Life, Libby, and the Pursuit of Happiness

by Hope Lyda

  “I could order Chinese to be delivered to the office.”

  “Don’t you mean your assistant could order in Chinese?”

  Blaine took a couple steps back, tapped a file folder against his leg a couple times, and said, “This is not official business. I’d better take care of it.” With that, he turned and walked off. I watched his broad shoulders make their way down the corridor. In two days he’d be heading across the country for one long series of preoccupying meetings. In two days, Blaine would no longer stand between me and whatever crazy scheme Cecilia had to get her job back and my reputation restored.

  “I’ll be free,” I said quietly.

  My stomach did a little half-flip with a twist. It must have been nerves.

  Twenty-Three

  “Dinner for Blaine is here,” Philip said via intercom.

  “Don’t you announce yourself anymore?” I scolded.

  “After-hours protocol requires that an employee escort visitors back out. I’m off the clock. May I presume that you will see to it that Shawn gets out of the building?”

  “You may. Send him over.”

  I buzzed Blaine to let him know his order had arrived.

  “I told Philip to notify me, not you, when it got here.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll still let you pay.”

  He laughed. Seconds later he was standing in his office doorway waiting for Shawn with his billfold wide open.

  I could smell the aroma of lemon chicken. While Blaine took care of receiving the order, I quickly logged onto my personal computer to check for any recent emails from Cecilia. I had hoped there would be a note indicating that she had come to her senses about sending Jude to be in my care. Instead, there was one message with subject line: “Plan for grand opening in motion.” I looked around to be sure nobody would be walking by my cubicle. Blaine was checking the order while Shawn waited patiently. I read the contents of the email:

  Libby, 4:26 arrival tomorrow. Have a placard ready with appropriate name. Don’t be late.

  I would have to clean my entire apartment tonight after the exhibit. Now I wished I could head straight home.

  “Shawn is ready,” Blaine said.

  I clicked off the computer and stood up quickly. “No problem.”

  I escorted Shawn back through our main lobby and to the elevators. Philip was still there, tidying his desk for the next morning. “I thought you were leaving,” I said through slit eyes.

  Philip raised his pointer finger in the air. “No, actually I said I was off the clock. I give this company ten minutes of my personal time every morning and every evening because maintaining a clean workspace is my responsibility and contribution.”

  “So you contribute to the company for twenty minutes a day?” I said sarcastically.

  Shawn laughed but Philip raised his eyebrows so high they disappeared into his blunt-cut bangs. “You know what I meant.”

  “Well, if your contribution is finished for this evening, do you want to leave with Shawn so that I can lock the door behind you both?”

  “I happen to be done.”

  I sent Philip and our delivery man out in to the sunshine and headed back upstairs. The elevator door opened, and I followed the scent of dinner to Blaine’s door. Some evenings I waited so long to eat that I ended up on the couch munching on chips and salsa in front of late night television. This meal would give me energy to be social at the exhibit and still clean my bathroom later.

  Blaine was seated cross-legged on the floor. All the take-out boxes were opened and placed between two sturdy paper plates and plastic forks. A can of Diet Coke with a straw was by my spot.

  “I see you opened the soda for me,” I said, smiling.

  “I figured that was safest. We both have to appear in public in an hour.”

  “Good call. This is quite the spread. You know how to order takeout.”

  “Believe me, for many years all I ever did was order takeout at home. Which is a terrible crime, considering I grew up in a cooking home. How about you. Any cooking?”

  I sat down across from Blaine, thankful I had worn slacks today.

  “I don’t cook. I grew up with a nanny who was pretty inept at the household chores, but she was a very strong person when it came to emotional sustenance. And she could play gin rummy like a pro.”

  “That will sound more exciting should you ever write a memoir.” Blaine reached over to the white box in front of me and retrieved a fork full of cashew shrimp.

  For a long time we ate in silence. We were both hungry and shy, it seemed. Then I made the mistake of looking up. Our eyes met and stayed focused on one another for a moment while my mind played the term “locked” over and over. “Their gazes locked” was the kind of description used in romance novels, not in my life. Yet tonight it happened.

  “I also learned to play five-card stud. You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone. Right?” I continued the earlier conversation.

  Blaine’s head bobbed side to side with uncertainty. “I hope that isn’t true.” Again his eyes seemed to peer right through to my thoughts, my insecurities, my hope.

  I looked at the noodles on my plate.

  “Want a fortune?” Blaine extended a small soup lid piled high with fortune cookies.

  “Don’t mind if I do.” I took a moment to decide which cookie should be mine. Finally I chose two cookies from opposite sides of the arrangement.

  Enthusiastically, I cracked open each one and read them aloud. “You will achieve contentment if you believe. Telling the truth is the key to success.”

  “I believe. Do you?” Blaine asked with piercing sincerity.

  The phone rang and saved me the embarrassment of commenting on the wisdom of these two fortunes. My belief these days was underrated. And truth seemed a distant goal as my life appeared to be shrouded in white lies. What would Blaine think if he knew the truth about my deception?

  While on the phone, Blaine mouthed to me that this conversation would be long. I took my cue and began to clean up the dinner remnants. As I headed to the hallway with a plastic bag full of leftovers, Blaine motioned for me to come over to the desk. He wrote something down on a memo pad. “It’s Ken. Meet you there.”

  An industrious staff from a promotions company was bustling about the museum along the gallery wing. They were all dressed in black and looked a bit more like bank robbers pulling a heist than professional display artisans. Tables were being covered with black linen and champagne glasses clinked as they were set up in a three-dimensional pyramid by the bar.

  “Libby?”

  Surprised to hear my name, I turned quickly and nearly fell over my own feet.

  “It’s me, Heidi. I used to work with you at Reed and Dunson, right? We entered the program together.” A tall, attractive woman with short brown hair and a long, graceful neck approached me with her hand outstretched.

  It took me a moment to recognize this professional-looking woman as the same girl who had helped me carry bags of sand to Cecilia’s office. Our first official assignment wasn’t for the sake of public relations or account management or client development. It was to fill Cecilia’s new Zen garden.

  “That’s right. I didn’t blame you for moving on. Remember when they discovered that the floor beneath the Zen garden wasn’t reinforced up to code?”

  Her mouth opened wide and she yelled, “Yes! I had to start seeing a chiropractor after shoveling all that stinking sand back into bags and hauling it down to the truck.” She paused to survey the workers bustling about her.

  “Are you helping with this event?”

  “The museum hired my firm to execute the function. I gave them a great break, though, since we want to be known as local artist friendly.”

  “Your own firm? I guess moving on was a good decision for you.” I tried to look genuinely happy for her.

  “Well, I could tell right away that there was only room for one golden girl to make it to AE…and that was you. You were the trainee star. A
re you still with them?”

  “Yes, yes…I’m still there.” Now it was my turn to look around the room.

  “They probably have you running the show.”

  Well, I do seem to be in charge of a three-ring circus lately. “We just went through a big merger. A lot of people lost their jobs, but the company is doing well. I’m thinking about going international.” Of course, I meant that I wanted to travel in the near future. She would assume I meant international offices for Reed and Dunson.

  “Fab for you, Libby. Too bad, really. We’re so in need of a fireball. This is not the first time I’ve thought of you for our firm.” She was digging in her small leather fanny pack, discreetly tucked beside her nonexistent waist. “Here’s my card. Call me if you decide you want to stay in the good ol’ U.S. of A.”

  I took the card and examined the very respectable address.

  “Andres, that sign is backward…backward!” She yelled out to an underling across the room. He was caught up in the mesh of a computer-generated image of a camera. She checked her watch. “We are behind in our setup schedule.”

  “Go save your sign. Good to see you.”

  “You too, Libby.” Heidi walked toward the near disaster with amazing speed, considering she was wearing four-inch heels and a black pencil skirt.

  Never before had someone offered me a job or complimented me about my work. And Heidi and I’d been rivals. She was my number one competitor through all the stages of testing and training. When she left, I’d been thrilled. A few weeks later I found out she was given a great PR coordinator position with one of the other top firms. Even so, grand visions of my rapid climb up the ladder kept my jealousy to a minimum.

  Now Heidi ran her own company, and I was running an underground railroad for spoiled rock stars who liked to leap from tall buildings while high and then wanted to change their image.

  What did it matter? I was going international. Someday this wouldn’t be a misleading statement but would be an on-target plan. A moment of faith calmed my nerves as I headed toward Heidi to offer help with the final touches.

  The first after-work guests arrived and were ushered into a more intimate area where sculptures and hanging black-and-white images created sound barriers for this crowd that usually worked the Seattle nightlife after hours. Chardonnay and Pinot Noir were poured in generous glasses as Seattle’s twenty and thirtysomething elite toasted one another and the museum’s latest effort. Their purchasing power shone in the whites of their eyes and the whites of their perfect teeth.

  “Libby!” Oliver called out to me and came over to where I was gathering stray helium balloons. After a quick, friendly hug, he escorted me to his corner display, which had a strong visual advantage. Everyone entering from the main door would walk to this corner and most likely stop. His work was phenomenal. Scenes of the bay, the skyline, people in the park, faces of locals, fishermen, tourists. Already a small group had gathered to view his work. Everything he did focused on the heart of Seattle…the people, the moods, the eccentricity, and the intelligence.

  I noticed a few people lingering behind Oliver, so I motioned for him to do his thing and I headed for a less crowded area. I had about made it there when several of the balloon strings interlaced. I looked up to figure out how to detangle my only contribution to this party’s setup when someone bumped into me. Peering through my silver strings I saw a gentleman holding two champagne filled flutes above his head to keep his balance.

  It was Angus.

  “We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he said, offering me an air kiss.

  I smiled and looked back toward the front door, hoping that Blaine would be making his entrance soon. I’d wanted Angus to see me with Blaine by my side—not alone in a corner with a balloon bouquet.

  “Want one?” Angus extended one of the flutes to me.

  “Aren’t you taking that over to someone?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, but I can give her mine.”

  “No, thanks. I’m not indulging much these days.”

  “Drinking never was your thing. You were the first girl I ever dated who could be herself in my crowd. I liked that about you.”

  I was touched. I’d always felt as though I were a chameleon, but I appreciated his compliment. “You’re a good guy, Angus.” I leaned in to give him a real kiss on his cheek.

  Angus looked me in the eye for a moment, his face a bit flushed.

  “And I noticed that you have on a bit of color. You rebel, you.” I pointed to his black jacket’s breast pocket, where the hint of a dark red handkerchief was visible.

  He looked down at it and laughed. “Danielle talked me into it.”

  “I like her already. You should get the bubbly to her before the bubbles are gone.”

  “Right.” He awkwardly leaned in to kiss my cheek this time.

  I watched him walk through the growing group of guests. He nodded to a few folks here and there. This wasn’t necessarily his crowd, but Angus had lived in Seattle long enough to know quite a lot of people. Everyone who met him became fond of him, even if he wanted to present a bad boy image. I wondered if people liked Jude Shea when they met him. Angus would flip if he knew I was going to the airport tomorrow to pick up one of his idols.

  “Who was that?” Blaine’s voice inquired from inches away.

  I turned around and smiled but was greeted with a rather serious look. I pointed over my shoulder. “That was my…ex.”

  “The hot rocker guy?” He asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

  “You have to take into account that the description came from Marsha. But, yes. That was him.”

  “It doesn’t look over.”

  Still holding the balloons, I turned my wrist to check my watch. “That’s because you aren’t that late. The party has barely started.”

  Blaine looked down at the floor for a few seconds. I was afraid he was sick from his last plate refill of kung pao chicken. “I meant you and him.”

  “What?” I never expected Blaine to be the one who was jealous. I didn’t know whether to be offended or flattered.

  He self-corrected. “I’m sorry. I believe you.”

  I went the way of flattered. “There are more interesting social lives to track.”

  “I’ve worked with people who are not always on the up and up.”

  I felt my face grow red and my palms began to sweat. He knew something.

  Applause filled the foyer as the mayor and several other local officials discussed the importance of celebrating local artists. They got their votes, but what did Blaine say? I couldn’t hear a thing. His lips were moving but I couldn’t stop staring at his eyes.

  “What did you say?” I asked, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

  He shook his head as if recounting his thoughts would take too much out of him. “I want to be honest with you. I believe you are the kind of person who wants and deserves to be treated that way.”

  Had he spoken to Tara? Or worse, had he read my email from Cecilia over my shoulder?

  “I won’t play games, but I also have to hold back on an impulse I have because there is too much going on right now. My move here. Your transition in job duties. The overall settling in of the company. And then there is this strange situation with Cecilia.”

  “What are you trying to say?” I was sincerely baffled.

  “I appreciate your allowing me to join you for this event. I practically forced the invite with my pathetic new-guy-in-town story, but you were very gracious about it. And then I show up late.”

  I relaxed and allowed myself to breathe again. “No problem. I had a chance to catch up with an old friend, so it worked out perfectly.”

  Blaine raised his eyebrows.

  “Not him. Someone who worked with me at Reed and Dunson years ago.”

  Blaine continued his end of his conversation. “I appreciate tonight, but I also appreciate you. I have an idea what your years at Reed and Dunson have been like.”

  I saw He
idi shake hands with the mayor. She looked really happy. “My steno pad and cubicle are a pretty good clue,” I said.

  “They’ve missed out by not noticing you.”

  “Thank you,” I responded shyly.

  “I don’t plan to make that mistake.” Blaine reached for the balloons, which I released to his care. He could throw emotional curve balls at me more than anyone I had ever met. But all confusion aside, I had received two compliments from two people in one night. This was a personal best, and for the rest of the night I would walk on air.

  That is, until hours later when the gravity of tomorrow’s quest resurfaced in my subconscious.

  Amid dreams of running from groupies and riding in limousines wearing a floppy hat and a prosthetic nose, my eyes flew open with panic. “Pajamas!” I yelled into the lonely abyss that was my apartment.

  Twenty-Four

  The only reason I was excited to follow the airport parking signs was that it meant I got away from the busy late afternoon traffic on I-5. Otherwise, I was dreading each step which brought me closer to facing Jude Shea.

  I snagged a parking ticket from the machine and the striped metal arm lifted for me to pass. I stalled Pan’s car; my stick shift skills were rusty. When I asked to borrow it, I told her I was working late and wanted to get over to the party without worrying about the bus schedule.

  Lurch. Saved by the instinct of my feet, which recalled many driving lessons in business complex parking lots on the weekends during my sophomore year of high school. My dad had carried a clipboard so that I would not be startled by the procedure of the proctor on the day of the test. Mom had worn and used a whistle when she drove with me so that I could get used to driving under the duress of traffic distractions. I was probably the only teenager to ever welcome the actual testing day. It was a meditation retreat compared to my parent-guided practices.

  Once safely in a numbered parking space, I slanted the rearview mirror to check my lightly applied lipstick. Still there. I pinched my cheeks to add color to my skin, which was the pale shade of trauma.

  Cecilia’s last email at noon reinforced the code names and procedures. Her only instruction for now was to take him directly home and to sit tight until she gave further instructions on Sunday. I didn’t even bother telling her about my birthday party. I’d decided that I would bring Hudson with me and think of some excuse for having a handsome, never-before-mentioned man accompanying me.