The Felix Fiasco

by Randi Devilkin

  We get on the freeway, and I say, “The food was great, especially the desserts. What did you think?”

  He smiles. “Agree, but there wasn’t any ice cream.”

  “Or frozen custard.” The powers that be reward me for not eating all my cake with a brilliant brainstorm. “How about a stop at Wild About Harry’s?”

  He jerks the steering wheel to the right. Eeuurrrrt. I clutch at the dashboard to keep myself upright and try not to have a heart attack. Minutes later, we pull into a parking space. How this massive truck made it across four lanes of congested freeway to an exit without getting anyone killed is a mystery. Maybe now we’ll have time to have an actual conversation.

  Fabio orders the Captain America, which has vanilla and chocolate custard, Hershey’s and vanilla syrup, and sprinkles. I order a single dip vanilla cone. The hotdogs here are wonderful too. Harry’s Chicago dog is my favorite with mustard, relish, tomatoes, pickle, sport peppers, and celery salt, but the powers that be might consider me gorging on a hotdog taking advantage of their gift. We sit at the serving counter.

  “Sorry about Michelle,” he says. “She likes to bust my chops.”

  “No problem. She’s quite interesting. She asked if I’d been to Aspen recently.” I raise my eyebrows to ask my question, which he ignores.

  “She’s nosey. She always wants to know who I’m traveling with.”

  Subtlety isn’t working; I try again. “How was Aspen?”

  “Great. The powder was amazing.”

  I struggle to keep my lips pressed together, but the question pops out. “If you were in Aspen with a friend last week, why isn’t she here with you today?”

  He tilts his head and purses his lips as he considers his answer. “If you’d like, I’ll be honest.” He waits for my reaction.

  I want honesty. Maybe. At least I think so. “Why not? And knowing your last name would be helpful too.”

  “Smith. Fabio Smith.” He pauses, as though the commonness of his surname could shock me. It does, but I hold a poker face. “Long term isn’t my style. I married a few times, but none stuck.” He chuckles. “I probably bear the lion’s share of the blame. Now I enjoy my life, and different situations call for different women. You come across as a mature, stable woman, and you know how to dress and behave appropriately. You’re what I need for business.”

  “Wow,” I say. “That might be the least romantic thing any man has ever said to me, and I’ve dated some real princes.” It was soul-sucking when Harley called me a mare. But no woman over thirty wants to be described as a mature, stable woman, not even if she has advanced equine skills.

  With his left hand, he smacks himself on the forehead. “What I said is true, but I should have mentioned that you’re entertaining. Events get tedious, and you make those more bearable.”

  There’s nothing for me to say. I glare at him until he says, with a sly grin, “And, you let me eat your cake. That’s what I consider a stellar date.”

  Although this conversation has trampled my fragile self-esteem, it’s illogical for me to feel angry. Fabio’s honest, and any sane woman can see he’s a player. So what’s my problem? Besides sanity, that is. I take a deep breath to steady myself. “I appreciate you being straight with me.”

  “We understand each other. So, I can call you the next time I need a real lady?”

  “Couldn’t you have led with that? Real lady sounds much better than old horse hand.”

  “Old horse hand?” He furrows his brows and shakes his head. “Well?”

  “I don’t know. You’ll have to wait until you call with a future proposition for my answer.”

  “Would a call from my concierge be acceptable?” He studies my face. “Ouch.” He laughs. “Those daggers you’re staring at me are sharp.”

  On the drive home, our conversation stays light. Fabio parks in the no-parking zone again, although there are guest spaces close by.

  When he opens the passenger-side door, I say, “If I allow you to pick me up in the future, please park in a designated space. There could be an actual emergency, and I don’t need anyone dying because you created your own parking space.”

  He chuckles. “Feisty spirit.”

  Impressive retort, flattering too, but I need to remain aloof around him.

  Fabio walks me to my door, carrying the gift basket for Princess. I unlock and open the door to find Princess standing there, wagging her tail. She notices Fabio, turns tail, and rambles out of the room. How odd.

  He doesn’t follow me inside, but hands me the basket and says, “Thank you for today,” touching his forehead with two fingers to give me a mock salute.

  I sigh because there’s no reason in the world for him to be so damn sexy. “You’re welcome. Bye.”

  When the door shuts, Princess ambles back. I wonder why she doesn’t like Fabio.

  With nothing pressing until tomorrow, Princess and I stroll to the dog park. The remainder of the afternoon we check out her new swag and watch One Hundred and One Dalmatians, the non-animated Disney remake.

  In the evening, I meet the Saturday movie club for a quick drink, but I don’t stick around for the film. Today’s date didn’t go well, but tomorrow’s might be the beginning of something wonderful.

  FOR MY COFFEE DATE with Bennett, I’d prepared in advance. My cutest yoga pants and a sunny orange tunic lay ready by a pair of new Keds, still clean and white. Therefore, when I wake up, there’s ample time for Princess and me to enjoy a walk.

  When we return home, I shower, don my casual chic ensemble, and peek in the mirror. I’m in decent shape, relatively speaking. Not a chip in my nail polish either, a good sign.

  Not one to be late, I arrive at the Double S ten minutes early. Doug sees me and hands over a steaming mug of coffee. I get comfy at a table and read a rom-com on my e-reader about a woman’s accidental one-night stand.

  A beguiling masculine voice says, “It looks like you’re enjoying your read. Mind if I join you?”

  I look up at the man I’d most hoped would have asked me out for the weekend, but never called. He’s holding a coffee and a bicycle helmet. “Uh.”

  “Was that a yes or a no?” Felix, clad in Spandex athletic wear, looks super cute and hopeful.

  I want to say yes, but.... “Um, it would be a yes, but I’m meeting someone at nine.” Why do these things never happen when I’m alone?

  The corners of his mouth turn down, and he squints, as though I might be lying. “Well, ah, it was nice seeing you.”

  He has an appealing posterior that I appreciate as he walks away. I look around the bakery and notice the wall clock. The time is 9:35. Wait a minute. Have I been stood up?

  My heart sinks into my stomach. I begin to sweat, but then I spot Bennett dashing in. Thank goodness. I wave, and he hurries over. This morning he’s an odd combination of slightly disheveled and bursting with emotion.

  “Have a seat,” I say, smiling.

  “I can’t stay,” he says, bouncing on his feet. “You’ll never believe this. I ran into an ex-girlfriend, and we spent the night catching up. It feels right, like fate.” Still grinning, he points to a woman standing near the door. “We were at the diner across the way when I remembered our plans.”

  “Wow,” I say. There’s nothing else to say.

  “Wish me luck,” he says. He scurries back to the woman, grasps her hand, and they flit out the door.

  This sucks. Does this even count as being stood up, or not? And my coffee is in a ceramic mug, so I can’t take it with me unless I brave the line and wait for a to-go cup.

  After taking cleansing breaths, I gather myself together to leave. What a waste of clean, white Keds. Jodi and Doug are swamped with customers, so I’ll sneak out without saying goodbye.

  An attractive, familiar man converses with a couple outside the Double S. Oh boy, it’s Felix. His seeing me now will erroneously confirm I’ve been stood up, or I ditched him, maybe both. There’s no escape without being exposed. I must have done somethin
g awful in a former life to get punished like this. So much for my redemptive romantic weekend.

  A herd of teens rises from their seats at a table. I clumsily insert myself into the cluster, willing my screaming orange shirt to tone itself down. I’m almost to the parking lot when a lady rolls a stroller over my toe, and her toddler screams, “Stwanger, stwanger, stwanger.”

  With a finger to my lips, I shush the little girl. She interprets this to mean scream bloody murder. The mother shoots me a dirty look while she comforts her child. She doesn’t apologize, and I limp away.

  I feel Felix staring at me. I lower my eyes and discover the stroller tracked dirt across my clean, white Keds.

  Chapter 12

  Words of Wisdom

  There’s banging on my front door. I know it’s Sandy because I blew off my BFFs for dinner last night and refused their calls. Princess watches expectantly. There’s a clicking sound as a key turns in the lock. Darn it, she’s only to use that in case of imminent danger.

  My cousin blows in like a hurricane. “I’m hugging you, then I’m fussing at you.” I’m sitting at my kitchen table, and she leans over and throws her arms around me. “You’re allowed to be upset, but you’re not allowed to scare us.” She releases her grip. “Okay, here’s what you’re doing. Take a shower and get dressed. We’ll chat over coffee, and then you’ll get to work.”

  As I shuffle toward the shower, I hear Sandy murmur to Princess, “Darn singles. What should we do with your silly mommy?”

  After I shower and return to my kitchen wearing clean clothes, Sandy hands me a fresh coffee. “What happened yesterday?”

  “M-my new sneakers got dirty, and I chipped my polish.” I hold up the fingernail in evidence.

  “Oh, sweetheart, don’t cry. Please sit down.” She pulls out a chair, and I sit. Princess settles on the floor between us. “That’s better. Now tell me what got you upset.”

  “It wasn’t just yesterday.”

  She hands me a tissue and pats my shoulder. “Whatever happened, it’s in the past. You’re a strong, independent woman with a thriving career. You don’t need a man to make you feel whole.”

  “That may not be true much longer.” Between sobs, I spill my guts about the publishing company’s financial trouble, the stories of my workplace humiliations, and the fiascos with Fabio, Bennett, and Felix.

  When I quiet down, Sandy says, “Not the best week. I understand why you’re feeling blue, but let’s break this down into manageable pieces, and strategize. Does that approach work for you?” I nod. “Good. Let’s start with the simple stuff. The solution is Scotchgard.”

  “Scotchgard? Fabric protector?”

  “Exactly. Never wear white fabric shoes without applying Scotchgard first. See? We’ve already solved one problem.” Princess wags her tail.

  “Point, Sandy.” For the first time today, I smile.

  “The only other truly immediate issue is your career, which seems to have several problems. Since your company is in trouble, you need to be prepared for other opportunities. Update your resume and LinkedIn profile pronto. Make a list of occupations you might enjoy for your next act. You should also review your budget to see where you can cut back should the need arise.” She looks me in the eye. “I want you to swear on your favorite Coach bag that you’ll get these things done this week.” I nod. “Say it. Say you solemnly swear.”

  “I solemnly swear.”

  “You’re great at what you do, but you work with chauvinists, ageists, and idiots. This project will be over soon, but is this the environment you want to work in? After Mr. Big Balls is gone, you need to make some hard decisions. If you decide to stay, you need to have a heart-to-heart with your boss. Got it?” I nod. “Say it loud. Own it.”

  “I’ll consider my career opportunities, and I’ll make something good happen.”

  “Excellent. It’s also time for you and Jodi to get cooking on your cookbook project. Which leaves us with your men matters.” Sandy notices my tears are back and hands me another tissue. “You don’t need a man to be happy.” I nod. “And I’m not sure this is the right time for you to be in a relationship.”

  “Please don’t say that.”

  “I don’t mean to beat a dead horse, but you don’t see the difference between fine wine and cheap beer.”

  “Enough with the horses,” I say.

  “Don’t change the subject. Fabio’s flat out told you what’s what, and you have to respect that. Bennett’s a little disappointing, but timing is everything, so let’s be happy for him. I don’t know if you noticed, but Princess was not into him. Right girl?” Princess nods. “The only one of these three men you have the option to do anything about is Felix, but I’ve got to be honest with you. As perfect as I think the two of you could be together, you have behaved, oh, what’s a polite way to say ‘less than optimally’?”

  “Foo,” I say. “I resemble that remark.” Princess barks agreement. “I have my work cut out for me, but I will get my act together. Thank you. I truly appreciate your advice.”

  “And by the time you do, I’ll have some prospects lined up.” Sandy winks. “And, I almost forgot. I brought you a present.” She pulls a brown paper sack from her tote bag and hands it to me.

  I open the sack and pull out a glittering purple vibrator. Sandy says, “I have the same one in burnt orange with white polka dots. I call mine Bevo in honor of our alma matter.”

  Chapter 13

  Showdown at the O.K. Corral

  Fortified by Sandy’s words of wisdom, I’m energized. Princess and I resume our work-from-home schedule, alternating our time between working and walking.

  Rhonda texts: I have a new appreciation for all you do. She also emails, thanking me for my contributions to the project and asking when she can expect the last of the pages. She copies Scott on this email.

  Scott replies to all: Go team! Pow-wow at office Wed at 2. Final client presentation and tasting Thurs or Fri.

  Go team? I’d like to tell them where to go, but before I indulge myself, I need to make a few things happen.

  Over the next two and a half days, I submit sections each morning and afternoon. The project progresses while Princess and I get plenty of exercise, sunshine, and bonding time. I have a bad feeling about the upcoming client presentation, though my part is minimal.

  When I return to the office Wednesday afternoon, the atmosphere feels unfamiliar, as though I haven’t worked here in eons. While I can’t put my finger on it, something has changed. Maybe it’s me.

  Scott and Rhonda perform a dry run. The demonstration goes smoothly, though no one seems happy. And while I hadn’t wanted to be helpful, I can’t help myself and suggest tweaks for improvements. As far as I can tell, they’ve made zero modifications to my pages, which gives my ego a needed boost.

  Because of the client’s demands, the presentation will occur over lunch tomorrow. “Please dress like you’re attending a ritzy barbeque,” Scott says. “And get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow’s presentation is set for high noon.”

  PRINCESS AND I START our morning as usual, with a walk, before I shower and dress for the day. While holding up my chic new denim jumpsuit in one hand and my chambray shirtdress in the other, I debate which one to wear. Both are perfect, but neither work to crawl on the floor or do any heavy lifting that’s sometimes required for presentations. The former people pleaser in me would have dressed up anyway, but the plucky, practical as of yesterday me opts for stylish denim slacks, a red jersey top, a chambray work shirt with rolled sleeves as a jacket, and a red bandana as a hairband. A necklace of silver tube beads and coordinating earrings complete the look.

  Before I leave for work, I check my messages and find encouragement from my friends. There are also three from Rhonda and two from Scott urging me to the office as early as possible. Their insistence rises in each passing email. I have a mild case of the jitters, but between my new lease on life and my updated resume, I’m not afraid.

  I walk into an
over-charged atmosphere in the conference room. A struck match could cause the entire place to explode. Concealer does little to hide the shadows beneath Rhonda’s eyes. Her movements are skittish as she darts around, checking and rechecking her work.

  My protégé has outdone herself. The conference room has been converted to a dining hall Gunsmoke’s Miss Kitty would approve. Merchandise and books from the A Man’s Gotta Eat line are artfully incorporated. Rhonda has blossomed under my tutelage. Amazing mentoring skills need to be added to my resume.

  “What can I do to assist?” I ask.

  “You’re here!” Rhonda exclaims.

  “We need your help in the test kitchen,” Scott says. “The most experienced staffers are on vacation or out sick. Will you supervise? I need to help Rhonda here.”

  I don’t see any downside to this assignment, so I smile. “Happy to help.”

  “I’ll owe you big time,” Scott says.

  “Yes, you do,” I agree.

  When I arrive in the test kitchen, the staffers are shuffling around. It’s a strong crew, but they’re frazzled from Rhonda’s and Scott’s manic appearances earlier. They’re waiting for instructions, afraid to do anything wrong.

  “Good morning, most amazing co-workers. Today’s project is meatballs. You’ve worked on more difficult projects, so this should be a breeze. I’m divvying you guys into teams and issue assignments. We’re making lots of meatballs because not only does a man gotta eat, but this team gets to eat too. Let’s do this.”

  The crew, now relaxed, is ready. Everyone settles at their workstations, and the magic begins. I call the caterer delivering and setting up the dishware, salads, sides, desserts, and drinks. While she’s on the phone, I order a cake to be decorated with the words Teamwork Makes the Dream Work for my staffers. Superb supervisory skills also need highlighting on my resume.

  A strict timetable ensures the hot food will be hot and the cold food cold. For the moment, everything is on schedule and under control. I send a text to Rhonda and Scott: Kitchen and catering set. Staying here unless you need me for something else. No response is a great response because I’d rather stay here than be in the conference room. I roll up my shirtsleeves, don an apron, and assist the crew.