The back wall was made entirely of glass and the view of downtown Philadelphia was stunning, but not to Bridget. It made her feel uneasy. Every time she stepped into his office, she had irrational thoughts about slipping on the shiny tile floor and somehow smashing through the wall of glass and splattering onto John F. Kennedy Boulevard.
Cody, Bridget's co-worker and friend, walked in moments later. He wore a smile, displaying a set of teeth, uneven and spaced out like mangled piano keys. He was a hefty guy, clean-shaven, wore browline glasses and wrote "C++" as his religion on dating websites.
Harold pursed a self-satisfied smirk and latched the door behind him. Bridget couldn't be sure, but she thought she heard the snap of a lock. She and Cody exchanged smirks. They both had a clue about what was about to happen.
"Please sit," Harold said, striding over to a desk big enough to comfortably seat six. It was in front of the glass wall where he took a seat on a brown leatherette chair. He tipped a steaming mug to his lips and slurped.
Please let this be good news. I need it right now, please, please, Bridget thought, trying to read Harold's face. But she never could.
Papers and folders were stacked evenly on both sides of the desk and a glass-etched nameplate in the middle read Harold Richardson, Jr., Chief Executive Officer. To the left, the company logo displayed a logotype reading Greyhorn. In front of the desk was a row of three chairs. Bridget sat in the middle, Cody to her right.
Bridget and Cody's relationship was more complicated than co-worker/friend because for the past twelve months, they'd been each other's competition, battling each other with smiles and firm handshakes to win the position of vice president, the silver medal of the business world. It was a position ranked below Harold.
Bridget and Cody went to different colleges, but graduated the same year. And three long months later, they were hired the same day, when the company was at its infancy, when Harold worked as a roadside construction worker and sported a dark tan and long, straggly beard. He took over after his father, the founder of Greyhorn, died. Nobody thought it was fair of him to get the position, though. He knew nothing about the business. Bridget and Cody had to show him the ropes. They trained him for a position higher than their own since they knew more than anybody else how things should run. Harold seemed to know it, too; Bridget had a hunch it was why she and Cody were sitting in his office.
Harold started, "Bridget, Cody, I know it's been a difficult year for you two." He was referring to Bridget's sister, who had committed suicide three months earlier, and Cody's quad accident. It had scarred the back of his neck and spine. "But I promised you both things would get better, and that’s what I'm here to talk to you two about." He tipped his mug, slurped a quick swig, and continued, "After meeting with the boards last night, we've come to a decision."
Bridget held her breath. Her heart quickened. She leaned in closer.
"And as you know, it's an important one. Nearly as important as my position." Harold smiled. "And it's taken many weeks to make. And now, it comes down to you two."
Yes! And?
Cody and I are both qualified, both excellent workers, and Harold knew it, Bridget thought. But whom would he choose as V.P? And why were we both called in? To humiliate the unchosen one, the loser?
Harold stood and reached over his desk toward Cody. "Congratulations on your new position as executive vice president of Greyhorn."
Cody stood, shook Harold's hand, and thrust a tight fist in the air. "Victory!"
"Congrats," Bridget said standing, initiating a firm handshake with Cody. Well, what's the use of sticking around? She gave one last congratulatory nod to Cody and walked toward the door. She lowered her head to the ground. She wanted to scream.
"Bridge, get back here." Harold burst into laughter. What was there to laugh about? Was he so happy about giving the V.P. position to Cody he wanted to smear it in her face more?
Confused, she paused, then turned back around, walking no closer. What more was there to say? The position was nothing but a pipe dream now, unless Cody dropped dead. No, she wanted Mr. C.E.O. to let her return to her desk. She wanted to sulk for a while, by herself.
"I want to congratulate you, too, Bridge!" Harold held out both arms.
Congratulate her? For what? Second place? For getting her hopes up? For not pulling a gun out and shooting him to high hell?
"On earning the brand spankin' new position as chief operations officer!" Harold's eyes widened as if he told Bridget she won a nine hundred million dollar sweepstakes.
C.O.O! Right beneath Harold. Right below C.E.O!
Bridget didn't earn the V.P. job; nope, she'd earned something more important. Bridget felt like she’d won something, though, more important than a couple million dollars. Well, a couple mill would be better, but not by far. Her eyes trailed off in a moment of shock. C.O.O. ranks higher than V.P.
Yes.
It sure did!
"See? Glad you stuck around?" Harold asked, his arms still spread open as if he granted her final life's wish.
Bridget grinned, the corners of her mouth nearly split open. "Looks like the only position after this is C.E.O—yours, Harold!" She laughed, her eyes tearing with excitement.
Harold's face turned sour. He hooked his head toward Cody and started chatting. Bridget paid no attention. Instead, she pictured herself sitting in Harold's leatherette chair, sipping on a latte, skimming through the daily newspapers online, making important phone calls. That's where she saw herself one day. Make no mistake, she was satisfied earning the C.O.O. position, but Harold's desk was where she belonged. But before she could even sit in the chair, she'd have the glass wall replaced with something sturdier, like cement. And maybe there could be a window at the top somewhere, so she could see what the weather was like. A small one would be fine.
With fifteen minutes to spare before the shift ended, Cody walked over to Bridget, who was busy tapping away at the keyboard. Her face stared at the screen, determined to finish all of her layperson work before next week when she'd be performing much more important C.O.O. things, whatever it might entail. Thinking about it gave her the butterflies.
Cody pulled up a swivel chair from a nearby desk and scooted next to her. "Hey," he whispered.
Bridget continued typing. And although her gaze was steady as a statue, she acknowledged him by bobbing her head in two stiff motions, down, up.
She felt his eyes on her. They smoothed over her neck, licked her lips, and slid down her arm. It was an uncomfortable feeling forcing her to slow her busy fingers. She felt his eyes move over her chest. She lifted her fingers off the keyboard and turned. "Cody. Hi."
Cody snapped to attention.
"What's up?" she said. Cody slouched over the chair.
"So, I know it's all great and all we got these new positions, right? But . . ." He picked up a pen on her desk and started scribbling nonsense on a blank notepad. "Did you notice how he didn't even mention a raise? I mean, it's like we're getting these high ranking positions, yet the only thing we're getting out of it is twofold, the title and the added responsibility. Am I making any sense here?"
At that instant, the sweet excitement of the day turned bitter. It hadn’t crossed her mind until now. Cody was right. Harold hadn't mentioned a raise. If Bridget and Cody hadn't been so blinded by the exciting news during the meeting, one of them would've brought it up for sure.
Bridget looked at him as if it were his fault. "Bastard. Why didn't you mention it at the meeting?" She turned back to her computer; her fingers met the keyboard again.
"Me? You could've, too. I'll bring it up Monday. That good for you, C.O.O?"
Bridget dragged her words, "Maybe you could text him." Bridget knew Harold hadn't made a mistake. Harold didn't mention the raise because there was no raise. And we were naive to think otherwise. "Let me know what he says."
"I think I will. Later on, though, when he gets settled down for the day. Yeah, he'd be more willing to consider it then, don't y
ou think?"
Money was important to Bridget. In the business world, who can say it wasn't? No, she didn't take the position for the money, but would it be wrong if she did? She was delighted her hard work was being noticed, but she felt like she was being taken advantage of. Was it worth it to her? Should she move on to somewhere different, so she could start getting paid what she was worth? She needed to get away, to think things over and organize the situation.
"I need a vacation," Bridget whispered, her eyes fixed again to the screen as if in a trance. Her fingers danced across the keyboard like someone else was in control. She didn't know how she'd deal with anymore disappointment. She felt like she lost everything after her sister's suicide, and now she was questioning her job. She felt as though her life were melting into hell and she needed escape. But where would she go?
"Well," Cody chimed in, "as I told you before, you're welcome to the watchtower. I know you're scared of heights."
"I'm not scared of heights. I’m scared of falling."
"Puh-tey-toh, puh-tuh-toh." He rolled his eyes. "Anyway, once you're up there, you forget about everything. All the stupid bullshit chatter inside. The stress goes away; it heals you up there.
"Sounds magical." Bridget continued typing.
"Hey, don't knock it till you try it. After the quad accident, that's what healed me. I'm sure of it. I stayed up there the whole time. My girl even brought me food every couple days. It was her suggestion."
"Bet she was glad to get you away from the computer. Probably freed up bandwidth in the house." Bridget tried masking her smile by turning her head away.
"Hey, that's mean." He sat still for a moment. "You think that's why she suggested it, really?" His head tilted like a dog zoning in on a high-pitched noise. Bridget thought it was cute, but she ignored him.
"Alright, okay, stop staring at me already. I'll spend my weekend at the watchtower. On one condition."
"No, Bridget, I will not make out with you!" Cody opened his mouth wide and laughed like a honking car horn spitting out hot fetid breath into Bridget's face. She scooted back and held her breath. Cody continued laughing.
Bridget giggled for a moment and said, "I'm taking Dewey, my dog."
"You're pulling my chain," Cody said, his laughter coming to a quick halt. "Where's she going to piss or shit?"
"I'll hold her ass out a window. You have windows, right?" She held back a smile.
Cody's face turned green. "Uh, windows yes. But there’re chairs and a picnic table down below. So that's not a good idea."
"We'll figure something out." Bridget put her computer to sleep for the night, twisted a pink keychain strap around her hand, and stood.
* * *
The next day was a brilliant summer's morning. Bridget parked her red convertible in Cody's pitted driveway and followed a path lined with dew-covered daffodils to the front door.
Dewey, a sandy five-year-old Lhasa Apso, hopped out of the passenger seat and galloped close behind her. A cherry patterned diaper hugged her back end and made her walk off balance.
Without warning, Cody threw open the front door, skidded out, then slammed it back shut. Startled, Bridget grabbed her backpack straps and jumped backward, barely missing Dewey's little paws. "Don't go in there," he whispered. Sweat dripped down his forehead.
"You lose against Bowser again?" Bridget asked.
A loud bag of metal erupted from somewhere in the house, then another, this time ending in a shatter of glass. "You can say that." Cody threw out a bogus smile and stepped down off the porch and onto the grass. "Follow me." He grabbed a stick leaning against a poplar tree and they set off down a trail covered in a thick blanket of pine needles.
A sinewy spider web caught Bridget's head. She struggled to scrape the sticky thing off. She scratched at her face and jerked her head around while continuing to walk. She imagined how irritated the spider must be, wherever it was hiding, to have to re-spin the entire web, destroyed in a single walk through by two humans and a dog strolling through the forest. What a waste; those three were way too big to eat.
Dewey was trying her hardest to keep up. "Come on, Dew-Dew," Bridget said, twisting her head around. Long fur wafted like windblown curtains over Dewey's beady eyes.
Fifteen or so minutes later, the flapping of leaves and the chirping of crickets were the only sounds of the forest. As they ventured deeper, the path became obscure, and Bridget's heavy backpack strained her back. Bridget carried Dewey from there on, as it was getting harder for the poor little fur-ball to keep pace through the twisted branches and thick fallen tree trunks.
Bridget felt as if the bones in her upper back were about to crack. Cody paused on a cleared area where meaty puffballs dotted the lush blanket of mossy ground. He leaned his walking stick against a thick poplar and turned, facing Bridget. He cleared his throat. "Welcome," he said, spreading his arms out as if he were a messiah.
Bridget walked onto the mossy floor. She no longer heard the chirping of crickets or the flapping of leaves. It was quiet at the cleared area, as if she'd entered an empty room. She gazed up at the monstrous poplar poised center stage. Between the bright yellow leaves dancing in a light breeze, she spotted the watchtower. It was built between two strong branches. It reminded her of a giant squirrel's nest, the way the entire structure wrapped tightly with rope to secure branches and twigs. A cone-shaped apex pointed up while the cone-shaped base pointed down. The body of the tower was cylindrical with a tiny porch extending from the front, leading to a wooden door.
Cody looked up at the tree with her. "Forty-seven and a half feet up, 'bout as tall as a four story building. Constructed entirely of driftwood."
Bridget was in awe and fright. Her mouth and eyes gaped wide and her heart raced at the thought of climbing a wooden ladder tied to the trunk of the tree.
"You turned white fast," Cody said. He seemed to be amused at the terror painted across her face. "I'll go first I guess."
He guessed? Of course he should go first. Without breaking her stare, Bridget acknowledged him by lightly bobbing her head down, then back up again.
As Cody started climbing, Bridget snapped out of her daze. "I dunno about this," she said, backing up. Something snapped in two under her weight. Bridget's first thought was Dewey—she must have cracked her in half! She was always right under Bridget's feet like a furry shadow. Bridget stumbled to the side. It wasn't Dewy after all, only a tree limb; phew!
"Come on," Cody yelled down at Bridget. "There's something magical about getting off the ground, you'll see.”
"What if the problem is the getting off the ground part?"
She watched his every step, making sure each wooden step was unshakable. If there were any signs of decay, she'd be taking Dewey back to the car.
Bridget waited for Cody to climb to the top. He waved his hands, motioning them to come up. "Com'mon."
"Alright, if he made it up, we can, too," she murmured to Dewey and lifted her into a pink sling carrier bag she had draped over her right shoulder. There was an opening in the front where Dewey stuck her panting head out. Dewey smiled, excited for the journey to have finally ended.
Don't look down, don't look down, don't look down, don't look down, Bridget told herself, grappling with what was happening and wondering why the hell she was doing it.
"You can put your dog in this if you want." Then, Bridget heard something tumbling down through the tangled tree limbs. A bucket, attached to thick twine crashed to the ground next to Dewey.
Frightened, Dewey trampled back and squatted her belly low to the ground. Bridget shook her head, first at Dewey, then up at Cody, who was hovering over a wooden railing.
"Stop leaning on that thing. You're making us nervous." Bridget pointed at Dewey. Piss dripped out of her diaper and onto the ground. Bridget kicked aside the bucket. There was no way Bridget would put her precious baby in a bucket tied to a string. No way. She'd be safer in the sling bag attached to Bridget's side, or so she hoped.
Bridget started the upward trek. Her trembling hands clasped each wooden step like her life depended on it, since it might. Doing well. A couple more and we’re in the safe zone, she thought, trying to ease her mind.
Then, a splinter caught her hand and ripped into her skin like an ice pick. It didn't stop her, though. By now, she was halfway up. She had no choice but to keep going.
With the reach of every new step, she left behind a small blood trail. Don't look down. Almost there, almost there.
Wa-what's going on?
She heard a long ripping noise coming from her side. She felt the weight of the sling get heavier, as if the Dewy gained an instant hundred pounds. She looked down. A patch of fur stuck out from a tear in the sling.
"Shit! It's stuck!" Bridget tried to loosen it by lowering herself down one step, then she stepped back up. It wouldn't budge. Dewey let out a small cry. Blood seeped from the overhanging patch of fur. Bridget was inadvertently stabbing whatever the bag was caught on into Dewey's skin.
"Shhhshhh, almost there!" Bridget's voice shook.
Dewey struggled to free herself from the bag. She kicked her back legs out, unhooking the bag from a rusty nail.
Cody held out a hand and lifted them onto the deck. Bridget clenched the railing. She peered down, forty-seven and a half feet down, and threw herself into an open door.
She sat in the middle of the room on a round knitted rug, coddling Dewey in a desperate and shaky hold. She shut her eyes for a moment and tried to catch her breath. She hated feeling like her heart was bursting through her ribcage.
Mary-Joseph-'n'-John this was a bad idea! Bad, idea! she thought.
Bridget opened her eyes and saw Cody kneeling in front of her. She peered around the cylindrical room where the walls were paneled with knotty pine.
She peered around like he wasn't there, like they weren't even face-to-face. Her eyes were hooked on something from over his shoulder, something decking the wall near the door, a trophy deer head made of metal and spray-painted white.
Wake the Wicked Page 12
