by Heidi Lowe
“Can’t, gotta work.”
“Work will be there when you get back. Come on.”
It was easy for her to say, seeing as she never brought work home with her. We’d known each other a little over seven years, and in all that time she’d refused to get a career. Reaching for the stars just didn’t appeal to her. Thus, she’d secured a job in a jewelry store — an entry-level position that had no other level to progress to, beyond assistant manager, a promotion she vehemently rejected every time it was offered to her. She wanted the simple life: to earn enough to pay for rent and booze, and have all the casual sex she could get. A part of me envied her; a lack of ambition would have made life so much easier.
“Just go without me. See you when you get back.” She could usually persuade me, but not today.
She shrugged then left. Perhaps I should have told her about my ordeal, about this impossible assignment. But I just couldn’t bear the judgment. First she’d laugh at me, then tell me to quit being a bigot. I’d insist I wasn’t one, whilst deep down knowing she was right.
I growled in frustration once I heard the front door slam shut. This was ridiculous! If I hadn’t googled the company I would have been sure Naomi had made it up just to screw with me.
“Why do gay people need special utensils?” I said to myself, a question I’d been tempted to put to her.
It was a stupid question, anyway. There was nothing special about Rainbow Wares’s products themselves, but that the three owners were gay — two men and a woman — and the majority of their customer base were people in the LGBT. I’d done as much research as I could the night before, headphones on while trying to block out the sounds of my roommate doing the nasty with a stranger.
I climbed out of bed, paced the room, hoping it would help. It did in movies.
“How does one make a plastic food container gay-friendly?”
Another stupid question; I knew that the second I asked it.
I groaned again, kicked the bed frame. “I’m the worst person for this crap.” Glacier Queen —1, Dakota Adams — 0.
Coming up with ad campaigns or new designs for existing products was something I could usually do in my sleep, even when no one asked me. I’d spent two years doing just that, watching my ideas be shot down, or praised, though never be chosen. Such was the nature of the game. So what was the problem here? In the past I’d been able to put my personal feelings about products aside in order to do my job; why couldn’t I do the same now?
That Monday morning, I cut the engine of my scooter, pulled off my helmet. The staff parking lot was pretty much bare, save for a couple of cars. On closer inspection I noticed that one of those cars was the fancy Lexus I’d seen Naomi step into. My heart sank. The whole idea of arriving forty-five minutes early was to beat the boss there, make my eagerness for work show. Jeez, didn’t she have a life? Last to leave, first to arrive. What was that about? Her husband couldn’t have been pleased.
I made a hasty beeline for my office once inside, praying that she didn’t see me immediately. Because I had nothing to give her. I’d missed church the day before to work on a campaign I had no clue about, and still had managed to get nowhere. I was about to hand her the perfect reason to fire me.
But within thirty seconds of sitting down, I saw her approach my office. I groaned under my breath just as she let herself in.
“If you’re here this early, I’m hoping that means you’ve put something together for the Rainbow Wares pitch,” was the first thing she said. No good mornings, no hellos, just straight to business.
My brain was foggy from lack of sleep, and that was partly to blame for why it took me so long to respond. The other reason, the main one, was through sheer astonishment. Every time I saw her, for the first few seconds, I was stunned into silence. She was breathtaking. Today she wore her hair up in a bun, her thick eyebrows neatly shaped, her signature cinnamon matte lipstick immaculate. Always the same white blouse and black pants combo. She didn’t need to put much effort into looking amazing. It was something to be envied. And, despite knowing that it had all been a ruse to get me to incriminate myself, I couldn’t help thinking back to the woman I’d met in the cafe. Was she still in there somewhere? I wanted to believe so. But she was clearly only reserved for Mario and strangers in cafes.
I took a deep breath. “I spent the whole weekend trying to come up with something, but—”
“You know what I hate more than anything, Miss Adams?” she cut in.
Everything?
“Excuses. Where would the world be if it was made up of excuses?”
Was this woman for real?
“I’m sorry, I really am, but—”
“There you go again, trying to give me excuses.”
My patience was wearing thin. Existing on about four hours’ sleep spread across three nights could do that to a person.
“I’m not giving you excuses, I’m just explaining what the situation is,” I pleaded.
She raised an eyebrow. The frustration was evident in my tone, clearly. The smirk returned to her face. She folded her arms. “I did think you would last a little longer, I must admit. But you’ve caved on your first assignment. Tut, tut.”
It took all my might not to swear at her. I hadn’t sworn, at least outwardly, in five years. But she was about to bring out the devil in me. I prayed to God for the strength to keep my cool. People like Naomi Pierre were sent to test me. I wouldn’t go down without a fight.
I took a deep breath, then said, as calmly as I could manage, “I need more time, that’s all.”
“You’ve got until eleven. Then I want to see your proposal on my desk.” She turned to leave, then added, “Just so you know, I’m hoping you mess this up. Nothing gives me more pleasure than getting rid of an incompetent employee.”
“Gee, thanks,” I mumbled once she was gone.
Pure, unfiltered evil.
Two minutes to eleven, I practically sprinted across the room, ignoring my colleagues at the conference table, and knocked on her door, proposal in hand.
“Come in,” she said with little enthusiasm.
She took a glance at her gold watch, probably checking that I was within the time limit, then looked at the paper in my hand.
Trembling with nerves, I started, “So, I did some searching online and noticed that Rainbow Wares products are Rainbow in name only. The packaging has their signature rainbow on it, sure, and so do some of their cutlery lines...”
Her expression remained the same — neutral, neither impressed nor unimpressed.
I went on. “But their plastic containers don’t look any different from Tupperware. Nothing makes them stand out. Why would someone buy theirs over a plain container or a brand they’re already familiar with?” I placed the paper with my mockup in front of her. “Here’s why. They step away from plain plastic, make a seven-pack for every color of the spectrum. Varying sizes, maybe. So that the rainbow’s a real part of their customers’ everyday food prep.”
She picked up the paper slowly, studied it. I waited with bated breath. Until finally, she put the paper down. “And this is your proposal?”
For the second time that day, my heart sank. She hated it!
“I... It was all I could—”
“Stop.”
I slammed my mouth shut.
“You think colored containers will win us the account?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know what they’re looking for.”
“You didn’t do your research?”
Research, and then some. Two whole days I’d spent researching the stupid company and their stupid products. I’d missed church for this crap! I was about to explode.
“Was that too difficult for your Christian sensibilities, Miss Adams?” she said, her eyes sparkling with relish. “Were your morals challenged?”
“I don’t have a problem with any of that stuff, I told you that already.”
She stood up. “And I don’t believe you.” She picked up my proposal a
gain, looked at it. “You can leave now.”
I frowned, didn’t move straightaway. So where did this leave me? Was I going to get fired for having a poor proposal? Could she really sack me for not being creative enough on one lousy project?
She looked up, saw that I was still there, which made me flee immediately. She didn’t even have to say anything.
She left some time before half twelve to go to lunch. I was certain she’d crumpled up my proposal and tossed it into the trash without a second thought. It was stupid, I knew that, but with such short notice and very little interest in the product line, it was the best I could do.
At one I packed up and headed out to lunch.
“Dakota, wait up,” Saeed shouted, as I waited for the elevator. He came running. “Want some company?”
“Sure,” I said, and meant it. “I feel like a nice Caesar salad.”
“Ooo, I could go for that.”
He knew of a place. He’d made it his job to familiarize himself with all the eateries in the area, and their menus. “I’m on the spectrum,” he explained about his ability to remember useless information.
We found window seats in a chain restaurant. He’d talked me into going halves on a portion of skinny fries, which I was thankful for, because the salad did nothing to fill me up.
“How are you finding it so far?” he asked, tucking into his meal.
“Oh, you know, can’t complain.” I could, and had, and would for the rest of my time there, which I was sure would be short.
He laughed. “Now I know that’s bull! Because you’d be the first person who didn’t have any complaints.”
“Okay, so it’s hard work,” I confessed. “Half the time I feel like I’m sinking. The other, I can’t tell how I’m doing.”
“You’re doing great, girl. Don’t overthink it.”
I lowered my voice. “Our fearless leader hates me.”
“She hates everyone. What else is new?”
“No,” I said, leaning in, “she really hates me. She vowed to make my life a misery. And she’s succeeding.”
He shook his head, rolled his eyes, amused. “You ask anyone in that office, any of the other juniors, what their first few months were like, they’ll have similar stories to tell. You ain’t special!”
This gave me some level of comfort, knowing that I wasn’t alone, that I hadn’t been singled out, that she wasn’t only working towards my downfall alone.
“Why does she do it?”
He shrugged simply. “Because she can, I guess. And because she wants only the best people on her team. She hates incompetence.”
Yeah, so I’d heard. How did someone get like that? I knew better than most how past experiences drove a person to warp themselves into unrecognizable people. Sometimes the transition was necessary, sometimes detrimental. Had there been an inciting incident in her past that had prompted her transition into The Glacier Queen?
I didn’t dare ask Saeed. He seemed like a great guy, but who knew where his allegiances lay? Who knew if he’d repeat our conversation to her when we got back? It was best not to say anything else about her. I’d already gotten myself into trouble for talking too much.
Naomi didn’t speak to me, barely acknowledged me over the days that followed. Which, I’d come to realize, was a blessing in disguise. If she was ignoring me, she wasn’t screaming at me.
And then Friday afternoon came.
I was in the middle of putting together a proposal for new fabric softener packaging, when my office door swung open. Naomi entered, gray coat on, purse slung over her shoulder. I sighed inwardly, bracing myself for an onslaught of insults or commands that I couldn’t argue with.
“Get your things,” she said.
Panic. “M—my things? Are you... are you firing me?” I heard the pulsating of my heart in my ear; goosebumps spread up my exposed arms. So this was how it ended. Three lousy weeks, that was how long I’d lasted. A record. Before this, my shortest time was two months — I’d worked reception at a veterinary clinic. It took eight weeks for the euthanasia of the sick animals to get to me, and I quit without giving notice. Just went home one day after my shift and never went back. Eight years on and I still had nightmares.
Now I was the animal being put out of its misery — or out of Naomi’s misery.
Her dark eyes twinkled with amusement. “Get your things,” she said again.
I hadn’t had time to truly make the place my own, so the only things I had to take with me were my jacket and purse, which I seized in anguish, trying to drag it out for as long as I could.
“Chop, chop, I haven’t got all day, Miss Adams.”
Oh, she was going to get a piece of my mind now that she was no longer my boss. It wasn’t going to be very Christian of me, but I was sure Christ would forgive me; he’d give me this one.
“I did what you asked, but it wasn’t good enough for you,” I started, as she escorted me out of my office and to the elevator. “And is this really necessary? I can find my own way out of the building.”
The elevator came immediately, and she stepped on with me, saying nothing.
I glowered at her, which she didn’t see, her head buried in her phone. “I just wanna say that I’ve never met anyone like you before. And I don’t mean that in a good way.”
She raised an eyebrow, her usual smirk settling on her lips. But still she said nothing. Well that was fine by me, because I had enough words for the both of us.
“You might be the prettiest woman in the world... on the outside. But that does not give you the right to treat people like crap! I mean, where do you get off, huh?”
The elevator doors slid open on the lobby floor. But I didn’t notice right away, I was too busy with my invective.
“And how many personalities do you have? You might wanna get a bipolar diagnosis, just saying. Because the woman I met in the cafe, that sweet, down to earth, funny woman who chatted with me while we waited for our meals, where did she go? I wish she’d come back. Everyone wishes...”
My speech trailed off when I realized I’d followed her out of the building. I stopped, watched her greet the driver of a gray Lincoln Continental, who then opened the back door for her.
She slipped in. The driver, instead of shutting the door, held it open, offering me a smile and a nod. I frowned deep and hard, my mouth dropping open.
“Would you prefer to walk the fifteen miles to the Rainbow Wares office, Miss Adams?” I heard from inside the car.
None of this made sense.
And then, suddenly, everything did. I wanted to die!
“Oh my God,” I whispered under my breath. She wasn’t firing me, she was taking me to the pitch meeting!
I climbed into the car, the color almost certainly having drained from my face, and I looked straight ahead, my breathing choppy. How could I have done this again?
I said nothing as the car set off.
After a couple of minutes of silence, she said, with amusement in her voice, “You’re probably trying to remember all the things you said to me before you got in the car...”
I was; I did. Oh, the horror! If she hadn’t been able to fire me before, she certainly could now. I’d gone too far. Unlike my previous folly, this was a sackable offense.
“Naomi, I—”
“I remember them.”
I closed my eyes, wished the seat would open up and eject me — from the car, from the world.
“I thought you were gonna fire me,” I said in a weak voice. Why did I always feel and sound so weak in her presence? “I had no idea you... this... I’m such an idiot.”
“You know what your problem is, Miss Adams? You talk too much.” She was texting nonchalantly, as though my words earlier hadn’t affected her in the slightest. Why would they? She was Naomi Pierre, senior executive, beautiful, powerful. I was Dakota Adams, unaccomplished, averagely attractive, powerless. How could my lowly words sting someone like her?
I peered out of the window as the city whizzed
by. “You’d think I’d have gotten that under control by now, seeing as my mom would scold me for it all the time...”
“And apparently you’re a slow learner.”
“Yeah...” I said miserably. “She’s probably laughing in her grave as we speak.” I said this more to myself than to her.
“Your mother’s dead?”
I nodded. “When I was nine.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Was that a genuine emotion that wasn’t fury? It sounded suspiciously like it came from the heart.
“Don’t be, she wasn’t a very good person.” This came out before I could stop it. We were stepping into treacherous territory; I needed to draw back before it was too late.
“That doesn’t sound very Christian-like,” she said, her little laugh mocking. “Isn’t it standard practice for you people to forgive everyone?”
I turned to look at her. Her eyes were on me, she’d taken them off her phone screen. She truly was a vision. About as close to perfection as it got. Like God had sculpted her himself, with everything he had available, and used the scraps to make the rest of us.
I looked away quickly, afraid she would hypnotize me, that I would get lost in those almond-shaped eyes, that she would steal my soul like a succubus.
“Some people are harder to forgive than others,” I said quietly.
She didn’t ask me anything else, and the silence returned.
Then I broke it. “Do you believe in God?”
I watched her, waiting for her response, which was a long time coming. Although she didn’t look at me, I could see the smile creeping to her lips.
Finally, she said, “It’s a little hard to believe in a God that thinks my lifestyle’s abhorrent.”
My brow furrowed. “Your lifestyle?”
“Mm-hmm.” Then she turned to me, all smirk. “Or maybe he’s as tolerant as you, Miss Adams.”
FIVE
