by Natasha Deen
Jack’s round face poked through the broad, green leaves. “I bring nefarious news from your nemesis.”
“Grace sent you with a message for me?”
He bristled. “I would never take messages from that malicious miscreant of malcontent. No, my pearl, news of a different variety.” He glanced around the office and, seeming to find his presence safe, continued. “Molly from accounting, she and I are—” His round face flushed red. “Quite close. She told me of strange purchases on Grace’s company card.”
He paused, with a dramatic raising of his eyebrows.
“Go on,” Nessie encouraged, hoping the purchases were of a personal nature. If Grace lost her job for fraud, then the threat of Helga diminished and Nessie could start breathing again.
“She bought strobe lights, dry ice. This is only supposition—” He leaned towards her, and the scent of mint and aftershave wafted past. “But I believe she’s planning a light show. Nessie, your poster boards won’t stand a chance against this.”
“Pomp and ceremony won’t hide a shoddy product,” she said bravely. Even as she spoke, though, her thoughts began to speed up, racing to find an idea that could rival Grace’s.
The furnace crackled to life. Jack’s head jerked back.
“It’s just the heating—” But he’d already bounded back into the shadows.
Thoughts of retaliation for the brownie theft ebbed in the waves of morality washing over Nessie. Darn Jack. He’d tossed her into the shark-filled waters of ethics. Should she use illicitly-gained knowledge and revamp the presentation, or continue with the presentation her team planned? She had no right to the information, and that in itself answered her quandary. Nessie sighed and headed back to her cubicle.
****
The day of the presentation dawned with ominous overtones. Black clouds drew a heavy curtain over the sun. Nessie’s shower was devoid of hot water, and the toaster burned the bread. If a black cat crossed her path, shoved her under a ladder and broke a mirror over her head, the signs couldn’t be more nefarious. Nessie, however, had a plan.
She opted for cereal over toast, used the cold shower to rejuvenate herself, and wore a cheerful yellow skirt suit to combat the cloudy sky. As for the cat, ladder and mirror, she took a cab in an effort to avoid any felines and cracked sidewalks. If she was about to lose, she would do it with her head up, chest out and with a warrior’s—not a wimp’s—attitude.
Victor & Victoria buzzed and hummed with excitement. People flitted by her, calling out their good wishes for the presentation, all of them promising to be there in support. Ego wanted her to believe their words. While she didn’t doubt their sentiment, she knew the voting populace would be swayed by dry ice and a Helga design. She headed to her office, where she found her team in various positions and expressions of defeat.
“We can’t go out there,” Tala said, shoving a scalding cup of coffee into Nessie’s hand.
She set down the drink and stripped out of her coat. “Why?”
“I heard Grace is doing a pyrotechnic show.”
“She can’t use fireworks,” scoffed Nessie.
“A laser light show.”
“Lasers aren’t relevant to the product. She still has to prove her shoes are better than ours.”
“There’s a computer commercial wtih a woman jogging her way through thirty seconds of film to announce their new product and you want to argue relevance?” Stewart paced the office; his pronounced Adam’s apple bobbed and jerked in rhythm to his steps.
“Point taken,” Nessie conceded, “but it doesn’t matter. We’ve got a great design, a fantastic presentation—”
“We have poster board. Germaine’s got a water show.”
“He does?” Uncertainty began to worm its way through Nessie, starting in her stomach and spreading outward until every inch of her skin wriggled with anxiety. She shook her head to clear her mind and said, “Who cares? Look, we’re not supposed to know any of this, so put it out of your minds. Besides, no one wants Grace to win. Stop worrying.”
“That was before she stole Helga. With Leo offering company stock and bonuses for record profits, people will vote with their wallets. They may want us to win, but if Grace’s design is better, we won’t stand a chance.” Tala flopped into a chair.
Self-pity warred with pride. And lost. “Stop it!” Nessie commanded. “We didn’t pull all-nighters just to turn into marshmallows at the eleventh hour. Go take a walk, eat something. Just clear your heads. The competition starts in one hour and, no matter what, I’m proud of all of you. We did the best job possible, and that’s what matters in the end.”
A grudging acknowledgment preceded half-hearted cheers. Stewart tried to start a group hug, but knowing exactly what body parts he wanted to hug, she and Tala dodged his efforts. After the group cleared out, Nessie noticed a small paper plate, almost hidden under a bushel of file folders. Underneath the plastic wrap covering it were brownies. She lifted the plate, intending to help herself to some chocolate courage, and saw the note underneath: Keep your eyes and chin up—solutions come from looking up, not gazing down. Olga.
Maybe, Nessie thought, but support definitely came from good friends who knew to layer loving words underneath chocolate treats. She unwrapped the plate and went to take a brownie. The ring of the phone, however, stalled her plan.
“Good morning, Vanessa Helph speaking.”
“Good morning, Miss Helph.” Leo’s voice rumbled, rippled and caressed her with bass tones. “How did you sleep?”
“Considering that you kept me talking on the phone until two o’clock this morning, I should think you know exactly how I slept.”
“I’m sorry, that was naughty of me. If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t get any sleep. Our conversation was just too…arousing.”
His words jolted her, high-watt charges full of memory and fantasy. She sat on her desk, twisting the telephone cord around her finger. “You shouldn’t tell me things like that. It takes my focus.”
His velvet laughter, edged with a wicked tone, pulled her need taut. “I think it puts your focus right where I want it.”
“Is that why you’re calling me this early in the morning? To satisfy your lustful needs?”
“I’ll need a lifetime with you to do that,” he said, his tone laced with promise. “Right now, I need you to meet me in the boardroom. Rumours are flying that some of the presentations will hold everything from a light show to an air show, and I’d like to be prepared.”
“No problem. I’ll meet you there.”
A crash sounded, followed by Leo’s heavy sigh.
“Grace just tipped over the table of refreshments,” he said. “If you could bring some paper towels and a mop, I’d appreciate it. I’ve got to go and sop up some of this mess.”
She hung up the phone, put her purse back in the drawer, and headed out. On her way to the elevator, she spotted Grace standing in front of a custodial closet, amid a bucket, stereo, “careful wet floor” sign, and mop.
Her competitor’s mouth twisted, then pulled into a sneer. “I suppose it’s only good manners that I wish you luck.”
“When has common courtesy ever factored into your decisions?”
Grace snorted with derision, and it proved too much for Nessie to bear.
“I was a faithful employee and a damn good one—we all were, and we didn’t deserve the garbage you tossed. The way you treat your subordinates is beneath contempt. No one wants you here, and short of a miracle, you’re gone.”
“Oh, poor, poor, Vanessa Helph. Someone dared to hurt her delicate feelings,” Grace retorted. Her voice shifted from sotto voce and took a hard, guttural edge as she said, “Life is hard, Nessie, and you have to fight and claw for every inch you gain. You never deserved this job. I detest nepotism, and if you ever thought I’d let you get away with it, you’re stupider or more naïve than I thought.”
Nessie gaped at her. “You knew? This whole time you knew he was my godfather and you still sp
read that despicable filth about me sleeping my way into the position?”
“One good turn, and all that.”
“You really are beneath contempt.”
“Save it for the talk shows. In the meantime, be a good dray-horse and take this stuff to Leo. I forgot the paper towels.” Grace turned away, fighting with the custodial lock and hissing curses. “God damn piece of crap.”
Nessie watched the struggle between woman and door. The temptation to leave Grace to her misery flooded her consciousness, but her conscientious nature couldn’t be repressed. With a sigh of resignation, she said, “Let me try.”
Grace stepped back with a contemptuous curtsey. Growling under her breath, Nessie took the key. A jiggle, a wiggle and the lock opened. Getting the heavy door to swing on its hinges and springs, however, proved to be a two-woman effort.
“How did you get it opened in the first place?” Nessie gasped.
“Steve was here, and then he disappeared for one of his two-hour coffee breaks. Idiot janitor,” Grace panted as she struggled to hold the door open. “The only thing he’s good for is a bit of tongue action on a late night.”
Trying to erase the image of Grace and the greasy-haired Steve locked in a passionate embrace, Nessie went into the room and grabbed several packages of paper towels. She heard a commotion out in the hall and turned to see her supervisor staggering to keep the door open, her head craned to see the ruckus.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know.” The older woman stepped around the door, and it began to swing shut.
“Grace! The door!” Nessie raced for it, but an armful of paper towels hampered her efforts. By the time she reached the door, it had closed. Nessie pounded on the steel surface.
“Keep your pantyhose on,” she heard Grace mutter. “I’m here.”
The key slid into the lock and the duelling of metal against metal ratcheted up Nessie’s hopes for rescue, until the god-awful, sickening sound of the key snapping reached her ears.
“Hello?”
“We have a small problem,” Grace said. Then she laughed. “Wait. You have a small problem.”
“Get me out of here!”
“Didn’t I tell you to hold onto your pantyhose? I’ll get you some help.”
“Hurry! The presentation’s about to start.”
Silence.
And more silence.
Nessie’s heart plummeted into her patent-leather pumps as realization dawned. “Don’t you dare leave me in here!”
“Would a woman beneath contempt do such a thing?” Grace’s triumphant voice pushed through the metal door.
Nessie’s stomach joined her heart. “Grace!”
“Stop screeching. I’m going to go and get help.”
Nessie wound her spirits around the fragile thread of sincerity in Grace’s voice.
“In the meantime, enjoy some music.” A click of the radio, then the sounds of Steve’s favourite heavy metal music group piped through the door.
Nessie groaned. “Grace, cut the music. Just go and get Leo.”
“Who said anything about our great and mighty boss? I’ll stick a note in Steve’s office.”
And with Grace’s words, the thread snapped and sent Nessie tumbling down.
Chapter Five
Locked in the custodian’s closet, with the smell of ammonia and bleach burning her eyes, Nessie considered her options. Screaming would prove useless. Tears, pitiful. In the sallow but functional light illuminating the cramped quarters, she cast a critical gaze around the room and searched for a way to extricate herself.
Metal shelves lined the brick walls. Rags, cleaning solutions, and buckets crowded each level. If she mixed a solution of detergent and water, started now and scrubbed for sixteen hours at a time, she might eventually wear a hole in the wall in about forty-five years—give or take a decade.
“Think, think!” she urged herself. She could come up with a plan. So far, she’d dismissed cleaning, pounding, yelling, praying and crying. Five strategies, five dead ends.
At the back of the middle shelf, she found a pack of matches. She considered lighting a few rags on fire. It would set off the overhead alarm and bring attention to her plight. Unfortunately, with the plethora of toxic chemicals, by the time the firefighters found her, she would be dead either from smoke inhalation or poisonous gas.
Nessie paced, her heels thudding in rhythm to her mumbled mantra, “Find the answer, find the answer.” Thud. Thud. Mumble. Mumble.
She stopped and stomped. Flecks of cement scattered along the floor. Could someone hear the pounding? She grabbed the heaviest mop she could find, turned it on its head and banged on the floor until the tremors vibrated through her bones and made her teeth rattle, but fifteen minutes later, no one had come. Frustrated and sore, she cursed in all the languages she knew. Since Nessie spoke only English, that didn’t take long.
Sweat dampened her hair and made her shirt cling to her chest and arms. She tossed the mop to the floor and wrenched off her blazer. The mop gods, no doubt angered by her callous use of one of their subjects, spewed down fire from the sky. Okay, so maybe the click of the furnace kicking into its cycle and the ensuing gusts of hot air had nothing to do with enraged mop gods, but it sure felt that way. Then again…where there was air, there was freedom.
She searched the room again, this time looking for a ladder or a stool—anything that could help her reach the furnace vent. Height-increasing tools, however, proved non-existent, and the hot air blowing down carried away her idea to climb through that network of vents. Nessie raised her eyes heavenward, praying for some kind of intervention.
And she found it. She smiled. Olga had been right. Help came from looking up.
Nestled high on the left side of the wall, almost hidden from view, lay the fresh air ducts.
Nessie unhooked the top two buttons of her blouse, pulling the damp silk away from her body and creating a cool draft to dry the perspiration from her skin. After hiking her skirt to her thighs, she hooked her hands on the shelves and started climbing.
She pushed aside the rags and paper towels and scampered on top of the highest shelf. The vent cover lay tight and flush against the wall, and no amount of prying would budge it. Nessie peered over the edge of the shelf, scanning the room’s inventory and trying to remember if she’d seen any screwdrivers or, perhaps, dynamite sticks. No luck. She heard a tinkling and chiming as the change she’d stuffed into her pocket fell out. Nessie grabbed the coins, then peered at the screws holding the vent screen in place. Phillips. Perfect. Working slowly, the quarter occasionally slipping from her sweating fingers, she loosened them, then pried open the vent.
It came off with a rattling “schunk.” She peered into the opening. The duct maze bled into midnight darkness. She couldn’t take any matches, and there had been no flashlight on the shelves. Taking a deep breath and praying she wouldn’t get stuck or run into any duct rats, she crawled into the vent.
****
Seeded by Nessie’s non-appearance, the uneasy feeling burrowed into Leo. Tardiness wasn’t in her vocabulary, let alone in her portfolio of behaviour. He put in another call to her office, but the phone rang without answer.
“Has anyone seen Vanessa?” he asked, replacing the receiver and directing his question to the people in the boardroom.
Germaine shook his head, while Grace said, “Yes, on my way here. She was helping me get the mop and bucket, but there was a problem with the key and door. I left a note for Steve, and Nessie’s going to wait for him.”
Waiting for a janitor when a promotion was on the line? The uneasy feeling in Leo stopped burrowing and took root. He pivoted towards the door.
“Where are you going?” Grace asked.
“To check on Nessie. It’s not like her to miss a meeting.”
“No,” Grace agreed as she tossed sodden napkins into the garbage, “but someone could get stuck in that room, and you know how conscientious she is.”
He frowned. �
��Are you paying her a compliment?”
She snorted. “I’m many things, but not a hypocrite. If she lets her bleeding heart and concern for others overrule her career, that’s her problem.”
“Leo, did anyone reorder the coffee and snacks?”
He turned to answer Germaine’s question and planned to then resume his debate with Grace, but his action seemed to unleash a floodgate. Before he could breathe, let alone respond, people crowded around him, each of them needing last minute directions and advice. Irritated because he couldn’t leave, Leo put in a phone call to security. His worry diminished from scratching to itching proportions, but it didn’t go away. He wanted nothing more than to verify that Nessie was okay, but even as he thought of it, he lectured himself for his silly emotion. There was no reason for him to worry. Nessie was perfectly capable and self-sufficient. Restraining himself from the urge to rush to her side, he went to lend a hand putting the chairs in order.
****
The smooth metal of the vent creaked with her movements. On her hands and knees, Nessie kept her breaths shallow because of the dust. She sang loudly, hoping to scare off any vermin that might call the vents home. After what she figured was about a hundred feet, the vent branched off. She could go left, right or straight. Since the boardroom was to the left—if the twists and turns of the duct work hadn’t led her astray, she veered off in that direction.
Two verses into her tune, she saw a light in the distance and to the right. Crawling as fast as she could—given the two inches of leeway on each side of her—she rushed to the light. Her knees screamed in agony and needles of pain pierced her palms, but she ignored them, pressing on in hopes of rescue.
When she reached the light, she peered through the slits and discovered the blue tiles and white fixtures of the men’s washroom. As she waited for someone to come along, she massaged her hands and tried to come up with a third verse to her makeshift song.
What felt like hours later, the door swung open. In strode a tall, portly man with a moustache and thick, black hair. She had no idea who he was, but if she ever had a son, she vowed to name him after the man.
