He probably has the phone by now but I don’t give a shit. I can sit here and have a pity party for one as I wait for Joel or I can go out. I push myself up off the floor and check to make sure my swinging-free boobies are still contained in my gold top. I definitely look like I’m going out for a Vegas party so I might as well do this.

  ✈ ✈ ✈

  When my new-found friends see me from across the restaurant they cheer loudly. Everyone within earshot turns to see who’s here that could possibly deserve such adulation. It only gets worse when Annalize stands up and toasts me and blows kisses at me. There is truly nothing I hate more than being the center of attention and tonight more than ever. I blanch
in the glare of this unwanted spotlight. My gold top feels too flashy and my boobs feel like they’ve gone into free-form flinging with every step. My raw emotions are too close to the surface for this.

  I slink to the table and force a smile as I slide into an open seat. “Congratulations!”

  The men all stand briefly and each follows suit when Mikel comes over to air kiss me. I oblige and keep brimming with false happiness. With this opening ceremony over I slide back into my seat and hope we can return to anonymity. I casually glance around and I’m relieved to see that most of the other diners have returned to their own conversations.

  I get some time to regroup and push my own problems aside as the waiter comes to fill my water glass, offer me a menu and recount the specials. I pretend to listen with rapt attention but couldn’t tell you a single one when he is done. I order a Jameson and water with lemon which sends him on his way.

  Our table is mostly silent, waiting for me to get settled and join in their fun. I use the menu to hide me for another minute then put it down when I feel I can’t stall any longer. As soon as I do, Annalize catches my eye, nods toward my top and smiles. She’s seen my wardrobe so she knows this is really pushing my sexy limit. I can’t help but smile back--an Italian screen goddess has just approved of my outfit.

  It’s my first genuine smile of the evening and it feels so much better than the false ones. A wave of warmth descends through the tension I’ve been holding all afternoon. I reach for the glass of champagne they’ve already poured for me and toast their success.

  “Congratulations on your success, gentlemen.” I tip my glass toward Mikel who is shaking his head.

  “No, Cara, it’s you we toast. It was your work that made our meeting a success.”

  I brush it off with a wave but he is insistent. “Yes, you knew what to say. Our presentation would have been all wrong.”

  I feel the battle between wanting to be humble and dying to soak up this glory. I’m about to wave him off again when I stop myself. I need this, god-damn it, especially today, especially right now. I desperately need to feel someone’s appreciation for my hard work. So I take it. It’s a little hard to swallow. I have to bow my head before I can look directly at Mikel and say, “thank you.”

  Once I accept their gratitude I free everyone up to get back to celebrating. Conversations in Italian, German and English crisscross the table. Annalize makes Victor switch places with her so she can sit next to me. She pulls my chair in close to hers and hugs me. I’m not sure if it’s because of the successful meeting or she’s just thrilled to have someone to talk to about anything but airplanes.

  I order the fish that Annalize insists I must try and Mikel orders more champagne and wine for the table. I’m already mixing champagne and whiskey, adding wine will definitely send me over the painful-hangover edge. Then I remember that I can have a hangover tomorrow. I’m unemployed, or about to be…then again, Joel never called or texted me. I try to casually check my phone and sure enough, there is nothing. I start to formulate reasons why he is waiting to swing the ax. Annalize pulls me back to the table.

  “You are worried about your friend?”

  I can’t remember what friend she would be talking about.

  “Is he still at the raaahnch?”

  I snicker at her exaggerated pronunciation and the fact that I had called Jack a friend earlier. “No, he’s back here. I was just checking to see if my boss called me.”

  This does not sit well with Annalize and she announces it by calling across the table to Mikel. “Did you know that our Vivienne is a secretary?”

  He acknowledges her with a “Si” but also shrugs and shakes his head like he can’t believe this either.

  “And her boss, he calls her now, at night, during dinner.” She adds, gesturing to the phone now back in my purse.

  It’s clear everyone in the group finds this American practice completely unacceptable.

  Mikel puts his napkin in his lap as he accepts his appetizer. “You should be selling. You are a natural.”

  I want to launch myself across the table and hug and kiss him for this solid vote of confidence in my abilities. It’s like someone handed him a script of everything I needed to hear tonight.

  Annalize also places her napkin in her lap and leans toward me to make room for her appetizer. “Si. You are wasting your talent on this rude man.” She gestures again toward my offensive phone.

  If she only knew the half of it.

  ✈✈✈

  Dinner is hours long. There’s course after course, lots of wine and champagne, tons of gesturing and storytelling and laughter, hours upon hours of laughter. I laugh at Annalize and Mikel’s stories of travel mishaps and Geoff’s story of his first trip to the U.S. Then I share my stories, of Dom and I, our Halloweens and our worst high school moments.

  I know things are winding down when Mikel asks me to stop by their booth at the convention tomorrow. I’m about to say I will when I remember that I might be going home tomorrow.

  “I’ll try.”

  That’s not good enough for him. “You must. And we can all go out tomorrow night.”

  I might as well tell them. I can’t ruin their evening now. “I, uh…I might be going home tomorrow.”

  Annalize turns to me in shock. “Home? Why? It is the first day.”

  “I don’t know if I will…” I search for a polite way to say it, “have a job…tomorrow.”

  Everyone stops short and is staring at me, shocked that the woman they just applauded is about to be canned.

  Mikel can’t find the words. “You cannot…but you are…”

  I hold my hand up to stop him. “It’s a long story.”

  “This man, he is rude and un deficient.” He’s so angry, he’s lapsing into Italian.

  Annalize really has her Italian anger stoked. “Un deficient, culo di un cavallo…” Her sharp, manicured nails are flying in all directions and I have to pull back to avoid them. “Questo è sbagliato.” She says it to me then realizes I can’t translate and turns to Mikel.

  “Si, it is wrong.” He stops to think for a moment then glances around at the others at the table. “If this should happen, you must call me. Do not leave, call me.”

  I want to get out of here before they want more of my story, one I’m not in the mood to tell and know I really shouldn’t. I quickly promise to call Mikel, figuring I’ll never see him again anyway then I perform the obligatory air kiss ceremony with all the men and turn to hug Annalize before I go. But she grabs my face before I can hug her.

  “You will call.” She’s studying my eyes to see if I am lying.

  I do my best to look directly into her eyes and do just that. “I will call.”

  She squints, letting me know she doesn’t believe me then she kisses me on the lips before releasing my face. She’s using her best Annalize ammunition, kisses that I would imagine get people to do her bidding all the time.

  I stumble away from the table, hobbled by the liquor and the passion of my friends. I’m almost out of earshot when Mikel barks, “Tomorrow then.” It’s not a question. He’s a very commanding man when he wants to be.

  Chapter Eleven

  The first thing I do when my alarm wakes me is check my phone, sure that Joel remembered he needed to fire me and did so in the middle of the night. There’s nothing from him. Annalize texted me kisses and Mikel sent me their booth number again as a reminder that I need to stop by and see them today.

  The phrase ‘dead-man walking’ comes to mind as I force myself out of bed and into the shower. I’m fired but then again I’m not, so I’m going show up to work at a place I will probably no longer work at as soon as Joel sees me. I go through my morning routine but my heart isn’t in it. I’m no longer excited about my job or driven by the (false) belief that I can fix Jack Rockhurst.

  I get to the convention hall with time to spare because I’m still me and I still can’t be late for work, even on my last day. I’m the first to our booth so I g
o through it checking to make sure everything is in place. A few of the sales guys arrive next and I put on a good show of excitement about bringing out the J88. The story of Jack’s test flight has already made the rounds and they all share a good laugh about that. When the gates officially open and potential buyers and press stop by I have no role. I’m Jack’s keeper and there is no Jack here. He’s due here in an hour so I keep up the ruse of doing my job and send him a good morning text with a reminder of his itinerary for the day. I’m not surprised when there is no reply. To pass the time I greet visitors, offer them refreshments, learn a little about them then pass them off to a sales rep then sit and wait for more visitors.

  I can overhear their conversations and I’m not impressed. Ted Kircher is fumbling the names of a group of hotel men from Bali and going in way too fast with his sales pitch. I know from Bob how important it is to establish connections with them first. On the other side of our display I can see three of the younger national sales reps looking very unapproachable huddled together talking to each other. The mother hen in me wants to go tell them to break it up and start approaching anyone who isn’t one of our employees.

  ✈ ✈ ✈

  At ten a.m., on the dot, Joel arrives with Jack in tow. Both are putting on a good show, looking rested, happy to be there and not disgusted about being near each other. I’m standing behind a tall Swede so I take a minute to enjoy my hiding place and study them. To the untrained eye they are a sight—both handsome, wearing designer suits and million-dollar smiles. But I see so much more. Joel takes the lead when they walk in then moves back and all but pushes Jack into the limelight then stands behind him, looking like he’s blocking Jack’s path in case he tries to walk out. I make sure the Swedish client is comfortable, buying time, before I approach them.

  “Hi Jack.” I march up to him with no hint of hesitation of fear. I’m going to play this like nothing is wrong. He doesn’t talk but his eyes read an unmistakable ‘fuck you.’ I ignore him and greet Joel, “Mr. Rockhurst.”