Enchanted, Inc

by Shanna Swendson

  "Is that meeting on my calendar?"

  "Yes, it is," I told her, trying to give April a break. "Remember, I checked with you about that last week?" As soon as I said it, I knew it was a huge mistake. Everyone else in the room tensed. They all knew how badly I'd goofed. Mimi couldn't handle being questioned or criticized, not even something as mild as pointing out something she'd forgotten.

  I got even more nervous when she didn't immediately turn into Evil Mimi. Instead, she just nodded and said, "Okay. Be sure to send me a reminder. Leah?"

  In her drugged calm tone, Leah said, "We should get last week's clips from the agency by close of business today. And we'll get the first draft of the new product release tomorrow."

  Mimi nodded. "I want to see those as soon as you get them." I made a note of Leah's report and the action item as Mimi turned to Janice, who visibly flinched.

  "Any news from events?" Mimi asked. Janice had been on her hit list for a long time, thus the nervous tic and the fact that Mimi never called her by name. None of us, not even Janice, was sure what Janice had done wrong.

  "We're still getting estimates on locations for the product launch. There isn't much within our budget that's large enough but still nice."

  Mimi turned to the rest of us. "Does anyone here have any ideas for the launch? The events staff needs all the help it can get."

  I had an idea, but I hated to get Janice in trouble by bringing up something when she didn't have any ideas. Still, in this department it was every man for himself. I had no doubt that every one of these people would be willing to throw me to the wolves to keep Mimi off their backs. "I—I think I may have something," I said. Every head snapped toward me, and I had second thoughts about speaking up. Technically, I wasn't even present at this meeting other than as a note taker.

  Fortunately, Mimi didn't look displeased at my breach of protocol. "Yes, Katie?" she said. I suspected she was enjoying Janice looking bad more than she was mad at me.

  I took a deep breath and forced myself to be conscious of my accent. One hint of drawl and my idea would be shot down like a clay pigeon. "I've found that if you try to do something too fancy-looking without the budget that goes with it, you just end up looking cheap. Let's face it, serving low-budget shrimp puffs is just asking for food poisoning. What if we do something that's supposed to look cheap? Instead of doing a ritzy cocktail party, have a picnic or cookout. Grill hot dogs and serve beer and have a few nostalgic picnic-type activities, like sack races or bobbing for apples. Adults get a real kick out of an excuse to act like kids, and you can give a lot of people a good time they'll remember without spending much money." We'd done customer appreciation days like that at the store, but I knew better than to mention the store. It might be real-world experience, but it would detract from my credibility.

  They all stared at me in silence when I was through. Finally, Mimi said in her most acid tone, "That may work down in Grover's Comers, or wherever it is you're from, but we have different standards in New York." I knew now wasn't the time to point out that the play she'd referred to took place in New Hampshire, not Texas, or that my idea would probably be even more successful in New York than in Texas. Why else do so many easterners pay outrageous sums of money to vacation at dude ranches? It must be a huge relief to take a break from trying so hard to be jaded and sophisticated.

  I glanced around the table to see if I had any support, but they were all rolling their eyes or snickering. Once again I'd branded myself as a hick who was totally out of touch with the New York business world. I silently prayed for a surprise fire drill, but the meeting went on as if I hadn't said anything.

  Joel had the final report. "The sales force met last week to prep for the launch.

  We've got our collateral printed and ready to go. We'll just need to see the news release so we'll know what the press will be seeing."

  Mimi fixed him with a killer glare. "Why wasn't I at that meeting? And why didn't I get sign-off of the collateral?"

  Joel stared her down. "Because last time you were invited to one of our meetings you said it was a waste of time and told us to leave you out from here on. As for collateral, that's not your responsibility."

  The rest of us looked for cover. I wouldn't have been at all surprised if Mimi's eyes had turned red, her skin had turned green, and little horns popped out of the top of her head. Collateral was a sore spot with her. In most companies it fell under the responsibility of the marketing director, but ever since she signed off on a brochure that misspelled the company's name and the product name on the cover, that responsibility had been transferred to Sales. She had never recovered from the slight.

  "I don't have time for your little sales meetings, anyway," she said stiffly before abruptly dismissing the meeting. She was out the door before the rest of us could collect our wits and make our own escapes.

  "Nice going," Janice muttered to Joel as we trooped out of the conference room.

  "You just had to stir her up, didn't you?"

  "It's funny when her eyes pop out like that," he said with a grin. Janice twitched.

  "I'll have to see how many excuses I can find to send her down to Sales today," I said. They all looked at me with a combination of pity and scorn, making me feel like I'd have to stretch to reach a grasshopper's knees. I didn't expect them to stand up for me in front of Mimi, but I'd hoped they'd acknowledge the value of my idea behind her back. No such luck.

  I dreaded the rest of the day. Mimi was already ticked at me for reminding her that she'd okayed the meeting she was ready to grill April about; I'd put my foot in my mouth by daring to offer a suggestion; and then Joel had set her off. I'd be stuck with Evil Mimi for an indefinite period of time. When I got back to my cube, I noticed her office door was shut. With any luck, she'd spend the next half hour on the phone with Werner, sobbing about how horrible her day had been so far and how her terrible staff was so mean and nasty to her.

  I put my notepad next to my computer and sank into my desk chair, trying to remember why I put up with this job. At first it hadn't seemed so bad. Mimi had greeted me like a long-lost sister and gave every impression that she would be a mentor who would ease my way into the business world, as well as a best friend and soul mate. Then I made the mistake of correcting the horrendous spelling and grammar on a memo she'd written and running it back by her to approve my changes. That was the first time I saw Evil Mimi. Since then I found that on good days she was as friendly as I could hope. But the moment she was revealed to be less than perfect, she went nuts. I learned to just correct the memos before sending them and not let her know I was cleaning up her mess.

  Why did I want this job? Oh yeah, that six hundred bucks a month for my share of the rent on a one-bedroom apartment that three of us shared. Not to mention several levels of income taxes, my share of utilities, food, transportation, and all the other little expenses that added up to consume my meager paycheck. I was barely getting by on my salary. Without a salary, my roommates were sure to get rid of me, even if we had been friends since college, and I'd have to go home to Texas, proving to my parents that I couldn't make it in the big city after all.

  There were even days—like today—when I had to remind myself why that would be so bad. It wasn't as though I'd been unhappy at home. I'd just felt like I wanted something more. I didn't know what, not yet. I hoped there was something big out there with my name on it that would never have found me while I stayed in that little town. If I went back to Texas on anything other than my own terms, with some kind of business or personal success under my belt, I'd look like a failure. Worse, I'd feel like a failure.

  Mimi was a small price to pay to avoid that. But it wouldn't hurt to start looking for another job, now that I had some non-feed-and-seed experience under my belt. It would be easier to hide my roots at the next job because they wouldn't have known me when I was straight out of Texas. That would have to make things better.

  The new mail indicator was blinking on my computer. I clicked on
my e-mail program and saw a message saying, "Job opportunity." I knew it was probably spam, offering me the chance to work at home stuffing envelopes or something lame like that, but given the day I'd already had, I opened it.

  "Dear Kathleen Chandler," it said, "Your experience and work ethic have come to our attention, and we believe you would be the perfect fit for our firm. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity you can't afford to pass up. I can promise you'll never receive a comparable offer, in New York City or anywhere else. Please reply via e-mail or call at your earliest convenience to schedule an interview."

  It was signed, "Rodney A. Gwaltney director of personnel, MSI, Inc." A Manhattan phone number was under his name.

  I stared at the e-mail for a good, long time. It was very, very tempting, and it might not hurt to find out more, but one thing I'd learned in my small-town business experience was that if things sound too good to be true, they probably are. I couldn't think of any reason anyone outside my company would have the slightest idea who I was to know anything about my experience and work ethic.

  With a disappointed sigh, I deleted the e-mail. The last thing I needed was for Mimi to accidentally see a job offer open on my computer screen. I promised myself that I'd borrow my roommate Marcia's computer that evening to search the online job listings and get myself out of this loony bin as soon as humanly possible.

  two

  I would have walked home from work that day even if I hadn't been desperately trying to save money. On bad days the long walk up Broadway lets me blow off some steam, while the varied sights, sounds, and smells provide enough transition between work and home that work seems like it belongs to another lifetime by the time I get home. If I just go belowground after leaving the office and emerge aboveground at home, I'm still in work mode when I get home, and I hate subjecting my roommates to that. Cringing isn't a good look for me, and I didn't want them knowing just how bad things were. The last thing I needed was them sending me home because they were worried about me not being cut out for New York after all.

  I was still muttering curses at Mimi under my breath as I changed shoes in the building lobby. Then I stepped outside, cut across to Broadway and began the long hike. The day had only gone downhill after the staff meeting, and more than once I'd been tempted to retrieve that job offer from deleted mail, even if I knew it had to be a scam. A nineteenth-century sweatshop seemed like a saner working environment than laboring under La Diva Mimi.

  I'd calmed down a lot by the time I crossed Houston Street. Now I could see the spire of Grace Church ahead of me and I knew I was almost home. I cut across to Fourth Avenue one street before the church because there was sometimes a gargoyle on that church that really wigged me out. It wasn't the gargoyle itself that gave me the creeps. It was the "sometimes" part that unnerved me. Gargoyles are carved of stone and should be part of the building. If one is there, you should see it all the time, not just on an occasional basis.

  This church didn't usually have gargoyles at all, just carved faces. But every so often there was a classic winged, clawed gargoyle sitting over a doorway or on a roof ridge, and I always felt like it was looking at me. I knew that wasn't one of those weird New York things that everyone talks about, so I preferred to avoid the situation entirely.

  A couple of blocks up Fourth, I noticed a costume shop next to a magic and fantasy shop, and I had to laugh at myself. That explained the girl with the wings. She must have been an employee, doing a little advertising by showing the wares around town.

  It didn't explain why she seemed to know those two men on the train, but then again, Mr. Right had got on at the same station, so maybe he lived in the neighborhood.

  They must have been neighbors.

  And the magic shop may have had something to do with the gargoyle. It was an illusion, or maybe a prop, put on the church as a practical joke and removed before anyone in authority caught on.

  I felt much less like I was going crazy when I reached my building and unlocked the front door. By the time I made it up the stairs to my apartment, I'd managed to put both work and the weirdness of the day out of my mind. I'd barely had time to get the windows open so the place could air out when my roommate Gemma came home. She worked longer hours than I did, but she'd never do anything so crazy as walk home from work. Not in the shoes she usually wore.

  She kicked off her high-heeled sandals inside the front door and stretched out her calves. "Is that what you're wearing?" she asked.

  "Huh?"

  "You must not have seen the e-mail I sent."

  "Nope, sorry. Every time I tried to log on, Mimi stuck her head in my cube to demand something." I used a Web-based e-mail service for personal mail at work, since I knew getting personal e-mail on the company system would be asking for trouble from Mimi. Better safe than give her an excuse to yell.

  "You have got to get another job."

  "I know," I moaned as she went into the kitchen and took a bottle of water out of the refrigerator. For a moment I considered telling her about the e-mailed job offer, but I knew she'd just laugh at me. "So, what's going on and what should I be wearing?"

  She came back into the living room and curled up on the other end of the sofa, tucking her bare feet up under her. "Dinner out, the three of us and Connie." Connie was our other friend from school who'd moved up here with Gemma and Marcia.

  When she got married and moved out, the other two invited me to come to New York.

  "What's the special occasion?"

  "I have news." Her expression remained enigmatic, and I knew Gemma well enough to know that I wouldn't get any more than that out of her until she was ready to spill.

  My stomach tightened up into a knot. I wondered if my worst fears were about to come true. She wasn't dating anyone seriously, so I doubted she was getting married and moving out, but maybe she'd been promoted and was moving to a loft in SoHo or someplace infinitely more fashionable than our dingy little apartment.

  "Is there a reason I need to dress up?" I asked. It was hard enough to choose one outfit a day.

  "It never hurts to make every outing into an occasion. You never know who you'll run into." Gemma was our self-declared social director, determined to make the rest of us experience life in New York to the fullest. Otherwise, she insisted, we might as well have just found jobs in Dallas or Houston.

  She was right, though. You never knew who you'd run into, like movie stars or musicians. Or Mr. Right from the subway, who might live nearby, even if he was a little weird. I got up and headed back to the bedroom. "Any suggestions?"

  She bounced to her feet. This was her area of expertise. After all, she did work in the fashion industry.

  By the time Marcia got home we were both dressed to kill. Wearing a borrowed sweater of Gemma's, I felt almost glamorous, even though I knew I was a total plain Jane next to the rest of the crowd. I certainly wasn't unattractive, but I was extremely ordinary. I wasn't short enough to be delicate and petite like Connie, and I wasn't tall enough to be striking like Gemma. My hair was somewhere between blond and brunette, not short, but not long, and my eyes weren't quite green, but not quite blue, either. On the bright side, if I ever staged an armed robbery, witnesses would have a hard time giving an accurate description that didn't sound like half the city.

  While Marcia changed clothes, Connie showed up. She was all a-bubble, which made me suspect that whatever Gemma was up to, Connie was in on it. That made me relax ever so slightly. It probably had something to do with setting all of us up on blind dates. That wasn't my idea of fun, but it was better than suddenly having to come up with an extra couple of hundred bucks a month because Gemma was moving out.

  We got a sidewalk table at a little cafe on St. Mark's Place in the East Village.

  Gemma ordered the first round of drinks. "This round's on me," she insisted. That meant she was really up to something.

  Once we'd all drunk enough to have any edges taken off, Gemma and Connie exchanged a look, then Gemma turned to us. "I hav
e great news!" she said.

  Now Marcia and I exchanged a look. "What is it?" Marcia asked suspiciously.

  "We all have dates for this weekend."

  "We do?" I asked. We all had dates almost every weekend, not because we were particularly popular, but because Gemma loved playing matchmaker. She was always setting us up on blind dates, and she'd accept any setup offer for herself that came her way.

  "They're friends of Jim's," Connie explained, referring to her financial whiz husband.

  "That way, Jim and I can come along, and the guys will all know each other like we all know each other. It'll be fun."

  It sounded like dating in junior high to me, but I kept my mouth shut. At least this way I'd still have someone to talk to, even if the date bombed.

  Before Marcia had a chance to react, the waiter appeared with a tray of drinks. "We haven't ordered another round yet," Gemma protested.

  "These are compliments of that gentleman over there," the waiter said as he set the drinks in front of us. We all turned to see a man sitting by himself at another table on the sidewalk. I almost fell out of my chair, for it was Slick from the subway.

  I turned back to my friends, who were practically drooling on the table, even Connie, the married one. "Well, hello," Gemma murmured, crossing her long legs so her miniskirt crept a little higher. Marcia leaned forward against the table, enhancing her cleavage. Connie smiled and played with her hair. I looked back at him, but he was just as oily as I remembered from the subway. There was obviously something I wasn't getting.

  I leaned closer to the others and whispered, "Is he someone I should know?"

  "Why do you ask?" Marcia asked, not taking her eyes off Slick.

  "Because y'all are staring at him like he's Johnny Depp."

  "Mmm, Johnny Depp would be an accurate comparison," Gemma said. "You don't think it is Johnny Depp, do you?"

  "Doesn't he live in Paris?" Connie asked.

  I looked back at the guy, just to make sure I wasn't crazy, but it looked like I wasn't the one with mental health issues here. "Are you crazy?" I asked. "He doesn't look anything like Johnny Depp, not even when he gets all icky-looking for a role."