The BACHELORETTE Project (The Project: LESLEE Series)

by Tami Anthony

  Mr. Thomas stands in front of me with a stone-cold look on his face. I can feel the sweat pellets forming on my forehead. I am so sure that I am in serious trouble now. I gulp.

  “You are right, Leslee,” he says then laughs. “I was wrong and now you know something that can ultimately destroy my life … but I won’t let you. So, I’m willing to compensate you with a free vacation starting now.”

  This is what I get? A free vacation? I feel that I should be getting more. I just caught my boss doing dirty things with my co-worker. I feel that I deserve … a car or something. “Can I go now?” I ask.

  “Yes,” he replies, “just as soon as you clear out all your things from your desk.”

  “What?” I ask, confused. “Why?”

  “Because you are terminated, Leslee,” he says with not an ounce of remorse on his face. “That ‘free vacation’ is actually a permanent vacation.”

  “But, why?” I plead.

  He walks behind his desk and pulls out his checkbook. “I am willing to give you a monetary compensation for your commitment to our firm, but other than that, there is nothing I can do for you.” He clicks his pen and begins to write a check. “How much do you want?” he asks me.

  I panic. I don’t want a monetary compensation! I just want my job! I want to be able to be independent and support my very severe designer habit!

  “I don’t want your money, Mr. Thomas,” I reply. “I just want to keep my job. I won’t say anything to anyone.”

  “Oh, that’s right, you won’t,” he tells me, “because if you do, I will turn it all around on you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Blackmail, Leslee. That’s the name of the game. That’s the gamble, right?” He glares at me. “What I will do is set you up. I will say that you were fraudulent in your work, and then I will have proof of that. Then, if you decide to expose my and Ms. Curano’s affair, my defense will be that you were a disgruntled worker looking for any excuse for revenge.” He rises from his seat with his hands on the desk, still glaring me down as if he wants to kill me. I take a step back.

  “You can’t do this to me,” I tell him softly. “You shouldn’t and you know that, Mr. Thomas. Be a better person! We can put this all behind us.”

  He smirks. “You know, there’s a reason why my firm is one of the best firms in Manhattan, in New York for that matter. It’s because I know what people want, and I also know how to get what I want.” He walks next to me and starts to touch the edges of my hair. I shiver. “I also know how to get rid of those who are in my way,” he whispers in my ear and then walks behind his desk. “Give me a price and I’ll compensate you,” he says. I shake my head.

  “No,” I tell him. “I’d rather leave with my dignity than with your dirty money. Besides, you could cancel that check as soon as I walk out the door.”

  He shrugs. “Then I guess you’ll never know,” he says as he rips the check in half. I feel my bank account cry when he does it. I could’ve had free money out of all of this! “You have a half hour to clear out your stuff and if you refuse to leave, I will have security escort you out.” He sits back down and rummages through his papers without looking up. “You’re dismissed.”

  A tear runs down my cheek as I exit his office. I can’t believe this! How could he?! How could he do this to me? After all the effort that I put in at this office. Five years! I put in five years at this office, and now it’s like I don’t even exist anymore.

  “Leslee,” Minnie says as she walks up behind me. I turn around and she looks at me in concern. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she asks.

  “I was just fired.”

  Chapter Six

  On the way home with my trusty brown office box by my side (filled with my pictures, a stapler, my emergency Snickers bar … more pictures), I think about … well, life, actually. Usually people say that if your professional life sucks, then more than likely your personal life is great and vice versa. It’s like this crazy balancing act and I don’t think that I’ve met one person that can do it all. Anyway, the obvious is clear. If one falters, the other one exceeds all boundaries victoriously. In other words, life can be complicated, and it sucks.

  “I can’t believe it!” I tell Jay over my cell as I’m sitting in the backseat of what seems to be the bumpiest cab ride ever. “He fired me! That middle-aged, certified douchebag just canned me for his wrongdoing!”

  “Wow!” Jay responds as if she’s as speechless as I am. “Well, can’t you sue him? He can’t just fire you because you caught him getting head from a whore.”

  “He’s blackmailed me, BLACKMAILED ME!” I exclaim. “He said if I even try to sue him that he would turn it all around on me and make it seem like I was a bad worker. In fact, he said ‘fraudulent!’ He would put me in jail! HE WOULD PUT ME IN JAIL!”

  “Calm down. He wouldn’t put you in jail,” she reassures me. “Maybe this is a good thing for you. It’ll be like a vacation or something. Collect your unemployment like the rest of the country, and then you can shop your blues away.”

  I shake my head. “Do you not hear me, Jay?” I ask. “I LOST MY JOB! I have nothing now—career-wise! And I wish that people would stop saying it’s a vacation!”

  “Okay, Leslee,” she says. “I understand. I’m sorry that you lost your job, but I’m sure that you can find another one. Paralegals are needed everywhere.”

  I roll my eyes. “Sure,” I respond sarcastically. “Because it’s just so easy to find a job during a recession.”

  “Alright, Leslee, I get it. Just be lucky that you have a place to live and that your fiancé still has a job. You’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah,” I say as the cab driver pulls up to the front of my building.

  “So what are you planning on doing now?” Jay asks me. I can’t help but to observe the Jimmy Choo shoes that are flying from the sky, hitting the sidewalk like a pair of bricks. What in the world is going on in my building?

  “Nothing really,” I reply as I pay the taxi driver and climb out of the cab. “I plan on running myself a hot bath, then sorting out my overly complicated life.” I try to jiggle the cell phone on my ear as I struggle to carry my brown box of doom. A teal Marc Jacobs handbag shoots out of the sky and almost hits me in the leg. I look up and swerve my body just in time to not get completely plastered in the head with a Christian Louboutin shoe … my Christian Louboutin shoe! Is my apartment being robbed?

  “Jay, I’m gonna have to call you back,” I say quickly and end the call. I take a few steps back into the street and look up to my window. My black Valentino dress is violently tossed out the window and floats itself to the sidewalk. I try to make out who is throwing my wardrobe out the window but I can’t tell from the street. I try to yell. “Hey, asshole! What the hell do you think you’re doing by throwing my stuff on the ground?!” Like a grenade, a small Louis Vuitton purse is thrown out the window and almost hits me in the head. I panic. “OK, I’m calling the cops, you crazy person!” I yell at the person in the window. Another Louis Vuitton purse is violently launched out of the window and hits me on the shoulder. ”That…is…IT!” I yell as I storm into the building. People are so crazy in the city. Who would even think of doing such a thing?

  Afraid to even enter my own apartment, I clutch onto one of the glass frames of my brown box and slowly open the door. “Bitch!” I hear someone yell as they throw a pair of shoes towards me. Victor! “You ungrateful BITCH!”

  “Victor!” I yell, irritated and appalled to see my wardrobe scattered all over the floor of our apartment. “What are you doing?!”

  His evil laugh echoes to the outside as he graciously throws my makeup and jewelry out the window. “If you don’t want to talk to me, fine!” he yells. “Then you don’t have to live here either!” I notice the Jack Daniel’s bottle in his hand as he takes a swig. He’s drunk … really, REALLY drunk.

  “Victor!” I plead. “Knock it off! You’re being childish!” He tosses my limited edition Louis Vuitton
handbag out the window and begins to laugh. Can’t … be … civil … with … him. Stay calm, I think to myself. Can’t stay calm. I’m about to explode! “You jackass! That’s Louis Vuitton that you just threw out the window!” I scream, completely losing it at this point. I drop the glass frame on the floor and begin to gather my clothes as he continues to throw my things out the window. “Stop it!” I yell. “This is ridiculous!”

  “You always want to act like you can do so much on your own!” he screams at me. “Well, now’s your chance!” he tells me as he throws another handbag at me. I gasp.

  “That is a vintage Chanel!” I scream. “How dare you throw vintage Chanel?”

  He glares at me then says, “Fuck your Chanel!” I lose it. I completely lose it. I lose my breath all together and the air in my lungs. How can he say something so cruel? It’s Chanel … vintage Chanel!

  He picks up what seems like the rest of my clothing and worldly possessions and dumps them outside of the apartment door. “What the hell is your problem, Victor?!” I yell as I run out into the hallway to gather my things. “Have you gone completely crazy?!”

  “We are over!” he says and he shuts the door in aggression.

  I begin to bang on the door in hope that he would open it and talk to me…like a normal person. “Victor, please open the door!” I yell. Silence. What just happened? I mean, really, what just happened? My wardrobe just scattered all over Park Avenue, my fiancé (well now ex-fiancé) yells at me for absolutely no good reason, and I’m left in the hallway to be embarrassed. I hadn’t noticed exactly how many of my neighbors literally opened their doors to watch this whole fiasco, but now I see that I have an audience, a diverse audience of Park Avenue mothers and their children, elderly people, a scary-looking group of spoiled, gothic teenagers … the list goes on and on, all watching my humiliation.

  I quickly gather my things from the hallway, place them in my brown box and exit the building. I collect all my scattered things on the sidewalk: my now-scratched Jimmy Choos, my dirty Valentino dress, my Louis Vuitton handbag that happened to land in a pile of dog poop on the sidewalk. This is an ultimate low.

  I can’t just stand here on the sidewalk with my stuff, I think to myself. Victor obviously wouldn’t let me in. He thinks I’m the devil for whatever reason. There’s only one person I want to call that will truly understand where I’m coming from and won’t judge me or make me feel bad considering I’ve lost my job and my fiancé in one day.

  I begin to dial numbers on my cell phone. “Hey, it’s me,” I say. “Do you think that you can pick me up right now? I’m on the sidewalk with my stuff and I almost want to shoot myself.” Dramatic? Yes. A genuine feeling? Hell yes. I don’t think things can get any worse. In fact, I’m almost positive that things cannot get any worse … can they?

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  “So he dumped you?” Jay asks and I just nod my head, attempting not to cry. It doesn’t work. My eyes are like waterfalls … pathetic, nonstop waterfalls. I shouldn’t be crying like this. Aren’t I supposed to be this overly strong, independent woman? Stop crying, stop crying!

  “I’m so confused because I don’t remember doing anything wrong,” I sob as I pick up a chicken wing from my plate and take a depressing little nibble off of it. Jay is my savior today. She picked my wardrobe and me up from the curb of my street (well, my old street since I don’t live there anymore, sniffle, sniffle), equipped with trash bags to put all my stuff in, then took me to Mustang Sally’s. Apparently, the best source of heartbreak therapy includes a pint of Guinness, hot wings, and a New York Knicks game on a flat-screen television.

  Jay takes a huge gulp of her beer and leans on the bar, eyes still glued to the TV. “You know, statistics show that men suck,” she says as she picks up a hot wing and smothers it in blue cheese. “Thank God I was born the lovely, sophisticated lesbian that I am. Men are way too complicated, plus they’re whiny, disgusting …” She puts the whole piece of chicken into her mouth and completely sucks the meat and blue cheese off the bone. “Childish, immature. Men, just … they just suck, OK? If they’re not wearing a Knicks jersey and running defensive on a basketball court then I’m really not that interested.” Jay downs the rest of her beer and begins to bang on the bar counter in an attempt to get the bartender’s attention. “Hey, Nick!” she yells to him. “Another pint for me, please?” One thing about Jay is that she’s loud, a bit crude, sometimes obnoxious, but she can wear designer clothes more fiercely than any supermodel. What I envy about Jay is that she’s so comfortable in her own skin that it’s almost sickening. Granted, she has no flaws, but if she did, she wouldn’t care. She’s never concerned about the opinions of others. A lot of women aren’t like her. She’s just so … individual. I sometimes wish I could be like her.

  “This is what I think,” Jay starts and then chomps on a stick of celery. “I think that this breakup is good for you.”

  I look at Jay as if she’s crazy. “Why would you even say that?” I ask just agitated at the fact that she would even think it. “I love Victor. I would do anything for him. WE WERE GETTING MARRIED!” I exclaim.

  “You were way too dependent on him. Living in his apartment, spending his money …”

  “Hey!” I say. “Some of that money was my money, too! I resent that!”

  Jay smirks. “You can resent it all you want, but your relationship was all about him and nothing about you. Just look at what he did to you last Saturday. He stood you up.”

  “He took me out the weekend before,” I say defensively.

  “Yeah, for a benefit,” she replies. “He needed a bit of eye candy on his arm to maintain his aristocratic image.”

  “As far as last Saturday, he had a valid excuse.”

  “Mmm hmm,” she says with an ‘I’m not buying it’ looking on her face.

  “I can’t help that he had a meeting or whatever it was,” I defend. “If he has work, he has work. You know what they say: the news never sleeps.” That must’ve been the kicker. Jay begins to laugh … and laugh … and laugh. I’m almost embarrassed. “What’s so funny?” I ask her. “It’s the truth.”

  “Are you really this naïve, Leslee?” she asks me and I shrug my shoulders as I reach for another hot wing. “I mean, really, Leslee. The news never sleeps?” she shakes her head at me. “Stop making excuses for the dickhead. He doesn’t deserve you. Every time you make up an excuse for him, it’s like your making up excuses for your failing relationship.” And the truth comes out. It’s brutal, it’s harsh, but it’s straight to the point. A relationship intervention so to speak. I always made it seem like we were the perfect couple living the perfect life, but little did I see how imperfect it actually was.

  I open my mouth to begin to speak but Jay cuts me off. “Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re gonna say,” she starts. “He’s a workaholic, he’s busy, he’s on TV,” Jay says mockingly. “I’m a workaholic, too, but I’ll be damned if work is gonna take over my life and my relationship. I have a priority at home and that priority is to be with the woman that I love and respect … and WHERE THE HELL IS MY BEER?!” she yells hoping that the bartender would hear her.

  I can feel the tears again as they roll down my cheeks. Jay hands me a napkin. “Oh, Leslee, stop your crying,” she tells me as she puts her arm around my shoulders. “You know he’s not worth your tears. You’ll find the one … someday.”

  “But what if I don’t?” I sob. “I’ll be single forever. I’ll be the lonely cat woman with a ton of designer clothes and nowhere to go!”

  “You won’t be single forever,” she reassures me. “But if you are single, you need to know that other people don’t make you who you are. It’s you that makes you who you are. You need to find out who you are first, get to know yourself and what you want in life, then come up with a game plan. Do what you want to do.”

  “I wanted to be a successful, married paralegal!” I exclaim. “And now I have no job, and no fiancé, and not even a place to live. My game plan for
life is fucked.”

  “Well, I can’t help you with the first two, but if you need a place to stay, the couch is always free at my place.”

  “Thank you, Jay,” I say to her.

  “Of course.”

  “But I think I need to get out of here.”

  “Out of the bar?” she asks me and I nod my head. “I know why. It’s because the Knicks are losing, isn’t it? I can’t bare to watch this shit either.”

  I laugh. “No. I think I need to get out of New York for a bit and get my mind together.”

  “Where ya gonna go?” she asks.

  I think for a moment. Where can I go to reestablish myself, get over my breakup and my whole unemployment situation? Where can I figure myself out? People always say that home is where the heart is and my true home, my old home, is only two hours away from here.

  I wipe the tears off my face and take a deep breath. “Philadelphia,” I say. This is my decision, a spontaneous decision at that, but hopefully it’ll be the right decision … for now.

  “You can’t leave New York!” Jay argues. “It’s the best city in the world! What other city can you go to where you can shop all day, party all night, and then grab a pizza at seven in the morning? We’re nonstop here! You can’t go to Philadelphia and have the same energy there as here.”

  “We have Philly cheesesteaks and the Liberty Bell,” I say quietly.

  “Oh nice! A heart attack in a bag topped with cheddar cheese,” she replies sarcastically. “And I don’t think the Liberty Bell can top our Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building.”

  “There’s no such thing as a better city. They’re just different cities, that’s all. Plus, I would be closer to my parents.”

  “The parents that you only speak to on holidays via email or phone,” Jay says then sighs. “Look, if you feel that Philadelphia is the best choice for you right now, then go for it. I can’t tell you how to live your life. But I think that you are strong enough to just stay here and figure things out.”