Her Last Chance

by Stephanie Belafonte

  Her Last Chance

  Stephanie Belafonte

  Copyright © 2014 by Stephanie Belafonte.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Her Last Chance / Stephanie Belafonte. — 1st ed.

  CHAPTER ONE

  I’m still having trouble believing all this happened.

  Let’s back up a bit, right to the point where losing my job, the only one I could get, was the worst thing possible. The timing absolutely could not have been worse, but it was also a blessing in disguise. For a while.

  At least until people got hurt.

  I sat at my desk that morning, waiting on the first call of the day to come in and not looking forward to whatever reaming would be on the other end of the line. Mondays were always like that. When you work the phones for a manufacturing company that’s too cheap to provide customer service on the weekends, you get some seriously pissed off people once the support lines go live at eight a.m.

  Somehow, for the first time in months, I’d gotten in early. Joey had downed his pureed peaches and oatmeal, hadn’t fought me when I tried to get him in the car seat, and had practically leapt into Dreama’s arms when I dropped him off, you know, instead of the usual top-of-his-lungs screaming. The separation anxiety was in full swing, and we couldn’t let mama out of our sight, no sir.

  His father, Marcus, was in his mid-thirties—this Peter Pan type who never took to the idea of settling down with the pretty twenty-year-old he got pregnant after a night out at the clubs. We lasted for about six months living in the same apartment, but life with a pregnant girl was too “constricting” he’d said, and out he went—so fast that I was sure I saw the curtains flutter in his wake.

  Anyway, I sat there in my cubicle, staring at the time on the phone’s digital display. One minute to go. I took a few deep breaths, steeling myself for the inevitable flurry of curse words from the first customer, and reached up with my hand hovering over the answer button on my headset.

  It rang before the time reached eight o’clock, which I thought was strange, but I answered it because that’s what I got paid to do.

  “Harrison Manufacturing, this is Kim, how can I service you today?” Do I have to tell you how subservient that sounded? I had fought to have the managers change our greeting, but I think the all-male leadership got off on it. They probably imagined the rest of the ladies and me on our knees, pulling their zippers down, begging for our jobs as we said, “How can I service you today, sir?”

  “Kim, can you come into my office for a sec?” I recognized the familiar voice.

  Ronnie, the department head. Generally a jackass, but easy to manipulate.

  “Sure,” I said, “be right there.” I hung up and wondered what he wanted—probably to flirt with me like always, but at eight o’clock on a Monday, it was too early for him to be his usual slimy self. After the last round of layoffs I’d taken to flirting back, hoping to keep my job a little longer while I looked for something else. Six months later, I was still on shaky ground and nowhere close to finding a different job.

  Of course it was demeaning, pretending to laugh at his bad jokes and giggling when he drunkenly patted my ass at the Christmas party, but a girl’s gotta do, you know? I would do whatever it took, short of servicing him, because I had bills and a hungry child’s mouth to feed.

  You do what you can when it’s necessary.

  I kept telling myself that over and over, but I had no idea where it would eventually lead.

  I stood up from my desk chair and straightened my blue top (the one that showed off my cleavage), and opened an extra button. By chance, mostly because I didn’t have anything else clean, I’d worn my shortest skirt. Seriously, it never came out of the closet.

  And thank God for good genes, right? Having a baby at twenty-one meant a lot of things went back to where they were supposed to without too much effort. I watched what I ate and found time to exercise a couple times a week. Mostly I was lucky, and I had no problem admitting it.

  My mother, Dreama, she had four of us and managed to run marathons. Still does. If it weren’t for the scar along her midriff—where they’d pulled me out, screaming into the world—you’d never guess that she’d been pregnant a day in her life.

  So with the blue top, short skirt, and wedge heels that really gave some pop to my calves, I headed down the hall toward Ronnie’s office.

  Trust me, I know how bad this sounds, but for a little extra insurance I ducked into the bathroom and took off my panties, because why not? I don’t know whether I was naïve, delusional, or desperate; but in my mind, I thought a quick peek might keep me employed for another few months.

  With no pockets to stash them in, I wrapped them in a handful of paper towels, wadded the whole thing up and then shoved it deep into the trashcan.

  I checked my teeth in the mirror and smoothed out an eyebrow, then took note of how much more I looked like my mother with every passing day. Not a bad thing, by any means. She was still turning heads at fifty-two. I got her honey-blonde hair and blue eyes, but dad’s chin. It’s those imperfections that make us who we are.

  Satisfied that I was ready to play the part of company tease, I readjusted my bra to give my breasts some more lift, made a kissy-face at the mirror, and then headed for Ronnie’s office to secure my livelihood.

  He seemed distracted when I walked in. No, not distracted. Nervous, maybe? I couldn’t say for sure. Normally, Ronnie was such an open book that you could tell whether the guy was thirsty for either soda or coffee simply by the expression on his face.

  He stuttered a pathetic, “H-h-hi, Kim. Come on in. Have a seat,” and motioned for me to sit down across from him. Ronnie, he was tall and very well could’ve been handsome fifteen years ago, maybe as little as ten. I tried to imagine how he’d been back in his early twenties. Thin, tanned, maybe with a set of abs you could crush diamonds on, and round biceps that struggled against a t-shirt.

  Using my imagination made the flirting easier, because now he had a receding hairline, a belly that pushed against the lower buttons of his crisp shirt, and dark bags under his eyes.

  Subtly, or maybe not so much, I pulled the chair away from the desk, back far enough where I could sit and make a show of crossing my legs, giving him the Basic Instinct treatment.

  Don’t get me wrong—I didn’t like the guy, not in the slightest, yet I felt a tingling between my legs wondering whether or not he’d gotten a good look.

  That part was fun. What came next wasn’t.

  “Kim, I’m sure you know that we really value you as an employee. You’re one of the best we have.”

  “Thanks.” The tingling disappeared and in its place, I got butterflies in my stomach. Conversations that start with compliments don’t typically go well. That’s something that comes at the end, something to give you a boost after you’ve been reprimanded. I said, “I really appreciate that,” because I didn’t know what else to say, even though I knew what was coming.

  “We have some budget issues this year and…” Ronnie rubbed his eyes and then put a hand over his mouth. He looked up at the ceiling and shook hi
s head.

  The truth was, I knew this was going to happen eventually, so I was prepared. I just hadn’t expected it so soon. I had some savings, there would be unemployment to rely on for a while, and I could always move back in with Dreama if Joey and I needed a place to stay. But, I hated accepting charity when I knew I was perfectly capable of taking care of things myself; yet sometimes you just have to sprinkle a dash of sugar on the spoonful of pride and swallow it with a humility chaser.

  Ronnie said, “Don’t take this personally, because really, you’re wonderful.”

  That didn’t soothe the stinging I felt. No matter how prepared you are, that feeling of being rejected or not good enough to keep around still comes with a bite.

  I’d had enough of that feeling sitting around the family dinner table.

  “We have to let you go. I hope you understand. It’s not you. Really, it’s not just you. If those bastards from Taiwan could get their act together…” His words trailed off as he shook his head again.

  I wanted to be mad. Should have been mad, but I understood. It’s how things worked in the corporate world. In somebody’s mind, some upper-level suit that was looking at the bottom line and all those red numbers, it made more sense to unload five employees who collectively made a hundred thousand a year and ruin five lives, than it did to get rid of one job-redundant, mid-level manager earning the same amount.

  They never explained that to me in my MBA classes.

  Why was I working as a first-tier customer support rep when I’d gotten my undergrad degree two years early and finished an MBA program (on top of being pregnant), while most coeds my age were happy to get into a bar with a real ID? They also never explained to me that everybody and their mother had an MBA. It’s the equivalent of the undergrad degree from three decades ago.

  I sighed and nodded, told Ronnie that I was disappointed, but that I’d be okay. I was relieved too, partly because the possibility of losing my job had been hanging around my neck like a fifty-pound weight for the last six months. Basically, I was glad that it was over. The bandage had been ripped away without taking too much skin.

  And speaking of skin, I scooted up to the edge of my seat and spread my legs. The skirt rode up and made a perfect, look-here frame around all the pretty parts. “Well, then,” I said, “it’s been nice working with you, Ronnie.” I inched my knees further apart. “Don’t forget me.” I smiled my best fake smile and stood up.

  Ronnie looked dazed, like someone had pushed the pause button on his brain. He swallowed. Gulped, really.

  Why did I do it?

  Even though I was on my way out, it felt good to be the one in control. Too good, honestly, because I think that’s where it all started. That tiny flicker in the back of my mind, like a single lightning bug in a wide-open field, led to so many bigger things. But, bigger is not necessarily better.

  People have told me I’m pretty—beautiful even—my whole life, but if you put me in a pageant next to my three sisters, well, one of the four doesn’t belong on the stage. And guess which one that is? I was the smart one, am the smart one, and I hid behind glasses, braces, and ponytails up until about two years ago.

  The first time I let my girlfriends talk me into going out, the first time I dared to put on heels and a dress, to let my hair down (literally), it resulted in my treasure, my Joey. Makes me think that if I’d put on makeup for the first time when I was sixteen, instead of twenty, my world would’ve been a lot different.

  Mostly it was because of the attention I got that night. I mean, I’d had sex before, if you want to call it that, but I’d never had so many men lusting over me. It felt good, damn good, and I went home with the first one (Marcus) that bought me a drink. But I wasn’t in control. Nowhere near being in control. He was handsome, and rough, and drunk. I shut my eyes tight and let him do whatever he wanted.

  No…that control, that power, came in the single moment when Ronnie absolutely couldn’t find the right words, any words, and it was the genesis of a revelation.

  A revelation that led to so many dangerous things.

  CHAPTER TWO

  By the time I got back to my desk, my company-issued laptop was gone and so was everything else that officially belonged to Harrison Manufacturing. They’d even taken the goddamn stapler—the one that I’d bought with my own money. Someone, probably Ted from HR, had been nice enough to pack up my personal things in a small box. It wasn’t much: my framed pictures of Joey, a small flowerpot, and various other odds and ends, like one of those foam balls you squeeze to relieve stress.

  As I walked toward the front door, I noticed six more empty cubes along the way. Six more laptops missing, and six more boxes packed with various knickknacks.

  Jesus, they’re really cleaning house today.

  I added up everyone that had gotten the proverbial axe: Melanie, Laura, Jane, Willow, Beth, and Tracy, all gone—or would be gone—as soon as they were done swallowing the bitter pill. I considered each one of them a friend and made a mental note to call to commiserate with them later that day, after we’d all had time to process what had just happened.

  On my way out to the parking lot I called Dreama to give her the bad news.

  “Hi, Kim,” she answered. “How’s the morning going?”

  “Mom—”

  “Hang on, let me put you on speaker.” There was a short pause and then she said, “Say hi, Joey. Say hi to your mama.” He gurgled something that made my mother laugh.

  “Hi, buddy. Hi, Joey,” I said, but got no response.

  Dreama said, “What’s up?”

  “Bad news, Mom. The layoff flu went around this morning.”

  “Oh no! Did some of your friends get laid off?”

  “Yeah. Six of them. And…” I didn’t know why, but I had trouble making myself say it. I’d made it to my car by that point and sat the box on top. Admitting some level of defeat to my near-perfect mother was another notch in the “you’re-not-as-good-as-your-sisters” belt. It was raining too, and that didn’t help my mood.

  “And…what?”

  I could already hear the disappointment in her voice. She wasn’t very good at hiding it. My sisters, Sharon, Samantha, and Sophie, had never gotten that tone a day in their lives; to say that I was the black sheep was an understatement. I mean, come on, even my name didn’t start with the same letter as Dreama’s Terrific Trio.

  I suspected that since I wasn’t a boy, like my mother had so desperately hoped for, she carried around some level of resentment that morphed into a set of expectations that nobody could live up to. Something along the lines of, “If you’re not what I wanted, you’ll never be what I wanted.”

  To this day it’s like that, even after everything I accomplished in high school, college, and grad school. Don’t get me wrong—I love her and she loves me—family ties and all that, but our bond will never reach what she has with my sisters.

  It’s not a bad relationship, but it’s not a good one, either.

  I opened the car door and climbed inside, then wiped the raindrops from my face. I could feel my wet hair clinging to my neck. “And…I caught it too, unfortunately. Good severance package though. Full pay and benefits for the next five months.”

  Back in Ronnie’s office, he hadn’t needed a lot of encouragement to give me some extra help. Everyone else would be getting four weeks, poor ladies, but I figured my show had given him the incentive he was looking for. Yet another nibble of power and control.

  “Kim,” she whined, “really?”

  “It’s not that bad. I’ll find something.”

  “Well, I can’t say I didn’t expect this.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, even though I knew exactly what it meant. Sometimes I had to at least pretend that I didn’t know I was a constant disappointment.

  “Honey, you were expendable. I told you that over and over. You’ve got an MBA for Christ’s sake. I don’t understand why you’d put yourself in that position.”

  “
What position?”

  “A position that has no value to the people who make the decisions. It was right there in black and white.”

  “So this is my fault?” I started the car and turned the heat on, angling the air vent toward my face. As I looked up at the office, Jane and Willow walked out carrying their boxes. I waved and tried to smile. They tried to smile back, but I could see the surprise on their faces as it turned to understanding. If the star of their department had lost her job as well, they never stood a chance. It wasn’t bravado. It was the truth.

  “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “Yeah, Mom, that’s exactly what you’re saying. Look, can we talk about this later? Are you okay with watching Joey for a couple of hours? I need to go clear my head a bit.”

  “Fine. Take your time. He’ll be ready for his morning nap soon. But when you come by, I want to talk about this. Your father and I…we can—”

  “Mom…never mind. We’ll talk when I get there. I won’t be long.”

  We said our goodbyes and hung up. I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye. I don’t know what I expected. Maybe something along the lines of sympathy. Hearing someone say “I’m sorry,” goes a long way, but she’d reacted how she always does, and I should’ve known better.

  Twenty minutes later, I parked outside of my favorite coffee shop, the one with art deco paintings on the walls, modern design tables, and couches so plush and deep that it felt like they were made of clouds. I twisted my wet hair into a bun and dashed inside, trying to skip over the parking lot puddles in my heels, nearly twisting an ankle.

  I stepped inside the doorway and let the thick aroma of coffee beans envelop me, inhaling deep and savoring the scent. (If you’re a coffee drinker, is there anything better?)

  Since it was close to nine a.m., the place was packed with patrons who hadn’t made it into work yet and a gaggle of retired old men taking up three tables in the back. The same group was there every morning, drinking their black coffees and talking about the good old days, discussing how well a friend had responded to treatment or golf handicaps.