Inside the Executive's Pocket

by Etta Faire

  She didn’t answer me, but she stopped fighting to speed up the channeling or fog it a little.

  The break room was the same as before. AC/DC played in the background as Sylvia hurried back over to her friend’s locker.

  It took her a couple tries to get the key in the padlock, her hand was shaking so much, her heart racing. “Come on. Come on,” she said to herself, as Rebecca’s locker finally swung open, the smell of perfume pouring out.

  There wasn’t much left in there. Rebecca had taken most of it with her in her backpack.

  Sylvia didn’t seem to care about the makeup or perfume anyway. She knew exactly where to go.

  “Bruce told me where he saw Rebecca put the letters,” she said to me in our head.

  Sylvia stood on tiptoes to see the top shelf of the locker, but couldn’t. Stretching her arm as far back as she could, she slid her hand along the ledge, feeling a few papers there. But still, she couldn’t grab them. She could only move them farther back. Frustrated, she pulled one of the chairs over and stood on it.

  There were two folded pieces of yellow stationery with hearts drawn along the outside.

  She hopped down just as the door to the break room opened and a younger version of the man from earlier in the day at her house walked in. A lot thinner, though, and with a lot more hair. It framed his face in almost cave-man fashion.

  Sylvia barely looked at him, her vision already growing blurry with tears.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She waved the letters in the air in front of him. “Do I look okay?”

  His eyes bulged. “How’d you…”

  She held up the key. “I had to see for myself. I know you said you would try to pick the lock for me. Guess you don’t need to now.”

  Bruce stood by her side. He put his hand on her shoulder but she pushed him away.

  Pulling the first letter out, she smoothed it on the table, leaning over it. The paper almost had a vanilla scent to it, perfumed thick card stock. The note was completely typewritten, even the signature, which simply read “Your J.”

  Sylvia’s jaw clenched.

  “You know I hate to say I told you so,” Bruce said then, seeing Sylvia’s face, added, “I mean, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. You were right. I hate it. But you were.”

  She held the letter up to the light. “My R…” her voice quivered as she read it out loud, turning to her brother. “Aww, he finally found someone who would appreciate that. Sweet, don’t you think? I told you about the time he called me his Sylvia once, right? And I told him I didn’t belong to him.”

  Bruce didn’t say anything. He just nodded.

  She continued reading aloud. “You probably wonder why I am so terrible to you in person. I can’t trust myself not to be. I think about you all the time…”

  “So lame,” her brother said.

  “If I didn’t push you away, I would make a fool of myself. I cherish the time we used to steal together. I will forever remember, remember the second of September.”

  “Stupid, cheesy jerk,” Sylvia said to Bruce. “Wait a second. The first weekend in September was when Mom and I went to the skate show in LA.” She pounded the table so hard pain shot through our fist. “Remember, remember.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t read the rest,” Bruce suggested.

  “No,” Sylvia said, shaking her hand out. It still stung. “I’m fine. I want to know this.”

  She looked back down at the note. “Recreating my favorite scene in the movie was such an exciting and unexpected treat. I think about it often. And I must see you again.”

  “They did it in the vet’s office. Ew,” she said, clearing her throat as she moved onto the second note. “My dearest R, I count the days until we can see each other again. But we must keep this a secret. We cannot let this get out. Our nights of passion…”

  She crumpled them in her fist. “I can’t do it.”

  She quietly folded them up and put them in her backpack. Bruce pointed to it. “You going to confront Jay with those?”

  She took three deep breaths then looked her brother in the eye.

  I was surprised by how calm her voice was. “Yes. I have to. Rebecca too. Jay always preaches that we need to be honest with one another. It’s one of the tenets of the club, and it’s one I happen to agree with. I think I’m owed that.” She bit her lip. “Nights of passion. How many nights of passion do you think there were?”

  Bruce’s face went red. “How should I know?”

  “Well, I’m going to find out. I’m taking these notes and I’m confronting him.”

  “Yes, you definitely should confront him.” Bruce pulled on his chin. “But, I think I have an even better idea about those notes.”

  “What?”

  “A little thing called revenge,” he said. “Suppose Mom finds out about the movie Rebecca did and, maybe, the notes from your boyfriend?”

  I could tell Sylvia’s mind was racing with how much she wanted revenge on both of them. How much she hated them.

  Bruce continued. “Lately, Mom’s been playing bridge with some of the biggest names in Landover. The old newspaper lady. And Delilah Scott…”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying Mom already hates Rebecca. Suppose someone plants Rebecca’s movie in her locker with some other stuff. Once Mom sees what Rebecca’s really like, she’ll not only fire her, I’m pretty sure, once word gets out, it’ll drive Rebecca out of town. Done. You can have Jay to yourself, if you still want him.”

  Sylvia’s pantsuit felt especially tight, unforgiving. She peeled the jacket off. It seemed to stick to her arms like it was holding on for dear life. She threw it onto the table. “No. We’re through. I won’t be like Mom. Pretend it’s okay for Dad to go out with the boys. We all know what he’s really doing. I’m confronting Jay with these letters tonight, and if there’s not a logical explanation, we’re breaking up.”

  She pulled the letters out of her backpack and tossed them onto the table next to her jacket. “I guess I don’t need the actual letters, though.” She looked them over. “Okay, maybe just one.” She folded one of the letters back up and stuffed it into her pocket.

  Bruce hugged his sister, and this time, Sylvia allowed herself to be hugged. She held in her tears, biting her lip harder to make sure her eyes wouldn’t well up. The smell of stale pot came off Bruce’s dark blue, roller-skate t-shirt. She pulled away.

  “There’s a copy of the movie under my bed if you need one. I broke a nail scratching the label off so it’d look like a blank tape,” she said.

  He smiled knowingly. “I like your style. Hiding evidence in case you ever needed to bribe your best friend?” He sat down on one of the chairs. “Thanks. But I have a copy of my own.”

  “I should have known.”

  He put his feet up. “I like to look at it as being supportive. Our friend made a movie. The least we can do is own a copy of it. Or two. Or three.”

  “Just make sure Mom sees everything. I’ll take care of Jay.”

  She grabbed her jacket and kissed Bruce on his dimple. “Thanks,” she said, walking toward the door, leaving Rebecca’s locker wide open and the key in her pocket.

  “Myrna wanted me to make sure you left the outfit for her tonight,” Bruce said just before we left.

  Sylvia nodded. “Already on my bed waiting for her.”

  “So,” I said to Sylvia in our mind as we walked out to her car, her heavy polyester jacket strung over a shoulder, an almost skip in her step as she strutted in her platform clogs, not even noticing how they scraped annoyingly along her socks anymore. “You weren’t really surprised the police thought Rebecca did it. You think she did it too. You just want to know how she got the best of you. You went into Friday night thinking you were going to be ruining Rebecca’s life, and she somehow ruined yours. And now you want to know how she turned those tables.”

  “Yes,” Sylvia said through what sounded like gritted teeth. “I did everyt
hing right in life. I went to school. She dropped out. I was on my way to getting my masters in accounting. She was busy doing pornos. I got her that job at Darcy’s. Me. And she slept with my almost fiancé. I was about to get my revenge on that ungrateful bitch with my mom seeing the locker. So yes. I want to know how she turned everything around that night. I want to know how she murdered me.”

  “Great. At least we’re finally being honest with each other. It’s not going to change anything, though. Knowing how she did it, if she did it, isn’t going to change the fact she’s alive and you’re not. You know that, right?”

  “Of course. But, as a ghost, I can make her days on earth a living hell.”

  “Maybe, we should wait to see if she’s guilty first,” I said.

  Chapter 16

  the alderman

  The building was large and beige. Tan carpet, off-white walls, beige cubicles separating the many offices. There were only a few people here and there, though, and most of them were grabbing their coats, laughing as they headed out for the weekend. I glanced at the clock up near the ceiling. It was almost 6:00.

  Just under the clock was a blown-up, black-and-white photo of a thin old man with glasses and high-waisted, baggy slacks smiling in front of about twenty stacks of paper, each one taller than he was. “Jay’s grandfather,” Sylvia said, about the man in the photo. “He founded Hunt’s Paper way back when. One of the largest paper-making companies in the nation. Jay worked as VP of sales and distribution.”

  That’s when I noticed Jay. I recognized his sharp chin, long light brown hair and sideburns from the photo in the newspaper. He barely looked up from the blonde he was talking to as he sat halfway on her desk, sifting through a stack of mail. His light tan jacket was open, revealing matching khaki pants and an orange silk button-down shirt. The blonde pointed toward Sylvia.

  He put the stack of mail into the plastic box on the woman’s desk labeled “in-box” when he saw Sylvia. “Sylvia, hey. You ready to go?”

  I could tell Sylvia’s mind was racing with thoughts of when to confront him and how. She now wondered how many other women he’d been having affairs with. The blonde secretary? She had to be close to 40. Some of the other girls at the club? How had she been so blind?

  She was her mother. Damn it. She should have noticed this earlier.

  She decided to confront him on the drive to the club. No sense making a scene here.

  But the plan was for her to leave her car at his work for convenience because there was never any parking at Jay’s house on club meeting nights. If they were about to break up, that might not be a good idea.

  “Yes. I’m ready,” she said, already kicking herself for not having thought out a plan.

  An older man in his 50s with a tight gray suit and thick dark hair approached us.

  “Jay, I was hoping for a word before you leave,” the man said.

  “Sure,” Jay replied, turning to us. “I’ll just be a minute.” He walked off with the man toward the back of the room and I tried to hear what they were saying.

  Sylvia talked to me in our head. “Jay’s uncle, Pete. He and Jay’s father took over the business when Jay’s grandfather died. They’re very well off.”

  I couldn’t hear much from the two men standing off to the side, until Jay’s voice rose to an unnatural level. “I told you the answer. But you’re not being present enough in this moment to listen to me.”

  “So you’re saying you’re taking care of it?” his uncle asked, curtly, frustrated. “Because this was very troubling for me to see. I didn’t show it to your father. You know, it’s okay to admit you’re over your head. You missed another deadline.”

  “I’m taking care of it.” Jay strutted across the room, arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed. “Sheesh,” he said. I could tell Sylvia was already having second thoughts about confronting him. Something was going wrong at work, and she was actually feeling sorry for the guy.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “My uncle again. He gets what we’re trying to accomplish here, but he just can’t seem to let go of the nonessential details. What doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter. If a deadline is arbitrary then it doesn’t matter, right? I’m not sure why it’s so hard for some people to keep everything to the here and now. The present. The relevant.” He stared into Sylvia’s eyes for an uncomfortable few seconds. His eyes were dark brown, serious. “I’m just glad I have someone who does know how to do that. Who doesn’t get hung up on the things that don’t matter to the present.”

  She bit at the side of her cheek. She had a lot of things that mattered right now.

  “You ready for your speech tonight?”

  “I forgot about that,” she said.

  He draped an almost lifeless arm around her shoulder as we headed out toward the elevators. He smelled like he rolled around in Old Spice in his spare time, and that he had a lot of spare time. “It’s probably best if you don’t do the speech anyway.”

  “No, I can pull it together. I have notes in my purse.” She thought about the club, wondering if she and Jay were about to break up. She might not be making a speech after all.

  “Just remember,” he said, hitting the elevator button a few times, almost leaning all his weight on us as we waited for the doors to open. “People don’t want to hear all that heavy crap anymore, okay? None of that women’s lib junk. That’s old news. People are tired of it.”

  The elevator doors opened and we went inside. The stuffy, warm air intensified the stale cigarette smell.

  “You knew that’s what I was planning on talking about. The importance of hiring women. And I’m still planning on talking about it. So you can stop trying to control that.”

  His eyes widened. He pulled his arm off her shoulders. “You okay?”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “This is what I’m talking about, Syl. You’re doing the heavy guilt thing again. Let people be people. They let you be you, right?” He pulled a wad of keys out of his pocket as we stepped out of the elevator and over to the large glass doors at the front of the building. “Let them hire whoever they think is the right man for the job. It could be a woman. It could be an orangutan. Who knows? But stop putting heavy crap on them. And stop putting your heavy crap on me.”

  “This is how men keep it their world. By making women feel guilty for being a part of it.”

  “Stop being so dramatic,” he said. “Not everything needs a march and a speech.”

  “So, you get decide what valid anger is now?” The wind smacked our cheeks as we stepped outside. It was cold and sterile feeling. The sound of Sylvia’s log-clogs lazily scraping along the pavement almost worked in time with our breathing as we walked toward a shiny white pick-up.

  He sighed heavily. I could see his breath against the darkening sky. “Plus, and I know you hate to hear this, Syl, but people don’t trust you yet. You should really try to have more experience before you talk at meetings. A lot of people are pretty high on the pay scale. And you work at your parents’ roller rink.”

  He said that like Sylvia should be ashamed. I could feel the rush of blood flowing to her cheeks again, warming them despite the cold air. “You work for your family, too.”

  “That’s different. My uncle hired me because he believes in the tenets of the Young Executives Club. He’s seen where I’m going with this and he gets it. It’s the future. You? Your parents let you decide what K-tel records to spin for 12-year-olds.”

  She took a deep breath of cool air, allowing it to calm her, keep her head straight. She was about to break up with this jerk so none of this mattered anymore.

  He opened the passenger’s door for her and she got in. The seat was cold, unwelcoming. The air felt like breathing in a popsicle even though it technically wasn’t that cold.

  He was still talking about her as he got in, now it was her choices in life. “And your best friend does x-rated movies. You’re not exactly the best role model.”

  “I’m not so sure
you have a problem with that one,” she said.

  He didn’t seem to hear her. “People have told me I should kick her out of the club.”

  “Really,” Sylvia said, staring out the window as they pulled away from her car, leaving it behind in the parking lot. Lonely. “The second of September you seemed quite happy with Rebecca’s choices.” She waited a pause, then added. “Or don’t you remember, remember the second of September? The weekend I was out of town.”

  The truck lurched forward, stalled. He muttered under his breath as he turned it back on again, revving the engine.

  He slid the heating lever over to the red even though it was already there. “I don’t know what you’re getting at. But if you have a beef with me, let’s have it all out. Let’s be honest with each other.”

  “Let’s,” she said, agreeing in a tone that didn’t exactly say she was agreeing. “That is the best idea you have had the whole time we’ve been going out. Let’s be honest. You know full well what we’re talking about. You and Rebecca.”

  He curled his lip. “That’s absurd. I love you. Plus, I would never do that. It’s fine if she wants to make those kinds of choices with her body but I would never touch that. I’d be too afraid of getting VD or worse, getting caught. I’m running for council.”

  “Save the BS, alderman. I saw the notes.” She pulled the paper out of her pocket, adjusted her glasses, and turned on the overhead light to read it to him.

  “You are right. We must keep this a secret. We cannot let this get out. Our nights of passion at the secret rendezvous. Our love was a blossoming flower. I must see you again. Do not let S see this. Your J.”

  She stopped reading. He was laughing. “You cannot be serious. I did not write that crap.”

  “Your code was really hard to crack. Do not tell S. My dearest R. Love J. I found this in Rebecca’s locker.”

  He turned his head to the side, throwing her a crooked smile. “Chill out. So this is all about some note you saw? I didn’t write that note. Sylvia, you know my handwriting. Was it my handwriting?”