The Sleeping Beauty Proposal

by Sarah Strohmeyer

  Shoot. I’m near tears. These are the nicest things any boss has ever said to me.

  “Now, I know that Hugh’s career is taking off and that’s great for you and, fingers crossed”—Bill crosses two fingers—“that’ll be great for Thoreau, if we can talk him into staying here.

  “But because of your special circumstances, the dean has authorized me to offer you a salary increase to one hundred thousand dollars, plus six weeks vacation and full health benefits. I hope that’s enough to convince you to take the job and to persuade Hugh not to leave the area for Baja, or wherever it is successful writers go.”

  The numbers don’t make sense. I’ve never made money like this. I’ve never even considered I’d make money like this. Six figures! And why? Not because I diligently punched the clock every day, but because, in a fit of pique, I mindlessly—yet, forcefully— delivered a powerful argument for some kid in Utah who flunked badminton.

  “I’ll take it.Thanks so very, very much.”

  Bill reels back, startled. “You don’t need to talk to Hugh?”

  Hugh. Right. Naturally, I’ll be needing to talk to Hugh.That’s what a really engaged woman would do. “Sure, I’ll talk to Hugh. We’ll discuss it tonight and then I’ll give you an answer in the morning.”

  “Why wait that long?” Bill, jolly as all get-out, snaps up his phone and presses a button. “Alice, get me the dean.”

  The dean?

  He covers the mouthpiece with his hand.“Hugh popped over for a visit to see Bob. You know how those two get. Talk, talk, talk.” Then, getting back on, he says, “Hugh! Great to hear your voice. Say, I wonder when you’re done over there if you wouldn’t mind stopping by. There’s a little lady you might know who has some very exciting news for you.” He winks at me.“Five minutes? Super. I’ll tell Genie to expect you then.”

  Oh, God. He’s actually here.

  I should be scared. I should be dreading his reaction when he finds out I’ve been spreading rumors that we really are engaged.

  But that’s how the old Genie would have reacted.

  I’m the new Genie now. I’m in shape. I’m being promoted. I own my own home and, best of all, I am no longer dependent on Hugh for my future happiness. Moreover, I’ve been dreaming of this moment for weeks, planning and scheming exactly what to say.

  Bring him on.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Because I am Nancy Michaels’s daughter and have been raised to know that “sweat happens,” I always keep a white button-down shirt in my office closet. I need this shirt. The one I wore to work this morning has been totally pitted out from my confrontation with Connie and my job offer from Bill. The only solution may be to burn it.

  After changing my shirt, running some Ban under my arms, freshening my makeup, and downing a half a box of Altoids, I try the window in a last-minute urge to escape. It is nailed shut against the air-conditioner. I won’t have this problem when I take over Kevin’s job.There are three windows in that office. Also, because I won’t be working here—not after Bill discovers I’ve been lying to his face.

  There is a mild commotion downstairs heralding Hugh’s arrival. Alice is shouting “Congratulations” at full volume and Brandon the handyman is saying something about “better you than me, buddy.” Karen and Margery are screaming for him to sign copies of their books.

  Guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. I blow on my ring and give it a polish. Best $24.95 I ever spent.

  Before I can figure out how to ideally position myself (on the desk with my legs crossed versus with my back to him, my legs propped on the bookshelf) the door opens and in walks Hugh.

  For a moment my heart leaps as it used to, largely out of habit. Even after years together, his self-deprecating grin and sparkling eyes never failed to send a charge through my body. I used to sigh and marvel that a man so handsome, so witty, so debonair could find something of interest in little ole me.

  Boy. Did I have that backward.

  "Hey!” I sit up and give him a big smile, as if we are, and have always been, hunky-dory. "You’re back!”

  "I’m surprised this comes as a shock to you.” With his trademark meticulousness, he carefully hangs his navy blazer on the back of my interview chair. (He’d actually had it slung over his shoulder.) Then, affecting a pose straight out of GQ, he shoves his hands in his khakis, his white shirtsleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, and studies me. “You look good, Genie.Very good.”

  If I were one of his students, this would be the moment I’d melt, because Hugh is giving me his I-know-what-your-heart’s-desire -is stare, the one that’s supposed to bore into my soul.

  “And you’ve got mustard on your shirt.”

  Hugh falls for it, immediately inspecting his collar for the nonexistent stain. This is what happens when you go to an all-boys academy. He wouldn’t have stood a chance at your average American elementary school.

  “Gotcha.” I shoot a finger at him.

  He groans and rolls his eyes. “You may look different, but you haven’t changed a bit.”

  That’s what you think, pal. “Have a seat. Tell me what you’ve been up to.” Poor choice of words. Next I know, he’ll be rattling off his sales numbers and where Hopeful, Kansas is on the USA Today bestseller list and what miniscule European monarchy wants to buy the rights to Dick and Dora’s sappy love story now.

  He hesitates as if taking a seat might be a trap. “You know, I almost didn’t come over when Bill called. I’ve been going out of my way to avoid you.”

  “Really?” I deadhead a rose hip from the plant Nick sent me. “Here we are engaged and you can’t be bothered to pop in to say hello. How very rude.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You have got to put an end to these rumors.” He’s about to march toward my desk in some dramatic execution of urgency when he catches sight of the white boxes and stops dead. “Don’t tell me . . .”

  “See for yourself.”

  “Oh, darling. You have really gone too far,” he says, clearly dismayed by the Benardaud teacup set.

  “What? You think maybe I should have picked Wedgwood?”

  “You know what I mean. Deferring answers when someone asks if we’re truly getting married is bad enough. Planning a wedding. Registering for china and”—he gestures toward my hand— “buying a ring is downright psychotic. I’m wondering if you need psychiatric institutionalization.”

  “I knew you still cared,” I say, flashing my imitation diamond.

  “May I see that?”

  “Maybe later. If you’re good.”

  “It can’t be real.”

  “Why can’t it?”

  “Because you’d never be able to afford a diamond that huge.”

  “I’ll have you know that I had enough money saved to put a healthy deposit on my own condo. Besides,” I add, “who says I bought the ring?”

  He opens his mouth to reply and then stops.“Please.You really must stop this charade.” Only he pronounces it shar-rod.

  “It’s no shar-rod. I’ve discovered there were things I didn’t know about you, such as you sleeping around behind my back and cheating on me and pretending to love me when you didn’t.”

  He casts his eyes downward, ashamed.

  “Did you ever think there might be things you didn’t know about me?” I continue."Maybe I’ve been conducting a clandestine affair, too. Some hot and heavy office romance.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Pulling out a chair, he finally takes a seat. “You’re an open book. Why, you couldn’t even keep your Christmas gifts secret from me. Had to badger me with hints until I guessed long before December twenty-fifth.”

  This was true. Then again, I’d managed to keep a pretty big secret from my family and friends for weeks now. So maybe I was changing in that area, as well.

  “Okay. Believe what you want to believe. Not like I owe you an explanation anymore.” I go back to picking over the roses.

  “Look. The only reason I’m here, besi
des pleading with you to cease and desist with this pernicious lie, is my curiosity. Bill Gladstone called me while I was at the dean’s with the message that there was some big news that I’d be interested in that might, I gathered, involve you.”

  “It does.”

  “Does it concern Hopeful, Kansas? Because, if it does, I’ll go downstairs and talk to Bill. Otherwise, I can’t see the point of you and I continuing to play games.”

  “No problem. I’ll call Bill up here right now. He’s dying to meet you, anyway.” I press the buzzer for Alice.

  “Wait!”

  It’s too late. Alice is on and I am telling her that when Bill has a chance, Hugh would love to see him.

  "Wow. Must be nice to have such a cushy relationship that you can buzz in the boss,” she snaps.

  Hugh is resting his chin on his hand exactly like his author’s photo. “Cushy relationship?”

  “Back to that pernicious lie business. You must admit that I was roped into lying when you proposed to someone else on national television. What was I supposed to do? Tell everyone we know that you’d dumped me, big time?”

  He drops his hand in disgust.“Genie.We have been over this I don’t know how many times.”

  “Once, to be exact.”

  There is a rap on the door and Bill blows in, hale and hearty, blustering about it “being a great day for Thoreau” and how “super” it is to see Hugh and how impressed everyone is with the success of Hopeful, Kansas.

  Bill truly is the master of the suck-up, injecting Hugh with his daily fix of compliments until Hugh is blushing and shaking his hand and doing an extremely poor job at being falsely modest.

  “Couldn’t have achieved this level of success without the support of this fantastic institution,” Hugh gushes. “I suppose I’d be nothing but a starving writer if it hadn’t been for my office here and the salary to keep me in pens for scribbling.”

  Blech. Hugh is never more saccharine than when he’s channeling some eighteenth-century garret novelist.

  “So you’ve heard the good news, I gather.” Bill stops shaking Hugh’s hand and slides an arm around my shoulders.“Hope you’ve given your blessing. I can’t wait to have this lady by my side.”

  I know that Bill is talking about making me his right-hand woman, as Kevin was his right-hand man, but judging from Hugh’s utter confusion, I’m not so sure that’s getting across. Especially with Bill giving my shoulder an avuncular squeeze.

  Bill says, “I didn’t want to lose her, you know. Had to snatch her up before you dragged her off.”

  Hugh’s jaw drops. He shifts his gaze from Bill to me and back to Bill again, horrified.

  “Trust me. I completely understand if you object.” Bill drops his arm and clears his throat, perceiving that Hugh perhaps is not pleased with my new promotion. “After all, I am known around these parts as a taskmaster, that’s no secret. But let me assure you that I will personally see to it Genie gets plenty of time off for her new family. Because I’m betting there’ll be lots of babies. Hazards of nonstop sex and all that.”

  The blood has drained from Hugh’s complexion, indicating my hints at an office romance have wormed their way into his mind. And now, seeing Bill with me, seeing the ring on my finger, the wedding presents in my office, and how Bill is talking about me being by his side and asking Hugh for his blessing, Hugh has come to one horrified conclusion.

  I really am engaged.To Bill.

  My plan couldn’t have worked better.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  "So what does Hugh think about your new job?” Nick asks from the other side of the bathroom door.

  “He’s all for it,” I say, pressing my ear against the wall to hear what’s going on. “Can’t I take a look?”

  “No. You cannot. I’m not ready yet.”

  Damn. Running my hand along the back of my sweaty neck, it’s all I can do to keep myself from kicking the door down. Ninety-eight degrees and near one hundred percent humidity. I don’t know how much longer I can tolerate this.

  There is some Greek swearing and the sound of metal hitting the floor. Nick is taking forever. Forever!

  Finally, the door opens and there he stands, shirt off, sweat beading his forehead. I can’t help but notice the patch of dark hair in his armpits, his smooth, hairless dark chest and the V of slight hair below his navel leading to underneath his belt.

  It’s the V that makes my knees go weak.

  “Now,” he says. “I’m ready.”

  With that, he sweeps his arm to what I’ve been craving. My very own shower and bathtub.

  Not any old bathtub, either. A high-backed, claw-foot porcelain tub that Nick found while working on the Hingham renovation. It had been left in the backyard of an antique store for over a year and was covered with weeds and grasses when he spotted it while helping Todd search for a farmhouse kitchen sink.

  It was a bear to carry in, weighing over 285 pounds. Todd threw his back out in the process and had to go home to a couch and Tylenol after helping Nick haul it into my bathroom. Plus, it had a funny drain that Nick’s been wrestling with all day.

  But now it’s in. And I’m not going to wait until a curtain’s up. I need that ice-cold water running over my body now.

  Nick is smiling at my happiness. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

  “No. It was worth the wait.You want to do the honors?”

  “Me?”

  "Well, you’re the one who did all the work.”

  “No, thanks. It’s rewarding enough to see you so giddy about it.”

  I eagerly slip off my sandals. “You have to admit it’s been a pain, me coming upstairs every morning to use yours.” Without thinking, I rip off my T-shirt, remembering too late that Nick’s in the doorway.

  “Might need this.” He hands me a towel and, being a gentleman, pretends to preoccupy himself with picking up his tools. “That desperate, huh?”

  If he only knew my real source of desperation. There have been so many times—like now—when I’ve been tempted to gush I’m not really marrying Hugh. But then I think of the consequences and decide that Nick’s reaction would be to write me off as a silly woman who invented her engagement to get attention. Not to mention the many long hours he’s logged installing my kitchen cabinets, ripping up the floors—simply to make the deadline of my wedding.

  No.There’s no way to say what I want to say without him hating me. I’ve let it go too far.

  “All right. Enjoy! I’ll wait here in case you run into any problems. ” He closes the door and at last I’m alone, just me and my shower. Bliss.

  I set out all the toiletries I’ve bought for the occasion—new shampoo and conditioner, lavender soap, a loofah, a washcloth, and the most vigorous exfoliant money can buy.Then, holding my breath, I turn on the water. It works!

  “How’s it doing?”

  The floor is dry. “No leaks yet.”

  “Yet!” Nick plays at being incensed. “How dare you doubt me.”

  Leaving the rest of my clothes in a heap, I lift my leg over the high side and step in.The floor is way too smooth.A person could break her neck in here! I’ll have to get a bath mat or those sand strips. Nevertheless, the water is divine.

  Thoughtfully, Nick has installed an oversize showerhead so it’s like I’m standing under a tropical waterfall as I close my eyes and let the cool water run over my head and face and down my back. I’ve always wanted to visit one of those waterfalls, the kind featured in the ads for Hawaii. Except I’d be worried about what sorts of creepy crawly things might be in the water.

  Like snakes.

  I sense it before I actually see it, the slithering green tail whipping back and forth in panic as its body makes it halfway up the tub’s sides and then falls down in failure.The tiny head with its evil slanted eyes darting and retreating toward my feet, blindly searching for escape. Or something to bite.

  “Snake,” I whisper, too frightened to make my lungs work properly. "Snake.”

 
; Run, my brain tells me. Just get out.

  But I can’t. I’m frozen in place, the snake and I trapped in my high-backed tub. Forcing my legs to move is almost impossible. I hate snakes. Scratch that. I live in fear of snakes. Spiders, okay. Roaches, step on them. Bees, no big deal.

  Not snakes. Snakes are my enemy. They are Satan and I am Eve.

  Taking a different tack, I discard the snake approach altogether and keep it basic. "Help!” I cry, my voice louder. “Nick. Help!”

  “Genie?” He pounds on the door. “Are you okay?”

  “Snake!”

  “Snake?” He sounds puzzled. “What snake?”

  “In here. In the bathtub with me.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “No joke!” I screech. “It’s going for my feet.”

  “Throw it out.”

  Touch it? He must be nuts. “I can’t do that.”

  “Okay, then you get out and I’ll get rid of it.”

  “It’s going to bite me. Help!”

  “I’m coming in.”

  The knob turns and, quickly, I snatch the towel off the tub’s edge. Nick bursts in expecting to find, I suppose, some sort of anaconda, because he’s completely unimpressed with my dire situation.

  “Where is it?” he asks, searching the tub. “I don’t see a snake.”

  “There.” I point to the drain, where the awful creature has retreated, slithering and wiggling under the shower. “It’s huge!”

  Nick turns off the water and stares for a second before throwing back his head and howling with laughter. “That? It’s a tiny garter snake. A baby.”

  “Kill it!” I inch back to the end of the tub, my towel protectively wrapped around me.

  “I’m not going to kill it.” In a move of daring, he gently scoops up the snake, opens the window, and deposits it outside. “Done.”

  "Omigod. I am never getting in this bath again,” I say as I take Nick’s hand and step out.

  “Genie! You’re shaking. Here.” He grabs another towel, wraps it around my shoulders, and pulls me to him. I don’t care that I’m naked and wet. I am never leaving his arms—though I’d prefer to have my feet off the floor in case more snakes abound.