Life, Libby, and the Pursuit of Happiness

by Hope Lyda

  “Another time,” I said convincingly and gently prodded Pan, in my robe, to walk out the door with me.

  I stepped to the side of a brown carton in front of Blaine’s apartment and knocked twice on the cherry wood door. His building looked a lot like the Regal Queen after a million-dollar renovation. I was studying the detailed fish design on the doorknob just as it turned.

  “Hey!” Blaine said, startled by our close proximity.

  I straightened up. “You have a delivery.” I pointed to the box.

  “I was hoping this would get here.” he leaned over and picked up the box with ease and motioned for me to go on in to the apartment.

  “This is beautiful,” I said, taking in the tidy and stylish dwelling with modern, comfortable furniture; tasteful, large-framed prints and photographs; and floor to ceiling windows. The view was of moonlit water and the roof terraces of other apartments.

  “Our apartment buildings were designed by the same architect.”

  “I was just thinking that this looked like my place after it won the lottery.”

  “Make yourself comfortable. Need a drink?” Blaine put the carton on his dining room table, which was a style Pan and I had both picked during one of our fantasy shops through Parkers furniture store showroom a few months ago. Since we both barely existed on tight budgets, this was our alternative form of shopping.

  “No, I’m good. Coat?” I asked.

  “Let me take that.” Blaine stepped behind me and took my waterproof suede coat from my shoulders. I passed the red folder from my right hand to my left so he could slide the coat off. He hung it on a hanger and then on the hook beside his front door.

  “Your other special delivery,” I said, handing him the folder.

  “I’d better get this started first. Have a seat.” Blaine stripped the brown mailer tape from the carton and removed a ball of wrinkled clothes.

  “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but when you send out your laundry, they’re supposed to clean your clothes—not play rugby in them and then wad them up.”

  He laughed. I loved that I made him laugh.

  While I waited in the living room, he talked to me from the laundry room down the hall. “I had so many files from my meetings that I decided to load up my travel suitcase with business and mail my laundry to myself.” His voice was eventually drowned out by the sound of water rushing in to a front-load washing machine.

  When Blaine returned to the living room, I was lying back on his comfy couch.

  “You see, that’s what I like about you. To some people ‘make yourself at home’ is a mere pleasantry. But you perceive it just as it was intended…an authentic invitation.”

  “Well, only because we have the same architect am I able to truly make myself at home. How do you know this little tidbit, anyway?”

  “Is this the folder?” Blaine returned to a more professional tone as he retrieved the red folder from beneath my sock-covered foot. My shoes were beneath the coffee table.

  I sat upright to make room for him on the couch, but he chose a chair across the room from me. His eyes stayed glued to the contract. Only once, when he got to the vital page 18, did he look up.

  “I know. This is big news, right?” I decided not to be offended.

  “I wanted to be hopeful, but he has to be told. It’s probably too late.”

  “There has to be a way. There has to be a reason I got…”

  “That empty file on Paulo at work now makes sense. It probably had info related to all this in it and was never meant to be a new account.”

  I nodded. “I’m sure that’s it.”

  “Cecilia’s absence really makes sense. I couldn’t understand why she’d put her job at risk. The label is probably making it well worth her while to delay Jude.”

  “Speaking of whom, Jude is waiting for me. I told him I’d be at my sister’s house. I’d better go.” I wanted the flow of encouraging words, not the clog of reality.

  “You just got here.” Blaine looked right at me as though he had more to say. But there was only silence.

  “It’s late. I want to process all of this and figure something out.”

  He took his cue and got up to retrieve my coat. He held it open for me while I put my shoes on in slow motion.

  For a moment his hands rested on my shoulders. “Libby?”

  I turned around to face him. My pulse still pounded from the contact. “What?”

  “He needs to know the truth,” Blaine said and handed me the red folder. “Unless Torrid magically reunites and records an album in two weeks, he’ll need a new gig for a few years. The guy took time off. Maybe that was a good choice.”

  “We can’t let his career end because he trusted us…me.” My voice was shaky. The guilt and frustration were so overwhelming. “I couldn’t handle knowing that my willingness to believe the wrong person could bring him down.”

  Blaine reached up and held my chin with his right hand for a lingering moment. Then he looked straight into my eyes. “Give yourself grace, Libby. Jude did this to his career. He was a spoiled rock star who couldn’t stay disciplined.”

  “You’re too hard on him.”

  “He sold out and then he regretted it.”

  “That has a familiar ring to it,” I said, ashamed.

  “Exactly. Yet you’re so ready to give him a chance. Extend the same grace to yourself. I would.”

  “You have,” I said earnestly and turned and left.

  Thirty-Eight

  The main floor elevator of our business complex opened just as I stepped up to it. I saw this as a good sign until I got in and a hand with fuchsia-colored nails kept the doors from closing.

  “Hi, Marsha,” I said and then inched my way as far back as I could to make room for her and the large load of copier paper she had on a roller cart. “Did we run out of paper upstairs?” I asked the obvious.

  Instead of turning the cart and backing in, Marsha pushed her load forward so that she stood facing me when the doors did finally close. I looked away, I read the copier paper wrappers, and then I had to concede to Marsha’s unspoken request for attention.

  “I like the hair garden thingy,” I said and pointed toward the browning lavender buds that encircled her head.

  “Hair garden?” she said with total disgust.

  “I meant flowers. Did you get those at the market?”

  “This is the very expensive floral wreath I wore in my sister’s wedding.”

  “The wedding three days ago? Could you hit the floor button for us?”

  “I love it,” she said adamantly and then started crying.

  Because of the cart between us, I could not pat her shoulder as would be the socially correct thing to do. So I encircled her with repeated compliments. “It’s pretty. Really pretty. Really.” After a solid minute of this I realized with horror that Marsha never hit the button for the Reed and Dunson floor. This moment wasn’t going to end soon. “Your polish is fabulous!” I amped up my volume to snap her out of her mood.

  “I want to be married. That’s all. Is that too much to want?”

  I shook my head with empathy. “Not at all. You should want that.”

  “You’re mocking me because you don’t want that.”

  “I’m not mocking you. And who said I don’t want to get married?”

  “Everyone.”

  The doors opened and my eyes lit up. Marsha pushed “close doors.”

  “Everyone? Everyone around here has nothing better to do than talk about whether or not I want to get married?”

  “Everyone I talk to,” she said.

  Since the woman was in charge of my immediate fate, I didn’t point out that she was the common denominator in those conversations. She was the only one talking about my love life. “I want to get married. Someday. It just not my top priority in life.”

  She teared up again.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that it was your priority.”

  “It is my priority
. What makes me mad is that the women who don’t want it get all the possibilities.” She looked at me pointedly. Not that there was anyone else to look at in the confined space, but I knew she directed the general comment at me specifically.

  “I’ve never received a proposal of marriage.”

  “But you could. That rocker follows you around like a puppy dog, and we’ve all noticed how Blaine looks at you. So if you don’t like the hot, bad-boy type and you aren’t into a completely nice, handsome, corporate guy, what do you want?”

  Out of this elevator. “The rocker is not in the picture. And why does everyone think Blaine likes me? He’s just a nice guy.”

  “See…you’ve heard people talk about Blaine. And Sasha saw you walking around with the leather guy last week. You don’t even know how lucky you are.”

  I wasn’t about to get into explaining who the “leather guy” really was. “Marsha, I don’t know how love works. I do believe God gives all of us different desires of the heart. But you can’t expect every guy you meet to be the one. That’s not real or ideal.”

  She wiped her eyes and nodded. “I do kinda force it.”

  “We’d better head up.”

  “Yeah.” She pushed the button and adjusted her wreath.

  “I can’t believe I’m so late.”

  “Nobody’ll notice,” Marsha said, yawning.

  “See…people don’t pay attention to me.”

  “Not when Cecilia’s back in town.”

  “Wha…?”

  I walked a zigzag pattern around cubicle central while popping my head up over the mini-walls every few feet scanning for Cecilia. I didn’t want my initial encounter with her to be in front of coworkers. All I could think was how grateful I was that I had confessed to Blaine when I did.

  “I just talked to her last night. What is she doing here?” I whisper-yelled at Blaine after rushing into his office, shoving the door shut, pulling the blinds to the hall-facing windows, and sliding down to the floor with a thud.

  He dropped a stack of forms. “Libby! You could give a man a heart attack.”

  “You can’t give someone a heart attack. They have a heart attack.”

  “I beg to differ.” He rubbed his chest before leaning forward from his roller chair to pick up the papers. We were eye level. He looked at me and started laughing.

  “This isn’t funny.” Neither was the crick in my neck. I shifted to all fours and crawled over to Blaine’s couch in a small, windowless inset.

  “It’s a little funny. It’s like watching a live version of I Love Lucy.”

  “Well, Ricky, say something. Who’s she meeting with? Did you talk to her?”

  Before coming over, Blaine used his intercom to buzz my phone. “Hold all my calls, please,” he said in jest.

  “I thought we had more time. Do you think she knows that we know?”

  “No. She was smart to appear sooner than later. With Ray and Trevor coming in for that EMP event, they’ll have all three Torrid members in Seattle at the same time and can slap them each with the lawsuit.” Blaine sat down on the couch. We were angled to face one another. “It’s perfect timing for her and Paulo. Besides, Ken was fed up.”

  “I don’t get that part. Why would they want Torrid members to be in the same place?”

  “My guess? That’s probably a fluke, but maybe FreeTime is working it to their advantage and hoping for a scene. There’s gotta be a lot of animosity between the band members. The hype of an all-out conflict could mean more CDs sold and more money straight to FreeTime’s bank account.”

  “Jude would never fight,” I stated.

  Blaine shook his head. “I didn’t mean a brawl, but I imagine there’ll be some choice words exchanged either in person or through the media.”

  “So what’s Cecilia saying to Ken?”

  “While I was there, she was downplaying her absence as an extended work trip.”

  “Ken’s buying that?”

  “He doesn’t know about all the espionage going on, but no…he’s not buying it, and Cecilia’s not really selling it. Let’s face it. She’s all set for her move. This last week or two will be a formality. If she had some sense of decency, she’d be giving Ken official notice now, but that would raise questions. Speaking of raising questions, how’d Jude respond to the truth last night?”

  I waved that question away with my hand.

  “Couldn’t tell him? You’re running out of time.”

  “I almost did.” I paused a moment “Instead of sleeping last night, I came up with a plan. I’ll tell him everything tonight.”

  “Libby, you can’t save him. Be honest with him, yes, but even if he’d never met Cecilia, all this other stuff would be happening. You didn’t create this mess. He did.”

  “So you keep saying. Does that mean you’re out?”

  “Out?”

  “You’re not going to help me?”

  He sighed deeply and threw up his hands. “I don’t personally care about Jude’s career. And I don’t think this will end up hurting the firm’s reputation. But I do care about you…I don’t want your job to be in jeopardy should Jude decide to take action against the firm. I’ll help.”

  “Thank you,” I said. And then added, “He wouldn’t do that.”

  “How are we going to help this saint of a man?”

  “The band will regroup and record a new CD before the deadline so they won’t be in breach of their contract.”

  “That’s the plan? The two musicians who’ve had no career for the past eighteen months because of Jude will just forgive and forget and record an entire CD in a week?”

  “Yep.”

  “You do have faith.”

  “I’m a slow learner, but I’m getting there.”

  “Me too.” He smiled, and it was such an open, vulnerable smile that I looked away.

  A knock saved us from an awkward silence. Blaine got up and opened the door slowly and then fully when he saw who it was. His hand motioned toward the area where I was and Rachel stepped in. She looked as though she were about to burst with news.

  “I have things to discuss with Libby,” Rachel said as way of apology to Blaine.

  Blaine nodded and pointed to a chair.

  “This is trivial work news. Libby and I can go out to her office when she’s done here. I’ll just wait out there.” Rachel stepped backward a few feet.

  “He knows everything, Rachel,” I said. “Have a seat.”

  She seemed relieved. “I’m on a mission. Cecilia is looking for you, Libby. Philip told her you were in. She sent me in search of you. Are you ready to face her?”

  “Is anyone?” I asked.

  “I’m almost sad to be leaving. I might miss how all this ends.”

  “Don’t worry. Libby has a plan,” Blaine offered with false sincerity.

  “You do?”

  I snapped my fingers at Blaine. “Either you have faith or you don’t. There is no room for a skeptic, even if this is his office.” I was full of confidence in my idea.

  “What’s the plan?” Rachel asked.

  “The band will get together and record a new CD so that the big breach of contract will be avoided and they can salvage the rights to their material and careers.”

  “The two guys who now have no career because of Jude will just forgive and forget and record an entire CD in a week?”

  “That’s exactly what I said,” Blaine commented.

  Only then, staring into my spy partner’s look of pure fascination, did my plan seem borderline idiotic. “There has to be a way to right this wrong,” I cried.

  “First you need to assure Cecilia that all is well with her plot, because she looks like a mad cow with a great facial. She’s scaring everyone. Go make her feel secure. Up.” Rachel waved me to a standing position and led me by the hand out of Blaine’s office.

  “Let me know how I can help. I mean it,” Blaine said in my ear before Rachel delivered me like a bounty hunter to Cecilia’s door.

&nb
sp; Thirty-Nine

  Cecilia was lying back in a leather swivel chair, her long, tan legs propped up on the matching ottoman, and a slender silver cigarette holder with amethyst adornments balanced in the V of two fingers. The woman had always been dramatic, but she had clearly gone Hollywood in mind and manner.

  It made me mad. “It must feel good to be gone so long and not have it matter.”

  She peered at me through her for-show Chanel bifocal glasses, which did not help her read my mood. Her legs gracefully retracted to a proper business angle while her head went back and her lips expelled a fume of smoke into the air.

  “You could’ve mentioned on the phone last night that you were returning today.” I didn’t realize how much I had changed. Fear always muted my frustration in the past. But now I had no internal filters big enough, strong enough, or willing enough to transform my true feelings into polite professionalisms for Cecilia.

  “Sit,” she said with such force that I abided. “I came back because our past few phone conversations alarmed me. Apparently your nunnery has turned into the land of parties for dummies. I was afraid for Hudson’s welfare. Besides, it’s time for me to be here and to fulfill the promise I made to…him.” Cecilia rested the tip of the cigarette holder in a crystal ashtray and held out her hands, palms up, to me.

  “What?”

  “You are released. As soon as he is in my care, that is. Libby, don’t think your loyalty has gone unnoticed. I’m sure that having a man like our Hudson sent you all atwitter, yet you seemed to have managed the situation better than I could’ve hoped. When your three-month review comes up for your new position, I will be certain to speak to Blaine and Ken about getting you in to the account executive training program.”

  I laughed my fake laugh, the one I usually did behind her back. It was refreshing to do so to her face in the glow of her trendy track lighting. “That’s rich, Cecilia. You mean you have enough clout to get me into the same program I’ve been in for five years?” Under your tyrannical tutelage.

  “I meant to say I would get you into an AE position, darling. Need not get your…whatever that is you are wearing…in a bunch. What is with everyone around here? One assistant had illegal substances growing in her hair.”