by Kyra Davis
At five-thirty the next morning I woke up in Tad’s bed alone. I had vague memories of finishing off the remaining wine and Tad helping me to the bedroom. I was pretty sure that he had joined me. I pushed myself onto my elbows and tried to get a handle on the situation. From the living room I could make out the sound of fingers tapping against a keyboard. I threw a jacket over the oversize T-shirt I was dressed in and went out to investigate.
Tad glanced up briefly from the computer and smiled appreciatively. “You look good. You should go pantless more often.”
“Tad, it’s not even six. What are you doing?”
“I’ve got an idea. Your mom said that her temple has almost two hundred active members, and there are almost as many holidays. That’s a lot to keep track of, don’t you think?”
“I prefer not to think about it.”
“The obvious solution is a calendar. The Jews have one, right?”
“Well, yes, but our calendar is actually numbered differently…”
“I’m talking about a calendar featuring different landscapes and nature scenes and noting all the holidays. And if we sold it at twenty bucks a pop, twenty times two hundred, that’s four thousand dollars, babe.”
“First of all, I’m pretty sure there’s a law prohibiting entrepreneurial activity between the hours of midnight and 6:00 a.m. Secondly, almost two hundred members is not two hundred and you have to assume that some of them are related to each other and living in the same house and thus only need one calendar. And thirdly, what the hell do you mean we?”
“But I’m sure that within the next few months their membership will have increased by ten or twenty percent. It is Santa Cruz after all, and you know how many freaks live there.”
Funny, I would have sworn I’d made three points. I leaned over his shoulder and studied the photo he had pulled up. It was one he had taken while hiking in Hawaii. It really would be beautiful on a calendar.
“I’ve been sorting through my photos. So far I’ve found five that I think would work. Oh, and I made up the calendar months for the next year.”
“How long have you been working on this?”
“Since two-thirty.”
I blinked. “You’ve been up for three hours? Tad, you haven’t slept in two nights.”
He got up and kissed me gently on the lips. “Sleep is for the lazy.”
“Hey, I like being lazy.”
“And I like watching you sleep, so it’s a win-win.” He glanced up at the clock hanging over the fireplace. “I have to get showered and changed. I want to be at the office early this morning.”
I really was in awe of him. I could survive on six hours of sleep, but anything less than that turned me into the Bride of Frankenstein, inarticulate and mean. Tad walked past me to start his morning rituals as I rubbed the sand out of my eyes. It was probably a good idea if I practiced being as unproductive as possible during my free time. That way Tad and I could balance each other out. Theoretically, this should have been a good day to try out that game plan since it was technically my day off, but in a pathetic attempt to make myself seem dedicated I had agreed to come in to set the floor with Marilyn, my casual-sportswear buyer. So I really only had forty-five minutes of lazy time before I had to throw myself together and run. I fell onto the couch and flipped the channels until I found E! television’s behind-the-scenes look at Three’s Company. I make it a point never to waste lazy time.
THREE
By the time Marilyn and I were done, all of my less-expensive and slower-selling merchandise (the things she bought) were up front and my higher-ticket hot sellers (the things Blakely, my careerwear buyer bought) were in back. Of course, I wouldn’t have to worry about it for long because by the end of the day Marilyn would be on a plane to L.A. for a vendor show. Blakely would be back in town by tomorrow afternoon. In other words, I would be doing another major floor change in less than twenty-four hours. I bet this didn’t happen to museum directors. I tried to imagine myself in an elaborately furnished office at the Whitney with two curators in front of me.
“April, this is unacceptable. Everyone knows that the Monets I bought are far superior to the crap this bimbo picked up, so obviously it’s my purchases that should be on the first floor.”
“Excuse me, but my Picassos kick your Monets’ ass.”
No, I was sure museum directors weren’t subjected to this.
“April…April, are you listening to me?” Marilyn was standing in front of a display table, her stocky but fashionably dressed frame becoming dangerously rigid.
“Hmm? Yes, of course. I was just…” I faltered for a moment. “I was just thinking how those jeans are going to blow out now that the customers can really see the cut. Putting them on the mannequin was really a stroke of genius.” I had begun to use the term genius way too liberally.
“Thank you.” She turned to admire her handiwork. “So you’ll coach your team on the FAB for the jeans and the leathers?”
I knew that in this case FAB stood for the “feature advantages and benefits” of the merchandise because God knows there was nothing fabulous about it. “I’ll coach them.”
“Good.” She glanced at the salespeople who were busily clearing the empty fixtures and racks off the floor before the doors opened in five minutes. She then took in my own faded jeans and T-shirt. “I take it you’re not working today.”
“I just came in for the floor change.”
“I’ll go up in the elevator with you.” Of course there was no “Wow, April, it was so great of you to come in on your day off.” It was only natural that Dawson’s would expect me to give up my life since they had already purchased my soul for the low-low price of forty-five thousand a year.
I gathered my things and we walked across to the elevator. “So what’s new with you these days?” Outside of “hello” these were the first nonbusiness words Marilyn had spoken all morning.
“A lot actually.” We stepped into the elevator and went up toward the sixth floor, where the security check and buyers offices were located. “Tad proposed a few days ago.”
“Did you know that Don hasn’t even mentioned marriage and we’ve been dating six friggin’ years?”
Definitely not the response I was prepared for. I toyed with the band of my wristwatch. “Well, he obviously loves you otherwise he wouldn’t still be around…” We stepped off the elevator and paused by the doors. “I’m sure he’s just waiting for the perfect moment.”
“Bull. He’s a little chickenshit who doesn’t have the guts to make a commitment.”
I heard the musical notes of my Nokia floating up from my purse and I plunged my hand in for it with unprecedented enthusiasm. “Really important call,” I explained before looking to see what number was on the screen. “Got to take it.”
“Whatever.”
I watched her stomp down the hall toward her office. I clicked Talk and held the phone to my ear. “Hello, darling, missing me already?”
“The Ritz had a cancellation,” Tad said.
I remained silent for a beat.
“April, did you hear me?”
“I heard you, I’m just trying to decode your message. Just answer yes or no—are the kidnappers there with you?”
Tad laughed. “The small ballroom at the Ritz, April. It’s available for the Sunday of Martin Luther King’s birthday.”
“And you wanted to throw him a birthday party? That’s sweet, but you do realize he’s dead, right? I’m just saying ’cause getting him there might be a problem.”
“Very cute. I think I want to book it. What do you say? Are you up for putting together the wedding of the year in a three-month time span?”
“No.” I hung up the phone. I was fairly sure he was kidding but just in case he wasn’t it was better to avoid the conversation all together. My phone rang again but I forced myself to ignore it. If I didn’t have to list my many objections to his proposition, he wouldn’t be able to break them down.
I snagged the new I
nStyle from the break room and left Dawson’s in favor of the café a few doors down. I had gotten on the scale that morning and I was three pounds thinner, so I figured I’d celebrate by adding a chocolate-filled croissant to my normal espresso order. My phone rang again as I was in the process of being rung up. My fingers itched to pick up but I reached for my wallet instead.
The lanky freckle-faced cashier looked up from the register to regard my musical purse. “Is that your phone?”
“Yes. Do you have a problem with that?”
The cashier wisely didn’t answer and took my money instead. The ringing stopped. I sat at a vacated table that was adorned with the crumb-filled plate left by the previous occupant. My cell was at it again. I pulled it out and tapped my fingers against the screen flashing Tad’s number. What if there was an emergency? Maybe Tad really had been kidnapped and his outrageous request had been a clue meant to inform me that he was being held hostage at an overly priced hotel chain. I had to answer it.
“We are not getting married in three months,” I said in lieu of hello. “And we are not having it at the Ritz-Carlton. These are nonnegotiable points.”
“The Ritz is perfect. Every woman wants to get married at the Ritz.”
“Are you trying to tell me that I’m not a woman, or that you are one?”
“April, I want this to be perfect. You’re the best and you should have your dream wedding, complete with a long flowing veil and a lavish reception…at the Ritz.”
“Sweetie, that was Joan Rivers’s dream and, lucky her, she had the money to live out that fantasy through her daughter. My mother’s dream is that I shack up with some stagehand who can get her free passes to Lilith Fair. Even if she had the money she wouldn’t pay for this, and I don’t want to go into major debt just so that I can wear white after Labor Day at the Ritz.”
“Don’t worry about money, we can afford to splurge. Come on, April, you only get married once.”
“Yeah, but bankruptcy lasts a lifetime.”
“April,” the deceptively gentle female voice came from behind me. “Taking a break already or is this your day off?”
I shifted my position so I could stare up at Blakely’s lightly tanned features and tried to mask my horror. “I’ll call you back,” I whispered into the phone and quickly hung up. Blakely was hardly the most annoying of the Dawson’s buyers, but she was high up there on the evil scale, and if she had gone to my department and seen her merchandise in the back section she was probably ready to smack me with a cloven hoof. I squirmed slightly in my seat. “It’s my day off, and speaking of which, isn’t it yours, too?”
“Mmm, hmm. I just got in from New York. I’m completely spent but I have a nail appointment in an hour so I figured I’d pick up a latte and check out your floor while I wait.”
I stared at my espresso and forced myself to say the words I knew she expected. “Care to join me?”
“Love to.” Blakely gracefully assumed the seat opposite me and used a silk fingernail to nudge the abandoned plate farther from her person. “I really am glad to have run into you. I’ve been wanting to discuss something.”
“Oh?” That sounded like something that could take the better part of an hour.
“What do you see as your future at Dawson’s?”
I considered the question. Either she had already been on my floor and wanted me to step down or she was trying to prime me for a promotion. I swallowed the coffee, along with my pride, and gave her my practiced answer. “I love Dawson’s. This isn’t just a job for me, it’s part of who I am and I hope to take advantage of every opportunity for advancement available to me.”
The flicker of amusement in her eyes told me she recognized B.S. when she heard it, but the rest of her countenance remained unchanged. “This, of course, is just between you and me.”
I knew immediately that she had told at least five other people. “Of course.”
“There are no open assistant-buyer positions at the moment but…I don’t think Cherise is very happy in her job.”
I looked away from Blakely and focused on the scratch on the table. She and I both knew that her assistant was about as happy as any mother of a two-year-old cardiac patient could be. Cherise needed her job; she needed the money, the insurance and the outlet. She was also good at what she did, but Blakely felt she had a bit too much attitude, which is another way of saying she was too black. Blakely had inherited Cherise from her predecessor and she’d been gritting her teeth and bearing it for the last thirteen months. Of course, I was pretty ethnic myself, but I didn’t braid my hair or harbor a crush for Puff Daddy, so as far as Blakely was concerned I was the perfect answer to the EOE dilemma. It was obvious where Blakely was heading with this and it was unethical and offensive. And I really wanted to be promoted.
I ran my finger along the rim of my cup. “Has Cherise said anything about wanting to leave?” I knew damn well she hadn’t.
“I can just tell. You know she’s taken over three weeks of vacation time in the past year. We’re only supposed to have two.”
Her daughter had heart surgery, you bitch! “I think she’s had a lot going on but I thought things were calming down for her. She always seems so dedicated.”
“Trust me, she’s not the picture-perfect employee she pretends to be.”
Now, this was a code I could translate. I played with my hair self-consciously and let out a little yelp as my ring snagged a stray curl.
Blakely’s eyes zoomed in on my ring finger. “You’re engaged.”
“Yesss.” Why was it so many people forgot to put congratulations in front of that sentence. I tugged a little harder and freed my ring, then held it up proudly as the disembodied hairs hung limply from its prongs.
“How wonderful.” Blakely seemed more concerned about the hairs than the ring, which goes to show that we shared at least some of the same priorities. “Most men don’t understand how important a woman’s career is to her. You’re fortunate to have found one who does.”
“Tad knows that I’m a workaholic by nature. It’s one of the things he loves about me.” Damn, I had gotten so good at this code talk. My next job was going to be as a political speechwriter.
Blakely visibly relaxed. “So have you two set a date? I always love winter weddings. The gowns they design for the season are always so much more regal than the ones they put out for spring.”
“We haven’t set a date, but it’s definitely going to be a long engagement.” My Nokia started ringing again.
“Go ahead and answer it,” Blakely instructed. “I have to order my latte anyway.”
It occurred to me that I shouldn’t need her permission to answer my cell phone on my day off, but sadly I also knew I never would have had the guts to answer without it. I waited until she had gotten up to purchase her caffeine before pressing Talk.
“I don’t have time to argue this with you. I’m with Blakely.”
“I thought this was your day off.”
I glanced over at Blakely. Two people were ahead of her in line, and from the look of impatience on Blakely’s face, I’d say their life expectancy was rapidly decreasing. “It is, I ran into her by chance.”
“Lucky you. Listen, April, you didn’t get a bat mitzvah, you didn’t have a sweet sixteen party and you said you had a lousy prom. We all deserve to be spoiled occasionally and you never have been. Let me be the first person to do that for you. I promise you won’t regret it.”
Oh, melt. Blakely moved one position up in what was turning out to be a very slow-moving line. I was still unsure if I wanted a big wedding, but I was very clear on wanting Tad to spoil me. How could I say no to this? Of course, there was the three-months part to consider. Maybe Allie was right. Maybe the long engagement was just an unnecessary postponement of happiness. I had to think about this. “How long do we have to decide?”
“I have to let them know today.”
“Forget it.” I hung up the phone. Tens of thousands of dollars we were going to have to
commit to this and he wanted me to treat it as an impulse buy. Blakely was finally being waited on but I could tell by the way that she was repeatedly stabbing the countertop with a fork that the service left something to be desired. I made a note to myself to never piss her off while in the presence of utensils.
It took Tad a full three minutes to call me back. “I just booked it.”
I couldn’t speak. Was he joking? Guys forgot to give cards on your birthday, they spilled red wine on your favorite Pottery Barn rug, they had sex with your college roommate, but they didn’t book reception halls without express permission. No way was he serious. “You didn’t really. I mean, this is a joke, right?”
“Nope, they have my credit card number and they’re gonna use it. I told you I was going to spoil you, and I meant it.”
“And I told you I didn’t want you to do this. Call them back and tell them no.”
“No can do. There’s a five-thousand-dollar cancellation fee.”
“Are you kidding me? Call back right now! If you call back minutes after making the reservation I’m sure they won’t charge you.”
“Maybe not, but I’m not canceling. You’d better start dress shopping—we’re getting married in three months.” The line went dead.
Blakely approached with her latte. The fork had been retired. “The cashier is a complete retard. I had to repeat my order four times before he got it right and all I ordered was a half-caf-nonfat-no-foam-vanilla latte.”
“Uh-huh.”
Blakely’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What’s wrong with you?’
“Huh? Oh, nothing.” I shook my head, trying to clarify what had just happened. “I was just talking to Tad about wedding stuff. We, um, I think we set a date.”
“Oh?” Blakely sipped her half-caf-nonfat-what-the-hell-ever coffee. “And what would that be?”
“Um, this January. January nineteenth.”
Blakely put her drink down and folded her hands on the table. “Usually, when people talk of having a long engagement they are referring to a period of time that extends further than three months.”
