“You want me to help you, don’t you, Maureen? You want me to reject Nick, wait for the consequences, and then tell someone. You think that, if you help me do this job, I'll be protected and can report what you couldn’t. You think that’s the only way he’ll get his comeuppance.”
The woman stood and got her coat. “I need to go home. I have a massive headache.”
Claire followed her to the door. “Maureen, he isn’t that stupid. He isn’t going to hit on me, and I certainly am not going to encourage it. I need this job. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to get involved in all of this.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow; we can finish that then,” she nodded toward the pile of papers and walked out.
Claire knew she couldn’t allow Maureen to go home alone. During the past few weeks, she had grown fond of the mouse. She was funny, smart, and a patient teacher. Even when Claire became frustrated and felt as though she were the dumbest person on the planet, Maureen could get her back on track in ten minutes. She never made her feel like she was dependent on her, and she constantly told Claire how smart she was and how quickly she had picked up on such challenging and intimidating concepts. Even if Maureen did have ulterior motives, she knew she would have helped, anyway, regardless of whether Claire helped her in return.
She may not be able to help her with Nick—she was certain that he had no intentions of trying to get her into bed—but she could definitely help her as a friend. She grabbed her coat and purse and raced down the stairway after her.
“Hey, Maureen, have you ever been dancing?”
Sally didn’t come home that night, and Claire woke with a faint memory of being jolted out of bed at 3 am. She had stumbled into the living room when she heard the incessant buzz of the intercom screaming for attention and had stubbed her toe on the couch. The pain had made her feel more nauseous than the bucket of wine in her stomach, so she had simply turned around and gone back to bed, illogically reasoning that whoever it was ringing at 3 am would come back at a more reasonable hour.
When she pressed the play button on the answering machine the next morning, her stomach plummeted and her anxiety meter ticked up a notch. It was Sally: she had been drunk and maudlin.
“Okay, Claire, I cannot believe you went out without me after you claimed you didn’t have time.” There was an ear-scraping noise as Sally covered the mouthpiece to talk to someone else, and then her voice came back. “Shut up… not you, Claire. I’m locked out! You locked me out… or maybe I left without my keys. I am so pissed at you, and I’m not coming home, now—or maybe ever, I haven’t decided, yet. Call in sick for me tomorrow, will you? No, it’ll make me throw up. Get me a cigarette. I can’t—” and the phone clicked.
She headed for the bathroom and the Tylenol, grabbing the phone on the way. She needed water and some little, white pills before she could think of leaving a message on Sally’s boss’s voicemail. Sure, sick sounded a lot like hungover, but no one was better at telling the difference than a boss. Claire and Sally were inseparable, and if Claire sounded hungover, Sally sure as hell wasn’t sick.
What on Earth had gotten into Sally? She had never been this difficult and sensitive. Yesterday, Claire had laughed it off with Maureen, but today, she was worried. She didn’t want to make Sally feel bad, but she needed this job. Besides, she was enjoying the work—and the fact that this promotion put her way ahead on her five-year plan. To be honest, she was also enjoying the break from the party life, although last night had been an aberration.
She did love to go out dancing, but all the flirting and mating dances Sally participated in every night was getting a little exhausting. Claire had a feeling her roommate was holding out for someone who didn’t exist—an uber-male, incredibly handsome, incredibly rich, incredibly smart, and who would treat her like a queen. Didn’t she know that there was no such thing as a tall, dark, and handsome man?
Except for one, maybe.
Well, she would have to deal with Sally when she got home tonight. She had no idea where she was—and she always knew where Sally was—but she would call her on her cell in a few hours, after she had given her the chance to sleep in. Claire was looking forward to tonight; she had gone grocery shopping for the first time in years last weekend and was excited about coming home, putting on a pot of coffee, and making a nice, big meal to share with Sally and Maureen. Her roommate would just need to submit to a real girl’s night. She was even going to stop for Ben & Jerry’s. First things first, though. She placed the call to Sally’s boss, focusing on portraying the right blend of chipperness and concern.
She should have known she was in for a bad day when she stepped in the shower and the water was cold.
When Claire arrived at the office, she headed straight down to the cafeteria for coffee for herself and Satish. She was going to have to juggle her laptop bag, purse, and coat, if she didn’t stop at her desk first, but that seemed a small price to pay to get to Satish’s office ten minutes faster. In spite of that fact that his physical presence was incredibly distracting, she was learning so much from him—not just about IT, but about business, in general. She had finished the first draft of the BRD and was looking forward to his input. She loved the spirited conversations they had around the user requirements. When she got stuck, he asked her great questions to get her thinking and fed her little clues, so she could reach a conclusion on her own.
She had been considering asking him for feedback on her business plan for the boutique, but given the distant way he still treated her, it seemed inappropriate. If only he would let down his walls just a little. She knew she must have done or said something to upset him, and she was reviewing every word they had shared in every meeting when she walked straight into Nadia. The coffee went everywhere, and by some black magic, witchy miracle, none of it ended up on Nadia, but there was plenty all over the front of Claire’s jacket—which she had just picked up from the dry-cleaner.
Nadia stepped backward as Claire struggled to put down her pile of belongings, so she could wipe uselessly with a napkin.
“Oh, sorry, Claire,” Nadia said. She didn’t look sorry at all. “Looks like that made a bit of a mess. Bringing coffee for the boss, I see. Isn’t that a bit 1950s? I’m sure Nick will appreciate it, though.” She watched Claire wipe frantically, but didn’t move.
“No, Nadia, I am not bringing coffee for the boss. If you must know, I’m bringing it for a friend. Are you by any chance pissed at me for some reason?”
“I thought we had agreed, Claaaaire,” she drew out her name, as though she were speaking to some unruly child, “that you would not take this promotion.”
“We didn’t agree on that at all, Nadia.” Claire gave up on her suit and started to collect her stuff. “We agreed that I wouldn’t sleep with Nick, and I haven’t.”
“Ha,” Nadia barked. “Maybe not yet—although I have my doubts—but you must be working on it, my darling. How else could you have lasted so long?”
Claire felt a flash of anger and willed herself to stay calm. Nadia would be a formidable enemy, and she didn’t have the luxury of taking her on, given her tentative position. “I promise you, Nadia, I am neither sleeping with him, nor leading him on.”
“Sure—that’s why you never come out, anymore. We all know you are spending time with him. Your loser friend, Sally, is a total lush who wouldn’t miss a drink, if she had to walk to the Green Knoll to get it. Now, you don’t seem to have equal habits, but being a pair of apples, I’m sure you don’t fall far from the tree. Are you too good for the likes of us, now? Did you find something better—a little nookie, perhaps, with a man who will give you a promotion and buy your drinks? Enjoying the high-class environment, are you, Claire?”
Her usually strong will failed her. She was already feeling overwhelmed with worry about Sally and Maureen and the work, and Nadia’s comments sent her over the edge. “What is your real problem, Nadia? It seems a bit odd to me that you care so much about Nick’s sex life. Maybe this has nothing to
do with Nick, at all, and everything to do with the fact that you can’t stand to see other people find success when you have been stuck as a glorified secretary for ten years. Did Nick refuse your offer in exchange for a promotion—is that it?”
Nadia’s bright red lips turned an alarming shade of purple as they pinched into two raisins. “You don’t want to play with me, Claire.”
As Nadia tapped stiffly away, Claire felt a flush of regret. She wasn’t a nasty person—in fact, she was a caretaker—but she hadn’t taken very good care of Nadia. If Sally were here, she would be leaping around the hallway, whooping with delight and telling her how much Nadia had deserved it. Sally wasn’t here, though, and Claire just felt like shit.
She murmured, “Sorry Nadia,“ and headed up to Satish’s office, feeling ashamed of herself.
Satish wasn’t there, and a blue Post-it was stuck on his door. Called into a meeting – all morning meetings, please re-schedule with my assistant.
This day was a disaster, and she hadn’t even had her coffee, yet.
12
Satish
Satish was disappointed that he’d had to leave for a meeting before seeing Claire yesterday. He wondered if it had been wise to leave that note on her desk. It had been on his mind since he hastily scribbled in on a Post-it yesterday. Was it too personal? He told himself to let it go, for God’s sake. He had far more pressing matters on his mind right now, namely that he had not received a reply from Nandita.
Part of him felt he might have had unreasonable expectations, but the other part of him knew he didn’t. Nandita always replied immediately; her name always popped up in his inbox within two hours since his last message sent. Another part of him felt a little irritated, because how could she be upset with him? Hadn’t he offered to talk to Father about university? Didn’t she understand how difficult that would be for him?
Just slightly less worrisome than Nandita’s silence was the fact that he had received an email from his father—an email! Satish was sure his father did not know how to use a computer. He was old school, and he even looked down on computers, viewing them as a crutch. That meant his father would have had to have asked someone for help—either a workmate or a daughter. He despised asking for help, though, and would only show this perceived weakness under extreme circumstances.
In the email, he stressed that he could not wait for a letter to arrive. His youngest daughter was becoming unbearable, and he was sure that she must have been sneaking off to watch western films, because where else would she get all of these outrageous ideas? Not marrying her chosen one and wanting to go to University—of course, he blamed Satish. He must have been filling her head with the freedoms of America and tempting her with selfish western ideas. He expected Satish to straighten this out with Nandita and tell her to listen to duty and to respect her elders as a good Indian daughter should. He would have expelled her from the house, already, for the way she was behaving, if it were not for the shame it would bring upon her mother for raising such a disobedient and disgraceful child.
Satish rubbed hard at his frown lines. He wondered, not for the first time, if he could continue to support everything his father said. Where was the consideration for Nandita in all of this? He was worried for her, and for the first time in a long time, he wished he were in India.
13
Claire
Claire stood outside Satish’s office, biting hard on her pinky nail—a habit she’d told her father she had quit ten years ago. She could see him through one of the glass panes that ran the length of the door on either side: he was bent over his computer keyboard with his head in his hands, rubbing his forehead. Although she couldn’t see his face, she knew it would be wrinkled in a frown. She hesitated—this was a bad idea. She would go back downstairs and get the coffee, and maybe by the time she came back, he would be working and they could review the completed BRD and be done with it. A bad idea, maybe, but she was going to ask him, anyway.
Claire knew she had to get out of this office. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so disinclined to other people’s company, and she couldn’t get herself out of this funk. It was as though she couldn’t even take a complete breath—she couldn’t get air past her sternum, and the rest of her body was filled with this gigantic, bad feeling that she knew was anxiety. She could go out alone, but she had been alone for more than twenty-four hours and she had only felt progressively worse. All day, Sally’s phone just rang straight through. Claire had been so worried that she was on the verge of calling her friend’s mother. It would make Sally insanely mad, though, so she resisted and had started dialing her home machine every half an hour. Her persistence rewarded her: at 2:30 pm, there was a message from Sally. It was short, but not very sweet.
“I can see you’re calling me, but I’m not talking to you. I’m fine. Call me out sick for the rest of the week.”
If that wasn’t enough worry, Maureen had also not appeared for dinner or to help her with the BRD. Maybe she regretted spilling everything to Claire—maybe their budding friendship would never flower. She had tried to reach her father yesterday to get his advice—not on the Maureen situation, which was too risqué for him, but on the Sally situation and the Nadia problem. Who knew where he was, but she couldn't reach him, either. She was so desperate for a sympathetic ear that she had even attempted to join a few of the Bitch Clique coffee clutches yesterday in one of the galley kitchens—something she hadn’t made time for since her promotion. She reasoned that Nadia’s power couldn’t be as great as she imagined and that the girl’s wouldn’t side with the Godmother, but Claire knew better and wasn’t surprised when they had wordlessly shut her out, casually bringing their shoulders together, so she stood alone, outside of the circle.
The only good thing to come out of yesterday was that Claire had been able to complete the BRD without Maureen’s help. It was a great success, and she was stunned at how easily it came and how much she enjoyed it. She had worked hard on learning this job and it had paid off. Claire was looking forward to sharing it with Satish, but she couldn’t do it here. She almost lost her nerve, but then she put her hand in her pocket and wrapped her fingers around the Post-it Satish had left on her desk yesterday. Sorry – I will miss our chat. Until tomorrow.
She opened the door as she knocked and then strode in. Satish jumped and turned to her; he looked as though he hadn’t slept.
“Come on, grab your coat,” Claire ordered.
“I’m sorry?” Satish looked at her in confusion.
She walked to his desk and perched herself on the edge. “Grab your coat. I’m buying you breakfast.”
“Outside?”
“Yes, of course outside. There is a world out there, you know. I checked with your secretary last night and you don’t have anything booked until 10:00. Let’s go.”
“I can’t leave, Claire. I have work to do. Someone might need me.”
“By the looks of things, you wouldn’t be of much use to anyone right now, and neither would I. Let’s go—I’m starving.”
Satish glanced around his desk and started straightening piles of paper. “Well, I suppose if we were brief, I could leave for an hour or so.” He looked back at his computer and Claire saw a shadow cross his face. He then looked up at her. “Okay,” he said, as though he were agreeing to a double dog dare. “I’ll do it.”
“They make the best frittatas,” Claire gushed as they sat in the cozy dining room of Il Roma. She loved this place for breakfast. At lunch, it was crowded with suits, business discussions, and pretension, but for breakfast, it was never busy. The dining room was split into two cozy rooms by the large foyer, and there were so few patrons that you always had a little quiet space to yourself. If they caught the early train, Sally and Claire loved to gossip in seclusion, since the Bitch Clique never came here.
Satish looked at her face lit up by the prospect of a frittata and laughed. “Do you always get this excited about breakfast?”
“I do when I am starving. I love
to eat!”
“You know,” said Satish, “I don’t even think about eating. I kind of just do it to keep going.”
“You, then, are missing one of life’s greatest pleasures,” stated Claire emphatically. “Whoever I marry will have to prepare for a nice, plump, middle-aged wife, because food is life and something I would never skimp on. Now, you must share a mushroom and asparagus frittata with me, and then we will have room for two of those decadent chocolate croissants I saw in the case on the way in. Okay with you?”
Satish pushed his menu to the side and smiled. “I’m not used to people telling me what to do, but it certainly makes difficult decisions easier. That sounds great.”
Claire looked at him and wondered if he’d had any sleep last night. The shadows under his eyes looked like ink smudges. “Is something wrong at work?” she asked.
He had been looking for the waiter and sneaking little glimpses at his watch, but now he turned to the table and re-aligned his forks. This straightening habit of his was endearing, but revealing. “No. Work’s hard work, but it’s fine,” Satish said, smiling directly at her for the first time. She melted into a puddle.
“Is it something you want to talk about?”
Satish started on his spoons. “How do you know something is wrong?” The loneliness she had been so drawn to that first day in Phil’s cube spilled out of his eyes.
“I don’t know for sure,” Claire said, “but I do know what I look like when I haven’t slept all night, and I know what you look like now. I see a resemblance.”
“Do you have any siblings, Claire?”
Unraveled (Jersey Girls Book 1) Page 7
