8
Those aren’t feet, those are banana boats
Bitch
Hehe. Well wrong size for me or I would have taken the burden off your hands … or feet ?
Why would he do this?
It’s his Christmas present to you.
That’s so weird.
No it’s not. He’s obviously thinking about you, Sierra. He wants to talk to you. Maybe you should talk to him.
If he wants to talk to me it’s only because I was the one who said fuck you and he likes to be the one in power.
What he did was very fucked up – on a lot of levels, but I think he had feelings for you and obviously he still has.
Ugh. I can’t wait to go to Vegas.
New Year’s is going to be EPIC.
I need epic. I think I’ll wear my new Louboutins out on New Year’s Eve.
You’re evil.
Thank you for the replacement shoes. That was really unnecessary.
I didn’t do it because it was necessary, Sierra.
Well, thank you anyway and Happy Holidays to you and your family.
Same to you and yours. Will you be home during the holidays?
No. I’ll be traveling.
Stay safe, Sierra.
Thank you.
I stare at that conversation and cry. Part of me wants to get in my car and drive across the river to his building. But I don’t even know if he is in town anymore. Showing up there would lead to one thing. Sex. And afterwards I’d feel shitty and weak. Totally pathetic that with a gift I go running back to a man that lied about loving me. Lord knows I should’ve learned about him and his gifts from the chain he gave me.
It isn’t worth setting back my heart’s healing any more than the shoes have already done. So I just stay home and cry and swear I am going to have a wild time in Vegas and come back with a new outlook and ready to start the new year living again.
“Are you ever going to go after her?” Garber lifts the beer bottle to his lips. With just a soft cast on his leg, he is semi-mobile, but not ready to report back to work.
“I don’t know that there’s any point. She doesn’t trust me. Not a great way to start a relationship.”
“She does not know how much you love her, Hale. If she knew, I’ll bet she’d feel different.”
“Maybe.” I finish my beer. “But I think it’s time for me to just move on. I was fine before her. I’ll be fine without her.”
“Are you happy without her?”
“Do I look happy?”
“No, you look like a miserable sack of shit.”
“Yeah, well I feel like a miserable sack of shit. I’ve been thinking about spending the holidays out on Nantucket.”
“By yourself?”
“Yeah. You’re welcome to stay here while I’m gone.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.” Pausing, “Lundström, why aren’t you going and getting the girl? Drive over there right now and pound on her door.”
“Because she’s done with me.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“Yeah buddy, I do. I fucked this up on so many levels. It took her two damn days to even text me to thank me for those shoes.”
“I thought that would at least start a conversation.”
“Yeah. Me too. But no such luck. She made it very clear that she wanted that conversation to end. Quickly. She’s not coming back to me, Jeff. I’ve got to move on.”
“Can you do that?”
“It’s not my choice to make.”
“Bungalow Four? Seriously? We’re in Bungalow Four? Well this is at least one key I won’t throw away.”
As we pass through the glitzy lobby and head to the west end of the Cosmopolitan Hotel, it becomes increasingly clear with every beat of the dance music that this is not going to be a relaxing little vacation.
“Holy crap, guys. The bungalows are smack in the middle of the Marquee club.” I’m immediately overwhelmed by the sights, sounds and throng of people. Gorgeous people.
“We’re not letting you pine away for some guy on New Year’s Eve.” Monica opens the door to the three-story structure and we all let out a collective “wow”.
Our triplex bungalow is amazing: media room, theater, bathrooms bigger than my house, a private splash pool on the roof, Mother-of-Pearl walls, fabulous view of the Bellagio fountains and huge freestanding mirrors with TV’s built into them.
“Not too shabby,” Beverly is inspecting every inch of the place.
“We’ve got tickets for the New Year’s Eve party and reservations for dinner at STK at 9 P.M.” Monica smiles at me. “We thought a big slab of meat would be good for you.”
Laughing, “It definitely might be. But remember what happens or is eaten in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”
Settled in, I wander back through the casino and see a slot machine that immediately catches my eye. “That machine’s calling to me,” I tell the girls and head off to sit down. Laughing to myself, I feed a twenty dollar bill into the Double Mystical Mermaid and start a good run. Forty-five minutes later, I’m still working on the same twenty, which is now worth three hundred-forty dollars, which makes up for the rank taste of the absolutely terrible Manhattan the hostess has brought me.
“This machine likes you.” The deep voice takes me by surprise.
Looking up at the man standing next to me, I’m surprised at how pleasant his face is. Completely bald, and a bit older than my taste, he’s a handsome man and definitely Monica’s type.
“Yes, it appears to. It’s kept me occupied for quite a while now.”
“Not going to cash it in?” he asks.
“No, I think this mermaid owes me a bit more.”
Laughing, “She looks like you.”
The stab to my heart is quick and clean. “Mermaid is my nickname,” I confess.
“Are you a good swimmer?” he asks, I guess associating I must like swimming if my nickname is mermaid.
If he says anything about wanting to see me in a bathing suit, he’s history.
“Average, I guess.”
“Can you breathe underwater?” he jokes.
Looking away and back at the machine as I reach for the lever, “No. I wasn’t a very good mermaid after all.” Mermaids breathe underwater. I don’t know why I hadn’t put that together before. I was his mermaid. I was supposed to breathe underwater, not drown. I had totally failed as a mermaid.
Again, I yank the lever down hard. “Woo Hoo,” the man yells. “Well, this mermaid was very good to you.” The lights are spinning and the sirens and bells ringing as the fabricated sound of coins dropping continues. A red light flashes, ‘Call Attendant’.
A man in a dark suit approaches, “Congratulations, Miss. It looks like you’ve just hit the jackpot. Let me just get in here and verify your machine.”
I’m speechless as I rise from my chair and step back. Win? Me? Never. A crowd gathers and I scan for Monica and Beverly, who are finally approaching.
“It’s me. It’s me. I won a jackpot. They are just verifying it now.” I’m shaking, I’m so excited.
“Figures you would win on a mermaid game.” Monica ribs me.
“Mermaid was his nickname for me, so I had to play it.”
“You’re not supposed to think about him, but right now I’m glad you did. Now you can buy dinner and champagne tonight!”
“Definitely my treat.” I notice the man who was talking to me is still there. “Monica meet,” and I pause.
“Phil.” He extends a hand to her.
“I’ll be back,” I tell the girls. “Tax form and check await me.” As I follow the man back to the business office to collect my check for $4,745.25, it’s impossible not to think of Hale and the mermaid. I still haven’t gotten another chain for the necklace. I’m not ready to wear her yet.
Returning to the mermaid machine with my winnings carefully tucked away, “ready for drinks everyone?” Phil is still there with them. “Would you like to join us?” I offer, and we make our way t
hrough the casino to the Vesper Bar feeling as lit up as all the clanging machines.
A few hours later, I stand on the third floor terrace of our bungalow people watching at the Marquee Club below. Monica comes and joins me and we stand silently watching the mating game at its finest.
“Is Phil going to join us for dinner?” We seem to have picked up a fourth, but over drinks we discovered this was a spur of the moment trip for him when he decided to drive in from Sacramento. Recently divorced after twenty-plus years of marriage, he figured he could park himself at a poker table and feel less alone. He generally seemed like a nice man, but we all teased him about being a psycho-killer until we took a tour of his West End Penthouse at the hotel, which put our triplex bungalow to shame. And with that, Phil’s stock shot up like a bull market.
“Yeah, he’s going to meet us at STK.”
“Great. He’s really nice, Monica, and not too far of a commute for you. And clearly he can afford your evil ways and champagne taste.”
“We’ll see,” her tone is coy, so I know there’s a chance.
Again we lapse into silence as we watch the crowd below. Gorgeous women are dressed to the nines and the men either all work out like crazy or are on steroids. This is worse than Los Angeles for image and I long to be back in Austin where the vibe is always laid back and casual.
Monica is the one to break the silence, “So, Beverly and I have something to tell you.”
Turning to her, “Do we need to get Beverly?”
“No, I’ll just tell you myself.”
“What’s going on?”
She takes a deep breath, “We’re going to see Hale in two weeks.”
“What?” My heart skips a beat and that pain rushes in, spreading throughout every centimeter of my being.
“They have him speaking or doing a presentation or something at the January Sales Kick-Off.
I’m speechless, feeling adrift. He’s still there in my world and I’m the one gone. The stranger to my own life. How could this be?
Kick-Off was always the best meeting of the year and a great way to start the new calendar year’s sales right. It begins with the annual awards dinner for the year prior’s top performers and the winners of President’s Club are announced. This is the night of the sales year. You are either a winner. Or you don’t want to be there. And if you are a winner, you proudly preen as you walked up on stage to receive your award. This year’s President’s Club, which I would have qualified for, having my team come in over quota, was an extravagant all-expense paid week for two in Monaco.
“Wow. So, you’re going to see him.” Staring out at the crowd I see nothing. My best friends are going to see him.
“Are you okay?”
“No. Not really. It just hit me how fucked up this all is. I did a really good job. I didn’t screw anyone or stab anyone in the back to be successful, and I’m the one on the outs. Everyone will be there. But me. And now Hale is going to be there. With Cuntessa and the slut.” I don’t want to cry, but holding back the tears isn’t going to happen. “I know I chose to leave the company and leave Hale. Those were my decisions, but it still all feels really shitty.”
And later that evening, at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve, champagne flute in hand, I stand on our balcony in my new black Louboutins and watch packed bodies gyrate on the dance floor below, as Beverly enjoys a slot machine and Monica is lost in the crowd with Phil.
Looking up at the fireworks emblazoning the sky, I make a wish. A very simple wish. That in the new year, I know happiness and peace.
I was told that the first night of the sales meeting was dress-up night. This was the annual awards ceremony that the entire staff looked forward to all year long. So, here I am, all dressed up. Standing in front of the mirror, I look like a CEO in my tailored charcoal suit and white shirt.
Tonight I’m going to be helping to hand out awards on stage and tomorrow morning I kick off three days of sessions with a keynote on symbiotic relationships in business.
This whole thing feels really odd to me. Everyone here knows Sierra. They worked alongside her for years, and yet she is not here tonight. But I am. There’s something wrong with the symmetry and it’s really bothering me.
Having had a lot of time to think over Christmas and New Year’s, I’ve decided it is time to start doing for others, time to start giving back. I don’t need to save the world anymore, just make a difference in people’s lives. And stop thinking about myself so damn much.
Entering the ballroom, I look around and spot bars set up on either side of the room. The lines are fairly lengthy and I randomly pick the one on my right and get in line.
Standing there, a complete stranger to the people both in front and behind me, I listen to the chatter around me.
“So, how’s your new boss?” the little redhead asks.
“He seems okay. Kind of a micromanager though.” The tall brunette makes a face.
“Well I’ll bet Susan is micromanaging him.”
“Without a doubt.” The brunette rolls her eyes and they both laugh.
“Have you talked to Sierra? It’s so weird that she’s not here.” I want to tell the redhead, you can say that again.
“Almost our entire team is going to get an award tonight. It sucks that she is not going to be the one handing them to us. This guy doesn’t even know us. She was in the field with us, earning it. It meant something that she was proud of me. With this guy, it doesn’t mean anything, you know.” The brunette is clearly emotional about this. “I know you work for Susan, but that job should have been Sierra’s.”
“You know our whole team was praying she’d get it and we didn’t even work for her. It’s so weird how this turned out. None of it makes sense.”
The emotions coursing through me as I listen to this make it feel like yesterday that she walked out of my office for the last time. What surprises me most is that I have not moved on and as I listen to this conversation, my feelings are all over the place. I’m proud of Sierra and what she built and I’m angry that even the staff sees the injustice. Obviously I’m mad at myself for not being upfront with her and keeping the promotion news from her for my own gain. The overwhelming emotion though is anxiety. I am anxious. I want to see Monica and Beverly and talk to them. Yet, at the same time, I fear what their reaction to me will be.
“There you are.” Robyn is touching my arm. “You look so handsome tonight.” Wearing a short black dress with sequins that wraps around under her arms, the dress leaves her shoulders bare. She runs her hand down from my shoulder to the middle of my chest. “We have a table over there and I’ve got a seat saved for you.”
“I’ll be over once I get a drink.”
“Such an exciting night,” she says to the two in front of me.
They give each other a look when she departs.
Like a bad penny that keeps showing up, Bob Mannon is at our table. I thought the guy was gone, but it appears this is his last hurrah with a big send-off, a video chronicling his time with the company, gift presentations and speeches galore. His wife, Dorothy, is in attendance, making the most amusing sideshow of the night, watching the interaction between her and Robyn. Dorothy is the ultimate Southern Belle, well-schooled in the art of insulting others graciously while maintaining the most demure of demeanors. Robyn is outwitted, outmatched and outclassed.
“Aren’t you a handsome one,” Dorothy’s eyes sparkle when she speaks.
“You beautiful women just make me look better,” I assure her.
“Are you married, Hale?”
“No Dorothy, it seems no one will have me.” I love talking to her. She is a lady. And what she’s doing with this dog is beyond me.
“That, I cannot believe. Handsome, well-educated, an entrepreneur. There’s really no one special in your life?” Her matchmaking wheels are turning.
“There was someone very special until recently,” I confide.
“And she let you go?” Her eyes are wide as she wait
s for the story.
“The truth is, I lost her, Dorothy.”
“You aren’t over her yet, are you?” The woman is perceptive.
“Not by a long shot,” I admit. “You get people to confess their darkest secrets, don’t you?” I kid.
“Executive’s wife. We have to be multi-skilled.” Her eyes quickly shift to Robyn and then back to me.
Leaning over I whisper in her ear, “There isn’t anyone here that holds a candle to you.” And I’m dead serious.
A few minutes later she asks Bob, “Where is that adorable blonde? Is she sick?”
He looks at her with a blank face.
“Sierra.”
“Oh, she’s no longer with us,” he informs her.
“Well, that’s a loss to the organization,” is Dorothy’s assessment.
Yes it is. I couldn’t have agreed with the woman more.
How I got on stage for the awarding of plaques to the top performers, I’m not sure. But here I am, shaking hands and congratulating them on a fine performance. Since it is not my organization, it is odd for me, as I am not familiar with the employees or their accomplishments.
Seeing Monica climb the stairs to the stage, I feel my breath catch. In an odd way I am one step closer to Sierra. Kemp presents her award and holding up the plaque, she comments to the crowd, “Another trivet,” sending laughter throughout the entire room. Posing for a picture with Kemp and her new boss, Jonathan, buys me a second to wipe my suddenly wet palms on the side of my suit.
Sticking out my hand as she approaches, Monica doesn’t take it, as all the winners announced before her had. Smiling up at me with a bright beautiful smile, in a low voice she clearly says, “Douche” and walks on. I know there is a smile plastered to my face, but she has caught me off-guard.
A few minutes later when Beverly takes the stage, I’m prepared for her. Taking my hand, her eye contact is direct and intense. With a smile, she utters “Dick” and makes her way down the stage.
Frankly, I am shocked. As a huge client of their company that was unprofessional and rude. But they love Sierra and must know how deeply I have hurt their friend. I need to talk to them. Alone.
Slave to Love Page 19
