“What now?” I asked when he had taken down my particulars and my statement about the events of the night.
“Now, you can go home,” he said.
“Really?” I was thrilled. “How come?” I leaned in conspiratorially. “Did you pull some strings for me or something?” My subtle flirtation with him must have really done its job.
“Nope. The charges were dropped. Your friend’s husband came in and talked her out of going through with it. They just left a few minutes ago.”
“He’s not her husband,” I mumbled as I gathered my purse and coat, preparing to leave.
“Hey, lady.” He stopped me. “I know you and your friends meant well, but you can’t force people into your way of thinking. They have to make their own mistakes and learn for themselves.”
“Are you reading You Get What You Give by Dr. Rainbow Hashwarma?” I think I may have found my soul mate.
“Huh? It’s just common sense, lady.”
“Uh, yeah . . . good night.”
Chapter 14
The disastrous intervention is all the proof I need that the principles outlined in You Get What You Give should be followed to the letter. I had completely contradicted Dr. Rainbow Hashwarma’s advice, and where did it get me? Hauled down to the police station, that’s where!
Michelle doesn’t think she will ever be able to forgive Sandra. Not only did she miss her Women of Influence dinner, but she also thinks several of the guests may have spotted her in the back of the squad car as we sped past the Grand Hyatt Hotel. Val is confused and torn. She is angry and disappointed that Sandra would try to have us arrested, but thinks maybe her rash actions could be blamed on her high stress level with George’s wife’s baby and everything.
I—being more enlightened than my other two friends—have already left Sandra a voice message telling her that I forgive her, and will support her in whatever decision she makes, no matter how wrong I think it is. She hasn’t called back yet, but I’m confident she will.
Instead of dwelling on the sad outcome of the intervention, I have decided to devote myself to my self-improvement list. My karmic flow needs a big boost, so I’m going to undertake one of the major items. I’m going to make a generous, selfless contribution to society. I’m going to volunteer.
After much online research, I have come up with an organization that seems like a mutual fit. It is called the Shooting Star program, and volunteers act as mentors to teenagers who are “high- to medium-risk” kids or who have “high-risk tendencies.” I’m not exactly sure what that means, but I have always been hip and cutting edge despite my age, so I think I would make a very positive yet still cool role model to an adolescent. I’ve made the call to Shooting Star, and I have an interview set up this afternoon.
But now, I have to go to a preproduction meeting for the Prism TV campaign. Not surprisingly, the clients were persuaded to approve Dave and Tanya’s scripts featuring young children growing up to be crack whores and murderers without a Prism high-speed Internet connection. Despite my objections to the concept, I will be managing the production of the campaign. Sonja says I need to take Gavin under my wing on this one, as he needs the television experience.
Dave has basically ignored me since the attempted kiss on the stairwell. He either does not remember, or is pretending he does not remember. I suspect he does remember and is too embarrassed to acknowledge it because he is treating me with even more disdain than he does the other account people. On the few occasions when he has conceded my presence, it has only been to mock my ideas or sneer at my contributions. That is fairly normal behavior for a creative director, but something in his tone indicates that I have bruised his ego.
Gavin pops his head into my office. “Ready?”
“Yep,” I say, grabbing my file and notebook. I am trying to keep a positive outlook and not let Gavin annoy me. Deep down, I suspect he is a decent, if somewhat insecure person masquerading as a brownnosing weasel. As my new bible suggests, I’m going to look beyond the facade that society has dictated, to find the true person within.
Gavin is positively bubbling at the prospect of going on a TV shoot. “I was talking to Pam, and she says we need to start shooting by the end of the month.”
“Well—” I chuckle sagely. “—I don’t think we can scout locations and get casting done by the end of the month.”
“But the air date is October twenty-second!” Gavin continues. “I put together a work-back schedule, and if we scout locations and do auditions over the weekend, we could start shooting by Friday the thirtieth.” He hands me a copy of the schedule.
“Uh, great . . . but that means working over two weekends.”
“Yeah?”
I want to say that I’m trying to improve myself through yoga, volunteering, and developing a better relationship with my parents, which means I can’t afford to give up two weekends, but I decide not to respond. He’d probably run back to Sonja and tell her we were going to miss our air date because Kerry was too lazy to do what it took to get the job done. Instead I say, “Let’s just see how this meeting goes before we hand out the schedule, okay, Gavin? I really appreciate your initiative, though.”
“What’s wrong with this fucking coffeepot?” Dave is growling as we enter the room. He is trying to pour himself a cup from the upright urn, but it is sputtering black liquid all over his hand and sleeve.
“It’s empty,” I say, indicating the clear line that shows the level of the coffee.
“It’s the suit’s job to make sure we’ve got fucking coffee, Kerry . . . or is that beneath you?”
Oh, yeah. He definitely remembers trying to kiss me. “I’ll ask Jennifer to bring some in, Dave.” I smile pleasantly. Although I am being abused and sworn at, I feel I have the upper hand.
I sit at the boardroom table across from Tanya and Pam. Tanya is tapping her pencil on the table and glowering at me. Apparently she, too, knows that Dave tried to kiss me. Tanya can be very intimidating—with her jet-black hair and pierced eyebrow and lip—but I am calm and at peace with myself and the universe. I cannot help it if her lover finds me very attractive and feisty.
“Okay . . .” I start the meeting. “Pam, let’s talk about production dates. Have you had a chance to select a production house?”
Before Pam can speak, Dave interjects. “Why are you asking her about dates? You should be giving her a schedule to stick to in order to reach the air date. Is this your first TV campaign or something?”
“No,” I say, breathing deeply to remain calm. “This isn’t my first TV campaign, Dave. When I’ve managed them in the past, we have had a preliminary meeting to discuss everyone’s needs and time frames, and then we’ll put together a work-back schedule.”
“We don’t have time to dick around discussing everyone’s needs and time frames! We need to be on air on October twenty-second!” He is screaming.
“Fine!” I retort. “Gavin, hand out the work-back. We just thought it would be considerate to get your feedback before we presented a schedule.”
“Considerate,” Tanya scoffs, and Pam sniggers.
“Gavin,” I say, ignoring them. “Would you like to walk us through it?”
“Sure,” he says, trying to conceal his glee at my shabby treatment. “I’d be happy to.”
The creatives listen impassively until we reach the shoot date. “You expect us to work two weekends in a row?” Dave grumbles, looking directly at me. “That might be fine for some of you who have no life outside this place, but I’m not gonna spend two fucking weekends in a row at work. I have kids to visit!”
I notice Tanya shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “I don’t particularly want to work two weekends in a row either, Dave.” I speak slowly, though my face is burning with anger and frustration. “That’s why we thought we’d ask Pam if any of the dates can be shifted so that—”
“Oh, so now Pam has to move her schedule around to suit you!”
“What are you doing?” I explode. “You’re t
rying so hard to contradict me that you’re not even making sense anymore!”
“If you can’t handle this shoot effectively,” he rages back, “then I’ll tell Sonja to pull you off the job and get someone else to run it!”
“Fine by me!” I scream, gathering my papers. “And don’t think I don’t know what this is all about,” I hiss as I prepare to leave.
He is strangely silent, and for a moment I think I may be able to exit unchallenged.
“Why don’t you tell us what this is all about, Kerry?” Tanya says, her eyes narrowed dangerously.
I stall, looking to Dave for a hint about what to do here. He is staring at the table, seemingly in some kind of trance. “Nothing,” I say. “It doesn’t matter. It was a disagreement between Dave and me.”
“On the stairwell after the NAPI party, perhaps?” Tanya says. She stands up and begins to slowly and purposefully circle the table. She reminds me of one of the female prosecutors on Law & Order—except for the ripped sweater and multiple piercings. “Could it have been a disagreement about, say—you wanting to sleep with Dave and him turning you down?”
“What?”
“He told me all about it, Kerry,” she continues. “Pam knows about it, too.”
“I can’t believe this!” I say directly to Dave. “You are such a liar! You tried to kiss me! You told me it was over with Tanya.”
“No, I didn’t,” he says calmly.
“You did! You said you liked how I stood up to you at the creative presentation! You said I was feisty and beautiful!”
Tanya rolls her eyes. “Pleeeeeeeeeze!”
“This is unbelievable,” I say, tears springing to my eyes. Shit! I can’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I’ve got to get out of here. “I’ll tell Sonja to get someone else on this project—in fact, on any project where I have to work with you!”
As I storm out, I hear Dave say, “Hell hath no fury . . .”
The rest of the room erupts in laughter.
Chapter 15
“Don’t think about it,” I tell myself as I drive to the Shooting Star office. “I know the truth. I am honest and kind and contributing to society. Dave is superficial, immoral, and a flat-out liar. Tanya is stupid, insecure, and possessed by the devil.” I know the book says to keep negative energy out of your calming mantra, but the words keep circulating in my brain. And I can’t seem to stop the visions of Tanya with a serious lip-ring infection that she passes on to Dave, resulting in the amputation of most of his face.
I am so glad I have this interview today. It will counteract all the dark forces from the meeting and should get my karma back on track. I am honest and kind and contributing to society.
I walk through the double doors and am instantly greeted by a young woman with jet-black hair, gothic makeup, and spiked collars around the wrists.
“Hi, Kerry!” she says, extending her hand and beaming up at me. “My name’s Theresa. I’m one of the coordinators here at Shooting Star.”
“Nice to meet you.” I smile back. God, she is like a younger, happier version of Tanya! Her T-shirt reads the hives.
“It’s so great that you’re interested in mentoring with us,” Theresa says as she leads me into a tiny makeshift boardroom. “Would you like some coffee or anything?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” I say politely. “I’d like to get right down to business. I’m very excited about becoming involved in your program.”
“Great.” She smiles again. “Let me tell you what the process is. I’ll interview you using standardized questions developed for us by the department of child welfare and social services. If I feel confident from the interview that you can move on to the next phase, we’ll set up a psychiatric interview for you to ensure that you don’t pose any sort of risk to the teenagers. If that goes well, we’ll proceed to a police record check, and once cleared, you’ll be ready to begin changing the life of a troubled teen.” Again, she smiles genuinely at me.
I am suddenly gripped by fear. I had no idea it would be so intensive. I’m sure to fail at least one of these tests. The interview today might be fine, but the psychiatric evaluation will undoubtedly expose me as a borderline sociopath. And the police record check—well after the other night, who knows what the police could say about me? She was picked up for kidnapping but never charged. I may as well leave right now.
“So . . . what made you decide to become a mentor?” Theresa continues.
I answer all her questions with ease, and I feel fairly confident that I have at least passed phase one. It’s phases two and three that will cause problems! But I don’t let on that I’m a reject as I thank her for her time.
“We really look forward to matching you up with a girl in need,” Theresa says at the door. “I think you’ll be a great friend to a high- to medium-risk teen.”
She must have noticed how hip and cutting edge I am despite my age.
I fight my way through 3 PM traffic back to the office. I know what will be waiting for me when I get there: a pink slip and a lecture from Sonja. The pink slip I can handle, but having to listen to Sonja harp on about my many weaknesses and fallibilities fills me with dread. What happened to the good old days when people yelled, “You’re fired!” And you were free to pack up your belongings and go? Now they want to talk about it: “What’s wrong, Kerry? Are you having troubles in your personal life that are affecting your job? Did your gorgeous boyfriend dumping you impact your self-esteem so much that you find it hard to concentrate? Did the fact that Dave didn’t want to have sex with you keep you from creating a proper work-back schedule?”
As expected, Jennifer, our receptionist, has a message for me. “Sonja wants to see you,” she says with a grimace. Jennifer hates Sonja, too, who is even more condescending to clerical staff than she is to the account people below her.
“Great,” I mutter. “Where is she?”
“Probably in her office. But if she’s not, she told me to tell you to find her and interrupt her.”
“Will do.”
I don’t even have a chance to hang up my coat when she approaches. “Can we talk?” She is with the managing director, Bob Copley. I’m being fired for sure.
I follow them into a boardroom, and Bob closes the door. I’m not sure how I feel about this; I’ve never been fired before. Well . . . not for a really long time, anyway. I was fired from the gas station I worked at in ninth grade. I had called in sick for a shift, and then my boss saw me at Dairy Queen with my friends. She’d marched right up to me and said, “You’re fired!” It wasn’t so bad. I hated the job, anyway. But when my mom found out, all hell broke loose. God, my mom’s not going to be very impressed with this firing either.
“Dave came to us,” Sonja says sternly. “He says you two are having problems working together.”
“We are,” I say.
“He says you ran out of the Prism meeting and told them to find someone else to manage the account,” Bob Copley adds. He is short and pudgy, with graying hair and the personality of a dishrag.
“Well . . . technically that’s true,” I begin. “But—”
“How do you expect to contribute to this agency if you can’t work with the creative director?” Bob says.
“Well, I thought I could be more behind the scenes. I could do planning and strategy—”
It is Sonja’s turn to interrupt. “Account people are generalists, not specialists. You can’t pick the things you want to work on, Kerry. A manager who refuses to see a project through to fruition is of no value to us.”
“ . . . Okay.”
“We suggest you think seriously about how you can overcome this . . . issue you have with Dave,” Bob says. “If you think it’s insurmountable, then we will seriously need to reevaluate whether this is the right job for you.”
“Thanks,” I say, standing. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
“Well . . .,” Sonja says. “I guess we’re done here.”
“Yes. If you don’t
mind, I’d like to go home and get thinking on this,” I say. Without waiting for a response, I turn on my heel and march out.
I am absolutely furious. It is ridiculous that I am about to lose my job after being sexually harassed. Dave is the one who should be fired, not me! He needs to learn that he can’t go around trying to kiss people and then pout and throw tantrums when they turn him down. I should really show him that his behavior is not acceptable, that he can’t get away with it! But I already know how my allegations would play out. Ferris and Shannon have made it abundantly clear who is the more valuable employee.
As I walk into my office, the phone is ringing. The caller-ID display indicates that it’s Trevor.
“Oh, my God!” he says. “Are you okay?”
“Just great,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
“I heard all about it from Pam,” he says. “Let’s go have a drink somewhere and talk.”
“I don’t know, Trevor,” I say. “I don’t think I’d be very good company.”
“Come on, Kerry. It’ll make you feel better to get it off your chest.”
“I guess.”
“Okay. Meet me at that sports bar at Fourth and Virginia in twenty minutes.”
“Why don’t we walk up together?”
“I’ve got some stuff to take care of first. And it’ll look bad if they see us walking out together at four o’clock.”
“You’re embarrassed to be seen with me!” I hiss. “You don’t want anyone to associate you with the office pariah!”
He laughs. “You’re crazy! I’ll see you at Corky’s in twenty.”
Corky’s is dark, seedy, and a bit smelly. It suits my mood perfectly. I order a pint of lager, since I would feel out of place sipping a glass of merlot while surrounded by TVs blaring hockey, football, and horse racing. I look at my watch. Trevor should be here any second. He’d better not be late and leave me sitting alone in this dive.
The Journal of Mortifying Moments_A Novel Page 11
