by DD Prince
***
I exit the elevator and my temporary roommate is heading in my direction, walking down the champagne carpeted and textured tan-walled hall. In clothes. Weird to see him in clothes.
He’s in a pair of dark button-fly jeans and a button down white shirt with weathered-looking motorcycle boots on. Damn it, why is he so hot? He’s almost as hot in clothes as he is out of them. Maybe hotter, because everything hangs on his body like it was tailor-made, and yet I have seen what’s under most of them. He has shades and keys in his hand and he eyes me.
“You!” I hiss.
He rears back with a ‘What the fuck’ expression and he’s looking at me like he’s never met me in his life.
“You ate my food and after I cleaned up your massive nasty---” I stab at his chest with my pointy finger, “mess, you go and make another mess!”
He screws his mouth up like he can’t believe I have the nerve to address him. He flicks his shades, unfolding them, then puts them on like he has no time for me, some random hysterical person who has no right to speak to him and continues walking. Continues walking!
“Hey!” I demand, calling down the hall as he keeps going for the elevator.
The elevator must still be there, because that jerk steps out of my field of vision as soon as he gets to the doors.
“Hey!” I call out again, uselessly.
I growl and head into the apartment.
6
AIDEN
It’s five o’clock Sunday afternoon, and I’m pulling into my parents’ driveway on my motorcycle. My mother is standing in the doorway, eyeing me disapprovingly.
I rode in this way so that I could earn the disapproving look. I accomplish my chosen missions every day of the week. At work. At play. In hell, too. This? This is hell. Also known as my childhood home.
I get off, drop the helmet on the seat, put my shades on, and walk toward her, shades camouflaging my disdain for the woman who gave birth to me. She stops me and toys with my collar to straighten it with her perfectly manicured fingers. She does up the second-to-top button.
I don’t even like her hands on me.
“Thank you for not being late,” she says, voice chilly, throat, fingers, and wrists dripping with gemstones, smelling like Chanel and like she’s already had several martinis.
I sink my teeth into my tongue and say nothing.
“Sienna and her parents are also here for dinner. Be cordial, Aiden.” She emphasizes the be in that demand.
Fuck sakes. The Greers. Why? I show no reaction. Audra doesn’t get the satisfaction of a reaction about Sienna Greer.
I go to move past her.
“Aiden,” she calls out with more than a hint of exasperation.
I stop and fix my gaze in her direction.
She pulls my sunglasses off my face and gets a full view of my expression, which doesn’t even try to hide how I feel about her.
She flinches and her mask slips for a moment. She puts them back on my face, her fingers trembling. My teeth are tight, and I know my jaw muscles are bulging.
The day I caught her getting fucked by not one, but two landscapers at the same time, on this very property in the shed almost two years ago was the final nail in the coffin of my already tenuous relationship with her, and probably the first day my face froze into what has become my default expression whenever we’re alone.
It wasn’t the first time she proved herself to be a shitty human, but it was the day I stopped making myself show her respect in our already precarious relationship. She chased me down and threatened me into keeping my mouth shut about it. She hates that I dare to look at her this way; when others are around she manages to pretend not to notice. She’s been pretending a lot for the 29 years I’ve been on the planet.
“Be nice,” she warns.
What’s she gonna do? Get me cut out of the will? Truth be told, I don’t even give a shit about the money. I already have a healthy portfolio. And, I can make more money. I’ve gotten half my trust fund, I get the other half at 35, and she can’t touch it, even if she takes my father to the cleaners in a divorce, which she wouldn’t be able to do, because I’ve kept all sorts of evidence against her, for my father to use, in a safe place should she decide to play that card. She thinks I care about whatever else I’m due when my father croaks. I’m not one to turn down money, particularly if it means it winds up in my hands instead of hers, but I don’t need the money if getting it comes with any amount of dealing with her shit.
In fact, it was so important to me to show that I’m successful because of me, not my family name, that I’ve kept my trust fund money separate. I keep tabs on the wealth I’ve built because of my own earnings, my own investments from my salary. I do this to keep myself accountable to myself.
Today, I’ve got to go sit at a fake family dinner with my plastic cheating mother, my clueless workaholic father, my siblings and their significant others, and my parent’s friends, as well as their spoiled and entitled daughter, who I dated, disappointing the families that I never put a ring on her finger, because she is the biggest man-eater I’ve ever met. I haven’t set eyes on the bitch in more than two years.
Lookin’ forward to this dinner even less than I was.
I hear laughter as I head into the room where they’re all lounging with drinks in their hands and trays of canapes on the table. I’m the only one in jeans. They’re all posed as if for a magazine spread for Better Homes and Gardens.
My older and pregnant sister, Adele, sits on a loveseat with her husband Dirk. My younger brother Austin sits on another with his latest girlfriend, who I know he’s been seeing a few weeks because my sister keeps me updated on shit with weekly detailed texts about my nephew and whatever else is happening here.
Sienna Greer and her parents Roger and Suzette and my father, Quentin Carmichael, are on a long sofa.
My father’s eyes are on me and they’re filled with concern. He’s been looking at me that way for two years. He never bothers to ask questions. Just looks at me that way, like he’s concerned but afraid to broach it. We both know he doesn’t wanna hear what I have to say. I tried to talk to him about shit before moving to New York. Many times. I’m sick of him looking at me like that without saying a fucking word. If he started talking, though, maybe I wouldn’t be able to hold back all I’ve been holding back.
Austin and I both work for the family business. Austin, two years younger than me, is in finance, me in marketing. Adele is four years older than I am. She stays home with her two and a half -year-old, my nephew Braeden, who isn’t here today. He’d be the only thing that’d make this dinner tolerable. She’s due to have a baby girl in a little over a month.
Other than when I must, I don’t see my mother, Audra Carmichael. Cheating, lying whore. Blackmailer. Shitty mother.
If it weren’t for my father and my love for the company he and his late brother started out of college, I’d never step foot in this house, in her presence.
I’ve been in New York the past two years, working at another branch, but I’ve been summoned here, told I’m needed in the San Diego office for three months because George, the manager under me, is on medical leave and it all coincides with a bunch of important projects, including a massive product launch and another big acquisition.
If it’s up to me, I’ll be here a few weeks, make sure things are all set, then I’ll head back to New York and direct shit from afar. No reason for me to be here that length of time, not if I have the right team of people in place. My father taught this to me so why he’s trying to pull the wool over my eyes pretending I’m needed here is obvious.
He wants me here, figuring if I’m here he’ll find a way to bridge the family rift. Not likely. I have no problem with my siblings. It’s my mother I take issue with. I can sit through fake dinners if I must. I can deal. It’s not going to change things; I’m not going to suddenly stop loathing her.
So, I’m here, staying at my apartment, which he bought me a year ago, givi
ng it to me as my ‘bonus’. Truth be told, I suspect it’s because I refused to stay in his house, because I’m not sleeping under the same roof as her. Funny that he never asked me why. Not.
Having to sit through this? It’s put me in a mood fouler than I’ve been in for months. And that’s saying something.
Sienna is eyeing me with a smirk as my father rises to pour me a drink. Everyone says their helloes. Sienna’s father looks at me with fondness. Always got along well with him. Sienna’s mother is looking at my old motorcycle boots with judgement.
Sienna is looking at me like she’s gagging to take another bite out of me. Maybe I’ll let her have a taste. Licking, sucking, I’m down. But another bite? No bloody way. She’s the last bitch I trusted and that’s the last time I let myself get addicted enough to one pussy that I let it call the shots and make me vulnerable.
Sienna’s parents are friends with Audra and Quentin. She and I went to the same private school. Why are they here? It could be just that they’re here. The more likely probability? Audra has something up her sleeve.
I take a seat in the wingback chair beside my father, looking forward to getting this visit over with.
7
CARLY
Monday morning, I get a text from Alice at Carmichael at 6:35 AM.
Ally and Carly, your taxi will meet you both out front at 8:05 sharp to bring you to work. We look forward to meeting you!
Cheers,
Alice Roberts, Exec. Asst, to Q. Carmichael, Carmichael Consulting Intl.
I’m already showered and dressed and coffee’d up. I’ve got no idea what the day will have in store for me, so I’ve packed a sandwich and stashed it in my bag. My nerves are too shot to eat breakfast, so I pack it with two apples and a granola bar.
I’m getting ready to reply to the message to start a dialogue about how I haven’t met Ally yet and don’t know if I’ve been sent to the wrong apartment when I hear the swish of a text reply.
Okay Thanks!
Different number. That must be Ally. Is she in this building?
I reply, too.
I’m looking forward to it. Thanks, Alice! I’m not sure if there’s a mix-up or not, but I’m not in the same apartment as Ally. I have a roommate named Aiden. I guess we can discuss at the office today? I’m in apt 1710.
A minute later, I get a new message outside of the group chat.
Hi Carly. I’m Ally. Save my number! See you in the lobby. I’m in 1406. I have a diff roommate too. Apparently there was a last-minute change.
I wonder if she got matched with a guy. Maybe we can switch and send her guy up here and me down there.
Me: I’ll be in the lobby @ 8:00. See you then.
Ally: Will do. I’ll be the one with the pink hair and sparkly aura.
I click a smiley face in response and hit send.
She replies with a purple eggplant plus lips, plus raindrops symbol. It’s all together as if one emoji.
I tilt my head. Is this an emoji sentence for giving head?
She messages me again with an Oops and a blushing smiley face.
I reply with:
It’s okay. Really.
Then I put emojis for eye, heart, and an eggplant, and then a licking lips emoji, to show her I have a sense of humor, too.
She replies with:
LOL! Glad you’re not about to report me to HR on my first day. Eeeks!
I already know that Ally is a graphics and creative person and she and I will be collaborating a lot on the social marketing campaigns for the company. Hopefully my new coworker winds up being better than my new roommate.
Alice replies to the group chat.
Sorry, Carly. No mix-up. This was per Mr. C. I’ll catch you up when you get to the ofc. Cheers, Alice.
What the heck? Mr. Carmichael wanted me to have a male roommate (who is a jerk)? I’m confused.
I guess I’ll figure it out when I get to work.
***
There’s no security guard in the lobby when I get down there, but a pink-haired girl is there, sitting on top of the security desk, smiling at me.
“Ally?” I ask.
“Carly!” she exclaims and hops down and hugs me. Like we’re long lost sisters. Yep. Sparkly aura, indeed.
She immediately starts talking fast, grasping my face with both hands.
“So, let’s be work besties, okay? We do lunch, share gossip, you tell me if I’ve got lipstick on my teeth or if someone puts donuts in the break room and I do the same for you. We got one another’s backs. Sound good?”
“Sounds great,” I reply.
“You’re not a backstabbing bitch-faced cunt, right? You don’t seem like it. I’m a bit psychic so I’m pretty sure you’re not, but I just came out of a mess of a relationship and he fucked with at least four of my chakras, so I might be wrong.”
I choke on a giggle. “No. Definitely not.”
“Yay!” She thrusts her fist up victoriously, then links arms with me and we head outside to wait for the cab. She’s around my age, and I like her instantly. Hopefully my judgement isn’t wrong.
I have to remember Rule #3, though.
Not everyone is pure of heart. Be suspicious of everyone.
***
Ally Kingston is right up my alley and it’s difficult to keep my guard up. She’s a hoot. She’s told me she’s twenty-seven. She’s got a baby-pink colored flippy longish (but above her collar) pixie haircut and giant blue eyes with a doll-like appearance. She’s dressed in pink and white striped tights and a blue shirt dress that does not match, but she still works it.
She has a great laugh. We laugh and joke all the way to the office in the cab driven by the guy who’d brought me here from the airport.
I got a huge smile from him when Ally and I stepped outside the apartment building. I smiled in return out of reflex, but then realized I might be encouraging him. Is he just being friendly or is he a creep?
She does most of the talking all the way to the office while I laugh because she is absolutely hilarious. She’d told me she was new, also on contract, also transferred due to a recent acquisition, though she told me she was one of only six staff members who’d survived her company being dissolved, the other five given various transfers between three offices, Ally the only one sent to San Diego, and they’d enticed her with the free apartment for three months.
She was sharing the apartment with a Filipino girl named Meryl, a new manager in the company’s recently acquired Manila call center, and Meryl’s here for training. Meryl is off today as she’d worked all weekend on some company project. Ally had met her briefly the evening before and was trying to get me to plot with her.
“We are going to have to corrupt her, Carly. She’s gorgeous and quiet and maybe even religious and has never tasted an ounce of booze in her life. I’m pretty sure she’s also a virgin. The girl needs our help!”
I giggle as we conspire to take her clubbing by the weekend. I tell Ally that I love to dance, that it’s awesome for stress relief. She promises to scope out some local clubs.
When we get to the office, after just ten minutes on the road, Ally signs a company charge account slip that the cabbie presented to me, as if saving me from him. She had given me a knowing look prior to that because it was obvious he was watching me in the rearview mirror.
Her taking the mini clipboard only makes it more awkward for me, because he smiles at me the whole time she‘s signing. After he leaves, waving bye to us, she urges me to the side of the building, so she can have a before-work vaping session.
The building is a hexagon hi-rise with the company’s big C logo on the crown of the art-deco style concrete building. At the side is a glass shelter with an ashtray can inside along with a little bench. This is their head office and they have smaller offices in Manhattan and Miami, too.
Ally pulls her metallic baby pink vape (that matches her hair) out and the space around us fills with thick strawberry-scented fog.
Five minutes later, we’r
e in the lobby, getting met by Alice, who gets our photos taken to replace our visitor keycard badges and then takes us to the top floor.
She explains that there are other companies with suites in this building. Carmichael, which employees refer to as CC, has the first two floors, the third floor, and the top two floors, but the company is growing by leaps and bounds and so as the tenants’ leases expire, CC is slowing taking those suites back over.
The lobby has a Starbucks coffee cart. The neighborhood is great, with shops and restaurants all around as well as parks, making me feel optimistic about lots of places to hang out on lunch breaks.
I’m stoked for this new job. It’s a great building and lots of people looking busy and cheerful for a Monday morning so that speaks good things about the morale of the place. I see younger creative types as well as those in business attire looking like accounting or IT types.
Alice is a sweet, youthful, sultry fifty-something redheaded lady with a great Boho style and a British accent. She shows us to our cubicles, which are side-by-side and have half-walls, so we’ve got semi-private work areas, but the cubicle farm design means you can pop up like a prairie dog to talk to your neighbors. This is how Alice describes it, telling us the corporate culture at CC is an open, fun, and collaborative environment.
If we don’t want to work at our cubes, the main floor lobby has an atrium that’s open and filled with couches and beanbag chairs, and employees are welcome to work down there. Each cubicle has a name tag plate and a blank metal plate that has colored magnets system with “meeting”, “lunch”, “offsite meeting”, “atrium”, or “gone fishing” so you can put a magnet on the name plate to show we’re you are, if you’re not at your desk.
Alice says, “If there’s no magnet on your name plate, we expect to find you within shouting distance.”
Alice then tells us that we are in the marketing area and there are a handful of cubes near two offices, which she says belong to the marketing director, George, who is on leave of absence for the next nine to twelve weeks after having surgery, which I knew about, and which is partly why I was rushed here with such a fast turnaround to help with their online marketing. The other office, the one right behind my cubicle, (an end cubicle, and I’ve got one tall wall and one short one, the one between my and Ally’s cubes) belongs to the marketing VP, Aiden Carmichael.
