The Felix Fiasco

by Randi Devilkin

  The catering van arrives at 11:15. Everything gets unloaded and set up in under twenty minutes. These guys are pros and their process flawless.

  All meatballs and sauces are perfectly prepared, and the chafing dishes filled by 11:45. The carts roll down the hall to the conference room, a grand parade of mouth-watering aromas.

  We’re ready to go with minutes to spare. I hug everyone on my crew who allows me to. I whisper, “Thank you. Go enjoy your well-deserved lunch. There might be a surprise in fridge number three. It’s the box marked ‘Surprise.’” The kitchen team races out, smiling and laughing.

  However, not everyone looks cheerful. Scott wears stress in his face and shoulders, while Rhonda appears green around the gills.

  Harley Johnson and his entourage appear at ten past noon. Scott says, “I’d like to extend a warm welcome to our guests. Everyone, please fill your plates. Rhonda will start the presentation at 12:30.” A minor stampede to the buffet ensues. Murmurings about how wonderful everything looks and smells generate a positive vibe.

  Rhonda begins tenuously, and I hold my breath. Her denim romper and red neck scarf are adorable and contrast with her greenish complexion. After a few minor stutters, she finds her groove. Five minutes later, she’s a force to reckon with, a veritable train chugging down the track, when Harley whistles and holds up his hands in the universal timeout sign.

  “Sorry, darlin’,” he drawls. “My amazing Balls of Fire are so hot, I finished off my sweet tea and need a Dr Pepper pronto.”

  I hurry to the bar in pursuit of the unofficial official soda of the state of Texas. But there’s no Dr Pepper. The closest choices are Coke, Pepsi, or A&W Root Beer. I fill a glass with Coke and walk over to Mr. Johnson, miniature volcanoes erupting in my stomach. “Sir, we seem to be out of Dr Pepper. Could I interest you in a Coke, Pepsi, or A&W?”

  He glares at me. “You.”

  Company policy forbids serving alcoholic beverages before four p.m., but I plaster on a fake smile and ask, “Perhaps a beer?”

  “Shiner.”

  I text the test kitchen: Shiner beer ASAP plez! Minutes later, feet run down the hall. The conference room door bursts open. A kitchen team member holds up a six-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon. A deathly quiet blankets the room.

  Mr. Johnson nods. The employee hands over the six-pack. The Big Man pops the top, takes a sip, grimaces, and says, “This ain’t England. We don’t drink warm beer.” He pushes back his chair, then stands to face Scott. “I told you I didn’t want that mare on my project.” He points at me. “Dismiss her now.”

  Scott’s eyes open wider than I’d have thought possible. He opens and closes his mouth several times, which makes him look like a fish gaping for oxygen.

  That’s enough entertainment for one day. “Please sit back down and enjoy the rest of the lunch and presentation. I’ll be leaving now.” As I exit, I stop by Mr. Johnson and say, “Don’t point. It’s rude. And never call a woman a mare. That’s rude too, and you should apologize.”

  His face turns crimson as his nostrils flare. “You’re not a mare. You’re a nag.”

  He’s making this almost too easy. “Sir, you’re wrong.” I place my hand on my chest. “This thoroughbred has plenty of horsepower, but you’re an old goat. No, you’re a gelding.” After I walk out, the door slams shut with a satisfying thud.

  As I make a beeline to the test kitchen, the reality of what’s just happened hits me, and I giggle out loud. I congratulate the crew on a job well done and reward us all with the afternoon off. Scott and I need a long talk tomorrow.

  The minute I get in my car, I phone Sandy. “You won’t believe what happened at work. Can you meet me at the Double S? I don’t want to tell this tale twice.” I text Jodi: Sandy and I on way. Story time!

  AS I TAP DANCE ACROSS the pavement to the bakery, my cousin parks her Honda Accord. She hops out, runs to me, and grabs me in a hug. “You look happy. Did you get your promotion?”

  “About that...possibly not. Tomorrow could be interesting.” I wriggle out of her embrace. “I’ll explain once we have tea and cookies in front of us.”

  Doug waves as we ramble in. Jodi rushes over to join us, bringing three mugs and a plate of assorted goodies. The treats, in bite-size pieces, are perfect for BFFs sharing. I love these women. I don’t know what I’ve been searching for. This is happiness.

  I bring Jodi up to speed on the weekend, Sandy schooling me, and my newfound revelations. Doug proves his worth, keeping our plate filled and our drinks refreshed. Finally, I cover the week and the showdown at the O.K. Corral.

  Sandy beams. “Nobody messes with our family.”

  “I’m proud of you.” Jodi applauds.

  “Apparently, I’m a late bloomer, but eventually I catch on.”

  “Your late-blooming-eventually antics provide Jodi and me plenty of entertainment and aggravation.”

  “You guys are the best. Thank you for putting up with me.”

  Warm hugs all around. Ahh.

  PRINCESS TILTS HER head when I walk in. She probably wonders why I’m home early. However, I suggest an outing to the dog park, and she grabs her leash.

  It’s a beautiful, sunshiny day with nary a cloud in the sky. The park is crowded for a weekday afternoon because Dallas Animal Services is providing low-cost pet care and adoption services today. As part of the event, vendors showcase wares and services, giving the dog park the aura of a festival.

  A boy about three years old shows a dog a video on a tablet. The woman with him says, “He’s training Elmo to roll over and play dead. This has been going on for days. His father suggested YouTube, but this isn’t what he meant.”

  Princess taps my foot with her paw. Her gaze travels from me to the young boy, and back to me, before she nods.

  “This is Princess,” I say to the woman. “She’s want to play. She’s very gentle. Would that be okay?”

  The woman shrugs. “Sure.”

  Princess thoughtfully approaches the boy and his dog, Elmo. After rounds of social sniffing, she watches the video with her new friends. Then she takes a few steps back, sits, and yips for everyone’s attention. When all eyes are on her, she rolls over, groaning with attitude, before she holds perfectly still, playing dead. The boy hops up and down, whooping happily.

  Elmo, not to be outdone, imitates Princess. He achieves the rollover, but he’s too busy wagging his tail to play dead convincingly. Our young dog whisperer pumps his little fist in the air. “I did it. I teach da dog twicks.”

  After twenty minutes of playing, we say goodbye and walk home. My cell phone trills. “It’s Fabio,” I say to Princess. “I can’t wait to hear this one.”

  “Bev, my dear friend, I’d love you to join me Tuesday night for the Dallas Stars game. I’ll be hosting clients in our suite. The team’s headed for the playoffs.”

  “Hi Fabio, that’s a lovely invite, but no.”

  “No? Wrong answer. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

  “I’ve been thinking about what I want out of life. I don’t want to be a bench-warming escort.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Seriously, you’re a lovely man, easy on the eyes too. I’m just not wasting my time on relationships without potential. I want romance and the whole shebang.”

  He sighs. “You’re immune to my charms.”

  “No, not at all, but I’m learning to put myself first.”

  Although Princess hears only one side of this conversation, she arfs agreement.

  “Michelle’s going to love that you dumped me.” He chuckles. “I wish you the best. You deserve all that and more. Goodbye.”

  I begin to skip and Princess trots. “You’re getting scrambled eggs for dinner.” She quickens her gait, and I run to keep up.

  After a dinner of scrambled eggs sprinkled with cheddar cheese for her and a spinach, mushroom, three cheese omelet for me, Princess settles on her pillow and I on the sofa to watch the news. As I leaf through the morning’s newspaper, my phone rings. Fabio again. />
  “You should attend the game with me,” he says. “At the end of the evening, we can hold a very public breakup that will satisfy Michelle.”

  This man is not used to being turned down. “Tempting as you are, I’m not changing my mind.”

  “I’d pay you. Everyone needs a side-hustle these days.”

  “Fabio, although I could use the extra money, I don’t want a side-hustle as a paid escort.”

  “You’re holding out for a relationship,” he says.

  “Exactly.”

  “Hmm. I’m not opposed to our times together being actual dates, but I can’t pretend we’d be exclusive.”

  Does he think he’s being generous or that I’m that pathetic? Either way, I’m no longer even marginally enamored with him. “You’re offering to...to have sex with me?”

  “You’re an attractive enough woman, just not my usual type.”

  “I’m hanging up. Please don’t embarrass yourself by calling again. Goodbye.”

  Princess studies me as I shake my head. “Girlfriend, I’ve been an idiot.” She hops on the sofa and nuzzles me. I think she likes me.

  Chapter 14

  Woo Woo Weekend

  Thank goodness it’s Friday. During the night, the meeting with Scott, the publisher Jeb, and the male members of the management team popped up on my work calendar. What could be cooking? Whatever they plan to dish, I’m ready.

  When I enter the conference room at ten, the other attendees are already seated. Flashing a friendly, yet businesslike smile, I say, “Good morning.”

  Two men murmur, “Good morning,” in return.

  I lay my laptop and handbag on the table, then stop at the Keurig to prepare a cup of coffee. “While I’m up, does anyone want anything to drink?” More snippets of conversation, but no requests for coffee.

  I select a seat, adjusting the chair settings for comfort. After a minute to stretch, I say, “Everyone has a lot to do today. Let’s get this show on the road.” Silence follows as the men look at one another. Ultimately, all eyes land on Scott.

  He clears his throat. “You may wonder why we called this meeting.”

  “No. I presume we’re here to discuss how we’re dealing with an abusive client, or to announce my promotion and raise. Perhaps both.”

  More silence as the men again look at one another.

  “Abusive client?” Jeb asks.

  “Surely you’re incensed by the way Mr. Johnson treated your staff. Besides the blatant chauvinism and ageism issues, what about intellectual property issues? Liability issues?”

  More silence as the men again look at one another.

  “I’m not as prepared for this meeting as I’d thought. Let’s reschedule for Tuesday afternoon,” Jeb says.

  “Fine. Until then, I’m cashing in some of the comp time I’ve banked from my overtime hours,” I say.

  “We don’t give comp time hours,” Scott says.

  I smile. “We do now.”

  A three-day weekend that begins before Friday noon is an extravagance. Between outings with Princess, I find myself highly productive. I tweak my resume and LinkedIn profile, outline options for the Double S recipe project, and brainstorm careers I might enjoy. Before I go to bed, I light a candle, pour wine into a plastic cup, and luxuriate in a lavender-scented bubble bath.

  SATURDAY FLIES BY AS we run weekend errands. I treat myself to a pedicure while Princess gets her pawdicure. She enjoys spa time and allows the groomer to tie a pink ribbon to her collar.

  When we arrive home, a happy hour social is in progress at our community pool. “Princess, let’s get social.”

  She yaps agreement.

  We chat with neighbors we’ve lived by for years, but rarely had an actual conversation with. Princess impresses the youngsters with tricks and the rest of us with her impeccable manners.

  Clark, a new neighbor, is a handsome man in his fifties, recently divorced. He’s an aggressive flirt, but I never want to put myself in a position where I may need to vacate the complex under the cover of darkness. I’m learning.

  I approach a new female resident and extend my hand for a shake. “Hi, I’m Bev.”

  She hugs me. “I’m Hannah. I don’t do handshakes, I’m a hugger.”

  “Duly noted. Nice to have friendly new neighbors.”

  “I’ve been here two months. So far, so good. I’m in P.R. I relocated for State Farm.”

  “That sounds exciting. I’m a project manager for a local publisher–proofing, editing, and some original writing. I’ve been doing it forever, and it’s time for a change.”

  “This is kismet. One of our teams needs those skills. If you’d consider a thirty-two-hour position, I can put you in touch Monday. State Farm has great insurance benefits.”

  “That would be fabulous. Thank you. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “Um, yes. My boyfriend’s moving here in three months. Until then, I have no social life. If you do anything fun, I’d love to tag along.”

  “Perfect timing. On Saturday nights, I often join a fun group for dinner and a movie. Sometimes there’s three or four people, other weeks as many as fourteen. I live there.” I gesture to my unit. “Come over at 6:40. I’ll drive.”

  Princess indicates it’s time to leave by gently tugging on her leash. Hannah gives me another quick hug. “Thank you. Tonight will be fun.”

  SUNDAY MORNING, I WAKE with an acute case of cotton mouth and a headache. Hannah fit right in with the group and loved the movie, though even with subtitles, I couldn’t follow the convoluted plot. Then at The Taco House, there was Felix on a date. They appeared completely at ease together. She nicked a tortilla chip right off his plate. I’m trying, but I can’t think of anything nasty to say about either of them. She was age-appropriate, smartly dressed, did nothing unseemly, and had a gracious smile. He behaved too, at least while they were in public. I don’t want to imagine what they might enjoy in private.

  Sandy was right. It was amazing Felix was available even for a short time. Sure enough, a smart woman scooped him right up. Last week, this would have thrown me for a loop, but today, I’ll allow myself five minutes to wallow, then I’ll get on with the day.

  As I’m only allowing five minutes, my wallowing deserves better coffee. “Princess, I’m swinging by the Double S. I don’t want to drink this mud.” She yawns. “I’ll bring you a biscuit, and then we’ll go to the dog park.” She yawns again. “How about we pick up Snug to go with us?” She stands tall, wags her tail, and makes a happy yip.

  Because I dawdled getting out of bed, I arrive at the bakery later than my usual time. The Double S smells of freshly baked goods and bustles with activity. It’s time to get excited about our cookbook project, which should create a sensation.

  While standing in line, I survey the crowd, looking at the happy customers. Doug sees me and waves. Jodi isn’t behind the counter. She must be taking care of business in the kitchen.

  My breath catches in my throat. At the coziest spot in the bakery, right next to the oversized bay window, sits Felix and the female he was with last night. Good thing I hadn’t started my wallowing yet. Heightened wallowing merits sugar, and I add a chocolate muffin to my order.

  After I pay, a server hands over my coffee and a small sack containing two dog treats and the muffin. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Felix headed to the restrooms. Before I realize I’m in motion, I’m standing by the table in the cozy spot, studying Felix’s woman.

  Sunshine streams through the windowpanes and illuminates a halo around her. Damn, she’s an angel. She smiles at me. “Hello. Do I know you?”

  What am I doing here? “I...I thought I might have left something on the table. Sorry to bother you.”

  As fast as I’m able, without mowing down any of Doug and Jodi’s customers, I scurry out. I’ve lost my mind. Although, if Felix is dating someone who’s not me, a divine being should be good enough.

  After I pick up Princess, we get Snuggilicious and drive to the
dog park. While the pups play, I ponder the future of my career. Hannah’s offer of an interview with State Farm has me hopeful. Optimistic there will be an interview, I prepare a list of questions to ask and anticipate others that might come my way. After a couple of hours in the sun, we head home for a nap. We’re not due at Sandy’s until six.

  We nap longer than intended and arrive at Sandy’s a quarter after six. Sandy, Darren, Jodi, and Doug are in the back yard by the grill. The burgers smell divine, and my mouth waters.

  “Sorry I missed you this morning. After I saw Felix with his friend, I figured that’s why you didn’t stick around,” Jodi says. She hugs me, then steps back to appraise. “You don’t look upset. In fact, you look even cuter than usual.”

  “Yes, you do,” Sandy says, going in for a hug. “I can’t believe he’s dating anyone. He didn’t mention that when I saw him at the literacy center on Thursday.”

  “What was he doing there?” I ask.

  “Same as me. Volunteering with his students.”

  “Do you know what age kids he teaches?” I ask.

  Sandy shakes her head. “He’s the head of Arts and Humanities at the university. He and his grad students tutor ESL students to help them succeed when they get to college. Didn’t you read those articles about him in the paper?”

  “I might have only looked at his pictures, but that makes sense.”

  “What makes sense?” Jodi asks.

  “That the man’s a saint because he’s dating an angel.” My friends stare, waiting for an explanation. “It doesn’t matter. Seriously. I blew it with Felix, but the new and improved me isn’t focusing on the negatives. Beverly 2.0 had a triumphant week and wants to tell you all about it.”