The Sleeping Beauty Proposal

by Sarah Strohmeyer

  It would have been lovely to carry them downstairs and, with much flourish, drop the entire box at his feet so everyone would get the point that he’d been practically married to me when he proposed to Connie.

  This is the fantasy I’m entertaining when my phone rings, causing me to jump so hard I spill the entire contents of Kara Wesko’s file. It’s Alice and I bet she’s buzzing to tell me how she knew all along my engagement was a fraud and how Margery Rothman and Karen Caruso have now officially kicked me out of the Married Ladies’ Club.

  “Prepare yourself,” Alice says.

  I swallow hard, preparing myself. “What’s the word?”

  “Bill’s on the warpath. Whatever you said to that girl from Jersey must have been a whopper. She came down the stairs whining about you badgering her or whatever, so now Bill’s trying to calm her down and also her father, who happens to be a potential bene.”

  Bene is admissions shorthand for benefactor. Terrific.As if I didn’t have enough problems to worry about already.

  Oh, well, at least Alice didn’t bring up Hugh. Maybe he hasn’t shown up after all. My imagination running wild and all that.

  I ask, “Is Connie back?”

  “Uh-huh. Have you seen her?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, you’re in for a shock. She’s sporting a real shiner. The biggest one I’ve ever seen.”

  The Spencer family diamond. I knew it, just knew it. The bling of all blings. Hugh told me once it had been passed down from King Edward to his mistress, Hugh’s great-grandmother Loria. He used to say it would be mine one day and that, together, we’d remove it from the Royal Vault in London and all the vault people would gather around smiling at us because only a Spencer truly in love would bestow the cherished Spencer diamond on a non-Spencer.

  “You okay? ’Cause I know the suspense must be killing you,” Alice says.

  The truth is I am not okay. I am tied up in knots over whether to confront Connie immediately and get it over with or simmer on low until I explode.The Spencer diamond indeed.

  “I’m fine.”

  Alice cracks her gum.“Keep telling yourself that.And remember my mantra: Fuck ’em if they can’t take a joke.”

  “Didn’t you have that made into a bumper sticker for Trey?”

  “Yeah. When he was in the tank. Only it didn’t go over with the cops that great.”

  Connie’s door slams shut and I get off the phone with Alice. That’s it. It’s now or never. No point in prolonging the pain.

  But first—makeup. Pulling a hand mirror from my top drawer, I brush out my hair and redo my ponytail, smack some Clinique Honey Blush on my lips, and refresh my charcoal eyeliner.

  You’ve got to look good to bitch good.

  Then I march across to Connie’s office and rap my knuckles on the door.

  “Come in,” she calls out laconically.

  Hugh’s adoration fills the room. Flowers. Tons of them. White lilies. White roses. Freesias in pink, yellow, and orange. Plus lilies I’ve seen only in National Geographic. The perfume is so sickeningly sweet I nearly pass out, despite Connie’s air-conditioner running full blast.

  He really went overboard. Probably guessed I’d be in Connie’s office first thing and wanted to be sure the message got across. This is the woman I love now. And to think I was beside myself the time he once sent me a half-dozen roses. Cheap date and cheap ditch. That’s me.

  “Hello, Connie.”

  Connie keeps her perfectly coiffed blond head bent over whatever essay she’s reading as if I’m not even there. Probably she’s just too ashamed to face me and, really, who can blame her.

  “Please, go,” she says.

  All right. Apparently Connie is not familiar with the old expression “Pride goeth before a fall.” “No, I won’t go. You and I have to clear the air.”

  “I don’t want to clear the air.” Coolly, she flips a page and moves on to something else in her file. “I know why you’re here. You know why you’re here. Therefore, we have nothing more to talk about, Genie. Let’s try to get through this period the best we can until it’s over.”

  Amazing. Not even engaged two months and already their relationship is ending. Which proves a lingering suspicion I had that Connie, never enamored with British men, stole Hugh just to spite me. “And how soon, exactly, do you think it’ll be over?”

  “Any day now.The writing’s on the wall.”

  And then will Hugh come back to me? Or did he use Connie as an excuse to end our relationship? Some men are like that— can’t leave unless there’s another woman in the wings. Especially Hugh, who has definite mommy issues.

  “Maybe you don’t understand what I’ve been through, Connie. This experience has been really painful.”

  “No more painful for you than for me.”

  I take a few steps closer, hoping she’ll stop with the paperwork and pay attention to our conversation. “Really? No matter what you’ve been through, the man you loved did not announce on national television that he was marrying someone else and then admit that after four years in a relationship he was never sexually attracted to you. Now that’s pain. Not yours, mine.”

  Slowly, Connie raises her big blue eyes and I let out a gasp before I can stop myself. Her eyes . . .

  “Are you talking about Hugh Spencer, the Hugh Spencer, your future husband?”

  Her left hand, which, until now, has been hidden by one leaf of the manila folder, is mostly bare.There is no Spencer diamond. There is no diamond at all. Just the dinky silver band she always wears.

  Oh, shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. There’s an excellent chance I might have just made one terrible mistake.

  “Or are you talking about what I’m talking about?” she asks, tapping her pen.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about me taking over Kevin’s position.” Connie squints, an act that must be hard to do with those swollen cheeks. “But it sounds to me as if you’re talking about something else. Are you saying that when Hugh proposed . . . it wasn’t to you?”

  “I ... I . . . ” I feel faint, queasy. Of all people to confess my secret to, Connie Robeson would be my very last choice. But that’s what I’ve done. I’ve told her the truth and now it’ll be a matter of days—hours?—before the whole campus knows, too.

  Panicked, I search for a topic change that will knock her for a loop, and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.“What happened to your face?”

  Connie self-consciously touches her purple cheek.“It’s a long story and no one’s business.”

  All these flowers everywhere. On the bookshelves. The windowsill. Even on top of the window air-conditioner. Possibly from someone feeling very, very guilty. “Did some man . . . beat you?”

  “You might say that. His name is Dr. Hakell.”

  “A doctor beat you?”

  “More like cut me and mangled me. Of course, if I’d known he had an addiction to prescription painkillers, I might have gotten a second opinion before I let him near me with the knife.”

  The words don’t add up until on further inspection I see her tiny pink scars.

  “Plastic surgery?”

  “Gone wrong.Very wrong. Even when he tried to correct it the surgery went wrong. There. Now you know. I’m suing him and he’s trying to butter me up with flowers and various bribes, but nothing can change the fact that until I can rest up for more surgery I am stuck with this face.”

  “It’s not so bad. Really.”

  “Please. My eyes may be black and blue, but I can still see my reflection.”

  So, that’s why Connie was in England and why Alice didn’t want anyone to know where she went. Also, why Alice shot me that look during the meeting when Bill inquired about Connie. Alice was covering for her and the look was so that I’d shut up.

  Poor, poor Connie. What an awful thing to have happened. And she was so beautiful, too. There was no need for plastic surgery. I should hug her, let her know we all love
her just the way she is.

  "Oh, Connie!” I cry, rushing over to her with open arms.

  “Don’t touch me.” She pushes me away so hard I fly back into the filing cabinets. “Your sympathy is the last thing I want.”

  “But—”

  “Your life is perfect.You’re engaged to Hugh Spencer and you just bought a new house by the country club.And—shoot—you’ve gotten so fit and tan while I’ve been away it makes me sick. I’ve put on ten pounds, spending every day on my couch and hiding from the world.”

  I fight the temptation to say thank you, that, yes, I have been working out and doing my pre-wedding exercises and getting my nails done with Patty and using the spray-on tan Tina from the bank loaned me. And that, in fact, I happen to be wearing a pink lace-up tanga.

  But that wouldn’t be polite. Plus, there are more important issues to get straight.

  “Listen, about Hugh. What I said . . . it kind of came out wrong.”

  Underneath the bruises, Connie’s eyes flash. “Oh, no. It came out perfectly right.You said he didn’t find you sexually attractive. Seems to me there’s not much hope in Hopeful, Kansas.”

  “Actually—”

  “You also said something about you not being the person he proposed to on television. Don’t deny it.You did.”

  Damn. Connie never listens to me at meetings when I vote for Suzie Plain Cheese of Dayton, Ohio. But God forbid I let slip a teeny tiny personal fact I shouldn’t and, bam! her brain’s a sponge. And she’s just the kind of manipulative, plotting coworker who wouldn’t think twice about using someone’s weakness to her own advantage.

  “Gosh. I’ve got to be getting back to work,” I mumble, backing to the door. “Sorry we had this little misunderstanding. Hope you feel better soon. Bummer of a nose job. I’m telling you it’s not so bad.We should get together for a drink. . . .”

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  Per usual, Alice doesn’t wait to be invited.Throwing open the door, she bypasses Connie and targets me.

  “Bill. He just finished with Kara Wesko’s parents and he wants to see you, pronto.”

  My heart clenches. “How mad is he?”

  “Babe, you don’t know. I’ve never seen him this way before. It’s scary.”

  I can practically hear Connie silently howl with vengeful joy.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Bill’s humongous office is an impressive false front of leather couches and black wooden director’s chairs imprinted with Thoreau’s crest. Books abound, as do high mullioned windows facing the green quad where industrious and not-so-industrious summer students engage in the exchange of high ideas. (A euphemism for all sorts of activity.)

  His mahogany desk looks to the fireplace that is always lit during the fall. It’s what parents see when they enter the main hallway—Bill’s fireplace with its antique gold mantel clock ticking steadily. The burnished autumn leaves fall from the oaks outside his window.

  This is the New England collegiate atmosphere parents yearn for their children to experience. Many a tuition deposit has been written on his couch. Bill is a master in manufacturing image, which is why he always keeps his door open.

  This afternoon, however, Bill’s door is closed.

  This is so not good.

  Alice holds up a finger for me to wait as she buzzes him. Not for him is the knock-three-times-and-barge-in treatment.

  “He’s ready.” Pressing her lips thinly together, she leads me to the door as if I am a dead admissions counselor walking.

  I can honestly say that I have never so dreaded anything as much as I am dreading this meeting with Bill. I hate being in trouble. I go out of the way to avoid it at all costs. I pay my parking tickets as soon as I get them, my bills by the first of the month. I don’t speed or drink and drive. Never cheat on my taxes. I’ve been pulled over once by the cops for a faulty taillight and I was so sick about it, I actually threw up on the officer’s shoe.

  And now, just because I gave Kara Wesko a bit of guidance, told her to ease up on the I’ve-got-to-be-married-by-thirty plan, I’m in boiling hot water. Because Kara Wesko (and her wealthy parents) are exactly the kind of people we in Thoreau Admissions are supposed to be courting.

  Not frightening.

  “Remember,” Alice says, “whatever happens is always for the best. Now breathe deep and good luck.”

  I breathe deeply.

  Bill is standing at the window in a blue oxford-cloth shirt, his hands clenched behind his back. Oh, super. Hand clenching.That’s it. I’m fired. Bill never clenches and unclenches his hands unless he’s really, really pissed.

  And I just bought a condo!

  It’s so bad, whatever humiliation I’ve inflicted on Kara Wesko, that he doesn’t bother to turn around or tell me to sit. He just asks me how long I’ve been working at Thoreau.

  I can barely do the calculations in my head, despite endless nights lying in bed asking myself why I still work in the same place after fifteen years.

  “Fifteen years.”

  “Fifteen years.” He shakes his head as if this is an amazing feat. “I hate to lose you after fifteen years.”

  Oh, please. Please no. I can’t stand the prospect of being fired. The rejection. The explanations. Having to go down to the unemployment office and lie about searching for a job. Afternoons lying around the house watching General Hospital. Well, that’s not so bad....

  “But that’s what’s going to happen if I don’t do something right now. Lose you. It’s happened in the past. Not that it was easy to let them go.”

  Think fast, Genie. This is your opportunity to save your job. Give him five good reasons why he shouldn’t can your ass right now.

  That’s exactly what I’ll do. I’ll tell him that I meant well and that I was only trying to encourage Kara to enjoy life. Don’t want superstressed kids throwing themselves off the top of libraries and all that.

  “Then, years later”—Bill is rocking on his heels, staring out that stupid window—“you ask yourself, ‘whatever happened to so-and -so.’ Wonder if they landed on their feet. If there could have been a way other than letting them go. . . .”

  “There is a way!”

  Bill turns to face me. “You’re right. There is. Which is why I’m offering you Kevin’s position.That is, if Hugh and you haven’t already made plans to move on.”

  This is definitely a new low, even for Bill, who often mistakes his cruelty for cleverness.You know, nothing awful. Just the personal jab about Alice’s white pumps being the first sign of spring or Kevin striking out on a date with Lafonda James, the hottest fund-raiser at Alumni.

  “I understand your hesitation. I’m sure a decision like this needs to be talked over with Hugh. Heck, that’s what I would want my future wife to do.”

  Hold on. Is he serious?

  “Bill?” My voice is suddenly so hoarse, it sounds like a scratched record.

  “Yes?”

  “May I sit down?”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. Please . . .” He gestures to the chair.

  I sit and massage my temples, willing my brain to stop acting crazy. “This isn’t one of your attempts at humor, is it?”

  He leans over his desk and frowns to show this is not his attempt at humor. Though he’s rumored to be sixty-seven, he’s in very good shape. He could work as a model for Viagra ads. Lots of snowy white hair and a cleft chin. “You’ve known me for long enough now, Genie, to recognize when I’m being serious. I want you as my right-hand, um, woman.”

  He really is offering me Kevin’s job. I can’t believe it.

  “You’ve paid your dues. You know the ins and outs of the admissions game.You’re good at it.You select candidates who do well, who thrive, and you have helped to build a diverse student body. That said, I’ll be honest and tell you that you were not my top pick.”

  Typical Bill to mix a bit of vinegar into the honey.

  “There are other people here with more leadership potential. I’m sure you know who they are
.”

  Connie.

  “And, let’s face it, you’ve never really set this office on fire.

  That is, until this summer.” He walks around the desk and props himself on its corner, a position that is both casual and authoritarian. “I don’t know if it’s your engagement to Hugh Spencer—I mean, that’s the only change in your life of which I’m aware—but you have suddenly blossomed into a bright, confident admissions officer, Genie, exactly the kind of person who should be the first contact for our higher-caliber applicants—and their parents.”

  My throat is so dry now I can’t speak. Seeing my distress, Bill gets up and personally gets me a cup of water from his water cooler. I have never known that to happen before. Bill never does anything for anyone else.

  “Thanks,” I say, downing it all.

  “It was the end-of-month meeting that caused me to reevaluate your potential. Your speech defending Hob Cooper was articulate and insightful, containing just enough ardor supported by facts to win over even me. And, frankly, I was ready to can the kid, Mormon or no Mormon.”

  Bill is smiling and I smile back as I begin to develop a sense of pride in his words. He’s right. I was really insightful. (Even though I was totally preoccupied with the erroneous revelation that Connie was Hugh’s mystery fiancée.)

  “And then there was your handling today of Kara Wesko. Her parents were just as impressed as I was by your directness. How did they put it?” He taps his chin, remembering. “Oh, yes. They wanted to thank you for doing what they and three psychologists had not been able to do—lift the lid on the pressure cooker. I guess Kara needed to hear it from another woman in your position that she didn’t need to do it all.”

  I’m not so sure. Possibly, I dashed her dreams.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if Kara takes a year off between high school and college. It’d probably be the best thing for her. And I also wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up at Thoreau, a vibrant and happier student, thanks to you. Especially after the check her parents just wrote in gratitude.”