Pink Slips and Glass Slippers

by J. P. Hansen

  ***

  “Your call cannot be completed as dialed, please hang up and try again.”

  The familiar and dreaded message hit harder this time. Panic trickled down Chase’s spine like spiders descending on webs. He dug his hands into his hair and nearly banged his head on his desk.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Huh?”

  “Are you sure you’re alright?”

  “No, no I’m not.”

  Ruth’s eyes flashed empathy. She sensed Chase was suffering, guessing his family situation had worsened. In the past, he’d opened up to her, but lately, seemed so distant. She wanted to ask about Heather in the worst way. Ruth hated what that woman had done to him—he didn’t deserve it. He’s a good man.

  Ruth paused, cocked her head, and softened her expression. Though questions peppered her mind, she suppressed them. Locking her raised eyebrows, she headed back to her desk.

  “Ruthie?”

  “Yes,” she spun, almost falling.

  “One more thing. Can you mail this to Brooke Hart?” He held out the manila oversized envelope.

  “Sure.”

  “Oh, and tell Greenberg it’s in her hands now.”

  Ruth frowned as she gripped the sealed envelope. As she scurried away, Chase hoped his hand-written note would do the trick.

  ***

  “I’m screwed.”

  “That’s a bad pun.”

  Long pause. Shane noticed Brooke’s sense of humor had darkened, morphing into a black hole. Before he could apologize, Brooke said, “I don’t know what to do…”

  “Under the circumstances, you should consider legal action.”

  Brooke snapped a nail, then said, “Shit!”

  Shane said, “Is that a—”

  “No, I just broke a nail. Shit, I just had them done.”

  “Are you thinking about suing?”

  “Don’t make me break all my nails—one looks bad enough.”

  “A cease and desist letter to Mr. Chase Allman may be the only way to stop it.”

  “I still can’t believe he’d do it. It doesn’t make sense. I guess he didn’t like me calling him names.”

  “What’d you call him?” Shane fidgeted in his chair.

  “I might have let a few ‘assholes’ slip out, but nothing too bad.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “He deserved it. I don’t know what’s worse—him firing me through his minion Greenberg or taunting me afterwards.”

  “Ordinarily, I’d say call him and apologize.”

  “Yeah, right.” Brooke’s tone plunged an octave.

  “I’m not sure calling him and having it out will help. He’s clearly a vindictive jerk who is feeling spurned.”

  “Why do guys have such fragile egos?”

  “Hey, I don’t have a—”

  “Not you. You know what I mean,” Brooke snickered.

  “Thanks, I guess.” Shane’s inflection brought a second chuckle out of Brooke.

  “I just feel like I’m on a rollercoaster—without enough thrill to the ride, mainly terror.”

  “Life is designed to have its ups and downs.”

  “Oh, here we go again, you’re playing life coach.”

  “Well, that is what I do…” Brooke sighed. Shane continued, “T.S. Eliot once said: ‘The end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time’.”

  After a long pause, Brooke said, “I’m sick of exploring and arriving in a bear trap.”

  Shane snorted a laugh, “You should be a comedian.”

  “Nah, Chase would probably hire hecklers for every comedy club.”

  “Have you read the book I sent you?”

  Brooke’s face brightened, “I did and I loved it. I know your next question…”

  “Go on.”

  “Yes, I’ve written my own Bliss List. You know what’s funny? Only one of my seven goals had anything to do with work—and it wasn’t until number five.”

  “I’m not surprised. Can you email them to me?”

  “Sure.”

  “What was your bliss point for work?”

  “To have a job that I love doing, where I make a real difference, and feel a sense of purpose and meaning.”

  “That’s fantastic. It sounds like GenSense.”

  “Unfortunately, now that I’m blackballed in the industry, I couldn’t even do another start-up.”

  “You might be surprised. Don’t let Chase Allman—or anyone for that matter—derail you. I want you to focus on you. I’ll leave you with a little exercise.”

  “I have plenty of time.”

  Shane’s laugh was heartier than Brooke’s. “I want you to spend time exploring meaning. Ask yourself, ‘what gives my life true meaning?’ Then, write whatever comes to mind. Don’t restrict yourself to work tasks.”

  Hanging up, Brooke noticed her mood lightened, but felt burdened by the question. It was clever of Shane to change the subject, but the answer could take a lifetime to find.

  Chapter 17

  She nervously glanced all around her, then loosened the envelope’s seal. With both hands, she squeezed the upper corners and edged the sheets out. Ruth loved the familiar fragrance. Setting the papers on top of the envelope marked “Personal & Confidential.” her eyes narrowed as she read.

  Dear Brooke,

  I’ve been trying to call and dying to talk to you. I feel terrible about what happened and understand how upset you must be. Obviously, I had nothing to do with it. Had I known they were going to let you go, I would’ve said fire her and you fire me too. I mean that. I wish I hadn’t been away that day or it would have been different. When I heard what happened to you, I got in Stoddard’s face. He nearly fired me and I wish he would have. This company isn’t the same anymore; they value the almighty buck over people and I think they made a huge mistake letting you go.

  After seeing the embarrassing severance package they gave you, I practically fired Greenberg over it. I reworked it and attached it here. It doesn’t excuse the company’s shortsightedness, but I hope it helps. I’ll do anything I can to help you find a much better job. With your talents, it will be easy. I’m probably next to go though, so I should do it soon.

  I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. Our night together was the most magical I’ve ever felt. You truly are an amazing person. I should have never let you leave. I tried to return your slip, but must confess I couldn’t bear to. What happened between us felt so right. Maybe God intervened this way so we could be together. I know we belong together. Please call me.

  Love, Chase

  Ruth couldn’t believe her eyes. She re-read the last paragraph, and realized she didn’t need to take the risk of photocopying it; she’d never forget it.

  I have to meet Lucy, and I don’t think I can wait until lunch.

  ***

  “The Sole Meaning of Life is to Serve Humanity.”

  After hanging up with Shane, Brooke glanced at the corner of her desk. She had discovered this Tolstoy quote right before she started with GenSense. It spoke volumes to her then, making it easy to leave medical consulting for truly serving humanity.

  Brooke pulled out a piece of paper and wrote, “What gives my life true meaning?” She had a difficult time reaching those feelings like Shane had asked. She recalled how excited she had been while studying Child Psychology in college. Then, she discarded the notion. With conflicting thoughts swirling in her head, one word kept popping up: GenSense.

  Brooke stood and abandoned the project. She flipped on the TV, hoping for something that could make her laugh. An ad for Hilton Head Island caught her attention. She bolted upright and darted over to her computer to check her rental agency’s website. She located her unit on Hilton Head and scrolled to the calendar. As she had hoped, her villa had recently become open. Optimism renewed her like water to a parched plant. She dialed her agency and left a message booking a full week. Images of a change of scenery blossomed.

>   Brooke glanced at the framed quote on her desk. From her angle, it illuminated like a twinkling star. Glancing up from her desk, she surveyed her collection of old books and retrieved an old C.S. Lewis book from her college days.

  She fell asleep with the book open across her chest.

  Brooke awakened to the sun’s early rays before her alarm sounded. I’m going running on the beach today, then shifted her thoughts to the dream she was having before she awoke. Though her memory had already faded, she recalled Tanner and Chase were both in it—an awkward first. What would Freud say about that one? I really need a break; my villa better still be available.

  Brooke craved a fresh-brewed coffee, but Starbucks was out of the question—especially that one. Instead, she boiled water, then steeped three Earl Grey tea bags. Not quite a quad espresso, but the caffeine would make the six hour drive tolerable. Brooke considered taking the temperature of the steaming mug, then laughed. Unsure if she had a thermometer, she dipped her finger in, then smirked. I wonder if his tea has to be 175 degrees.

  Brooke grabbed a fresh Georgia peach she had purchased at a roadside stand. She flipped on TV and sipped her tea—not bad, but not espresso. A concerned but perky weather lady warned of a storm brewing off the coast of Haiti, heading toward Florida. She clicked the remote to the next channel—same news, only with a weather man. One more click—same story, only with a woman—that’s progress, we outnumber men. She wondered if the same women would be employed in another ten years, guessing the man would.

  Brooke shut off the TV, deciding to avoid the negative news and just enjoy the silence. Imagining the beach for a late afternoon run felt like she was already there. Oh, that reminds me. Brooke dialed her rental agency. Ordinarily, she rented the two bedroom unit through her agency, but loved using it on the rare occasions when it was vacant. A chipper woman’s voice said, “It’s a great day on Hilton Head.” Brooke smiled whenever she heard that salutation, thinking that woman should be on TV. After confirming that her villa was available, Brooke said, “Thank you so much. It’s a great day here too.”

  Brooke recalled purchasing it—that bittersweet day. She had so many fond memories…Brooke fell for Tanner on Hilton Head and their first kiss happened on the romantic beach at sunset. The couple had always dreamed of living in a mansion on the beach. The two of them had honeymooned there, then returned each year for an anniversary vacation. Then, Tanner died.

  Brooke kept her memories alive now, thanks to the GenSense buyout, by purchasing a Beachwalk villa located in the gated Shipyard Plantations in the center of Hilton Head Island. Though not on the beach as the name implied, it was only a short walk to the stunning seashore.

  Brooke had not been to her villa in over a year, but figured she’d follow the same ritual of run, sun, and fun. Many of her friends invited her to Myrtle Beach, but she usually found excuses not to go. Myrtle felt like spring break, Hilton Head felt like home. Beyond the happy memories, the island offered numerous advantages—much more appealing than anywhere along the North or South Carolina coast. Brooke loved to run, bike, and walk on the sand. No rocks, only smooth granules that eased with long tide changes. Tree-lined bike trails weaved throughout the island, blending picturesque golf courses, lagoons, and tennis courts with upscale homes and villas.

  As she packed for the week away, Brooke pondered about how Melissa might jump at the chance to go if the invitation was extended. But Shane’s voice rang in her head, quelling those thoughts; “Brooke, you can’t be Melissa’s solace until you overcome your own grieving.”

  Brooke glanced at Tanner’s picture on the passenger seat, and then clicked on her iPod folder marked “Hilton Head.” Carolina in my Mind transported her to the South Carolina island she loved. Sweet Caroline reminded her of sing-a-longs with outdoor guitar players, something she loved to do with Tanner, even though he sang a bit off key.

  After the second song soothed her, Brooke started the car and was off.

  “Whenever I see your smiling face…” Brooke hit ignore. I can’t talk to Melissa right now. She’ll make me turn around.

  The cell rang a second time—Melissa again.

  I’m not answering; I hate it when she does that. Why can’t she just leave a message? I swear, she’s psychic.

  Melissa never left a voicemail but expected Brooke to call back based on the missed call log. As expected, the cell rang for the third time. Brooke answered, “Melissa, I love you most of the time, but…” as she noticed a different number. Is she playing tricks? Brooke pursed her lips while holding the off button as if strangling her cell.

  Maybe now her calls will go straight to voicemail and Melissa will get the message.

  With the distractions eliminated, Brooke settled into her leather seat and clicked her iPod to Your Smiling Face. She gazed over to the passenger seat, and sang along—on key. With the song ending, she noticed the Starbucks sign ahead. Her stomach thumped as her thoughts collided with the storefront. That man keeps coming at me like a pop up window. Then a thought hit her—didn’t he say he had a place on Hilton Head?

  ***

  Chase scoffed at the difficulty in finding a good old-fashioned outdoor payphone that actually worked. He drove around for twenty minutes before stopping at a convenience store. Though the phone lacked privacy, he didn’t care at this point. Waiting until the coast cleared, he plunged his change into the slot and dialed. After hearing so many call block messages, the ringing sounded like a symphony. But, it also meant she blocked his numbers.

  With heart pounding, voicemail kicked in immediately. He slumped, but just hearing her voice warmed him. He pictured her lips…ah, those lips. The abrupt beep almost knocked him over, and he started talking…

  I hope I didn’t sound like an idiot. I wonder if my letter arrived yet.

  ***

  Even with the Hilton Head playlist blaring, Brooke couldn’t keep her mind off Chase. Then, Sweet Melissa began, and instead of soothing her, it startled her. She squinted at her cell to ensure it was still off.

  I completely forgot I put this song on this folder. A wave of remorse set in—oh great, now Melissa’s haunting me and the song’s by the freaking Allman Brothers. Brooke glanced up, and screamed, “Why are you doing this?”

  Brooke clicked off her iPod and scanned for FM signals, settling on a Top 40 station. As the music played, providing safety for now, she frowned at the gloomy sky up ahead. It was hurricane season, but this looked more like a passing shower than reason to evacuate. Brooke rolled her window down and noticed the outside air had cooled even though the sun still shined. I hope I get my run in. That reminds me…

  Still about an hour away, Brooke powered her cell on and dialed Beach Bike Rentals. A voice answered like an auctioneer, then put her on hold. She furrowed her eyebrows: does anyone know the value of customer service anymore? The new voicemail alert startled her. Maybe she left one after all. Doesn’t matter, I still can’t call her yet—I don’t want to lie. A different voice returned, saying, “Beach Bike.” Brooke ordered a mountain bike to be delivered to her villa.

  After hanging up, Brooke clicked her iPod to the Dave Matthews folder, and as Crash Into Me began, she smirked while calling voicemail—the message began, startling her.

  “Hi. I’ve been trying to call you…I, uh, we need to talk…I’ve been thinking about you…I hope you’re alright…I’m not sure why you’re—”

  With lips pursing like she bit a lemon, Brooke clicked the delete key before the message finished, then bounced the phone from the passenger seat to the floor, clanking on a dime. “He’s such an asshole! How could I have slept with him? Why can’t I forget him?”

  Brooke drifted over the center line as she wrestled to reach the iPod on the passenger seat. She glanced up and veered back to her lane, gripping the wheel with sweaty palms, barely missing an oncoming truck. Brooke squinted in the rearview mirror and flinched as she struggled to catch her breath.

  Suddenly, rain began pelting her windshield like
stones, drowning out her soothing music. The daylight darkened, quickly and virtually blinding her. She scrambled to turn on her wipers, which failed to keep up. The pounding water caused her to hydroplane and Brooke hit her brakes. High beams glared into her mirrors. Brooke accelerated but the car drew even closer, so close that the headlights were no longer visible. She tapped her brakes to alert the other driver but he stayed glued to her bumper. Brooke clicked on her hazards. He swerved into the other lane and blared his horn while speeding past, flipping her off.

  This is sure a relaxing start to my vacation.

  Brooke slowed and tried to catch her breath, watching him disappear into the rain. As Brooke pulled to the shoulder, the rain slowed. Her wipers screeched across her windshield; she clicked the bar down one notch, then the rain ended just as quickly as it had begun. Brooke heard the music once again and laughed. Fire and Rain. The exit off I-95 to Hilton Head Island beckoned, with sunny skies on the horizon.

  Traffic on Route 278—the final trek before the bridge—was its usual stop and start. Just before the safety margin, a traffic light flashed to yellow. While cursing, Brooke slammed her brakes, causing Tanner’s picture to fly to the floor. With neck tensing like her seat belt, Brooke needed Hilton Head like never before.

  She swore the lights had been timed so she missed each one as Brooke ascended the bridge to the island. Traffic flowed like the tide as seagulls flew lazily overhead. Brooke opened her window and inhaled the sea’s invigorating mist and that feeling returned—home.

  Atop the lengthy, gradual bridge, the island vista looked magnificent. She cherished the low country—especially at low tide—revealing oyster beds which sea birds had feasted on before humans took over. Brooke turned on to the Cross Island. Even though she had to pay a toll, the new bridge cut the drive time in half. She remembered what traffic was like before they finished the project.