Speechless

by Yvonne Collins

  “That is a problem. I don’t see how you’re going to do your work.”

  “I’ll manage somehow until it’s fixed. I’ll ask Laurie to look into it.”

  “No, I’ll call Maintenance, but they’re always very slow to respond.”

  Which means she’ll drag it out as long as she can. I can out-wait her; I’m not going to lose this prize. No, when the going gets tough, the tough get extension cords, and so I enlist Laurie to help me run one out of my office and into the office next door.

  I pour my mochaccino into my “Life Sucks” mug, because it usually does. This is my fourth morning in the luxury suite and I still have no power. Nor has the phone line been changed. I can’t even forward my calls from my old office because the phone is an historical artifact.

  I am wondering if I dare call Maintenance myself when I hear rapid footsteps approaching. Sensing it’s the Minister, I push my chair back to stand—just as a flying form in a chartreuse suit hurtles into view. She’s actually airborne for a moment before crashing to the floor with a scream! The Minister has apparently caught the heel of her favorite Manolo Blahniks on one of the extension cords. Richard and I both race to help her. As we lean over her prostrate form, our faces are nearly touching and our eyes lock for one fleeting but decidedly meaningful moment.

  “Are you two planning to leave me down here all day?”

  The electricity disappears so quickly at the sound of the Minister’s voice that I wonder if I only imagined it. We hastily place her on her feet and she lurches and staggers into Richard, as if injured. It turns out that the heel of one shoe has snapped off. Richard puts his arm around her for support.

  “Are you all right, Clarice?”

  “I think so. What happened?”

  “I’m sorry, Minister,” I pipe up. “I’m afraid you tripped over an extension cord.”

  “Why is it there?” she asks, eerily calm.

  “The outlets don’t work in my office so I had to run cords into the office next door.”

  Margo and Laurie arrive at this moment.

  “Maintenance hasn’t responded to my call,” Margo says. “I’ve already suggested that Libby return to her own office, but I didn’t realize she’d created this health and safety hazard.”

  “Must I do everything myself to ensure it’s done properly?” snaps the Minister. “Laurie, get an electrician in here before someone breaks more than a heel. Richard, I’m shaken. Please help me to my office.”

  She limps off, leaning on Richard’s arm. Margo follows, carrying the heel from the Minister’s shoe. Richard glances back at me and grins. I wonder if I could stage a little wipeout myself so he can rush to my aid. Mind you, even if I could snap the heel off my Hush Puppies, he’d pop a hernia trying to lift me.

  All in all, though, I’m happy to have come out of this incident so well. Even a month ago, the Minister would have fired me for causing that header. With Richard on her arm, she’s almost a pleasure to have around.

  21

  Margo’s attempt to starve me out of my new office has failed. With Laurie on the case, the matter was resolved in hours.

  “The building manager said it was the first he’d heard of your electrical problem,” Laurie says when she stops by to deliver the good news. “Margo lied about calling.”

  “Margo lies? Now there’s a shocker!”

  The Minister’s sudden appearance startles us both. “Lily, I’ve been calling and calling you. Why aren’t you picking up your phone?”

  “My phone line still hasn’t been transferred from my cubicle, Minister.”

  She scowls and stalks off without another word. Laurie and I tiptoe to the door in time to see her enter Margo’s office.

  “Margo, I have had just about enough of this,” she screeches as she’s closing the door.

  Richard pokes his head out of his office to see what’s going on. When he sees us, he smiles, cups a hand to his ear and winks. I shoot him a smile before ducking back inside.

  “What was that all about?” Laurie asks, following me inside.

  “I suppose the Minister has had enough of Margo’s power pranks.”

  “That much I got. I mean, what’s going on with you and Richard?”

  “Nothing,” I squeak. Laurie raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Honestly, nothing’s going on,” I repeat in a calmer tone.

  “Yeah, a whole lotta nuthin’ if you ask me.”

  The next morning, my office phone rings for the first time.

  “Libby, it’s Margo.” Figures, the woman who resisted hooking it up is the first to use it. “The Minister expects you at Casa Loma tonight for the Culture Vulture black-tie.”

  “She told me I don’t have to attend,” I protest.

  “I reminded her that someone must tend to her needs while I’m making contacts for future program support.” In other words, she needs me to hold the Minister’s purse while she networks with the cheese tray. “Be there at seven sharp,” she says, slamming down the phone.

  The nerve of her, ordering me to attend an event outside of work hours and at the last minute—as if I have no life. I have a life, I just don’t have anything to wear. I’m tired of Roxanne’s lucky dress and in my current crush-weakened state, I fear finding myself with a dozen new ball gowns and only creditors to appreciate them.

  Richard walks past my door and doubles back when he catches me staring into space.

  “Trying to decide which party dress to wear tonight?” he asks, leaning against my door frame. “I liked the little black number you wore to the Opera Company affair.”

  The guy has more talent for mind reading than Elliot, but he’s awfully forward, especially for a consultant. I should probably display a little righteous indignation, but I don’t waste my energy.

  “I’m still waiting to see what Versace has lined up for me,” I say.

  “Say, have you checked CNN’s Web site today? There’s a piece on Chicago’s Culture Vulture Week, which I presume is what we’re copying here.” He approaches my desk, comes around and leans over my shoulder to grab my mouse. “Allow me.”

  “Libby.”

  I jump at the sound of Margo’s voice. Richard jumps too, but recovers instantly.

  “Hi, there!” he says cheerily. “What’s up?”

  “I’d like to have a word with Libby, if you don’t mind,” she replies, stiffly.

  “Not at all.” Seemingly undaunted, he adds, “Listen, when are we going to have a one-on-one about the trip to the north?”

  “It seems like you’re booked solid with one-on-ones these days.”

  “I’ll always make time to chat with a beautiful woman,” Richard says, turning on the charm. Margo flushes and looks down. With her personality, she probably doesn’t get compliments that often. Winking at me as he leaves, Richard says, “I think you’ll find that article very interesting.”

  “Libby,” Margo whispers as soon as he’s out of earshot, “is he bothering you?”

  “No, he was directing me to a review on the CNN Web site.”

  “Well, you let me know if he’s bothering you and I’ll take it up with the Minister.”

  “I appreciate his help, Margo.”

  Since she didn’t have a reason to drop by in the first place, she leaves without further discussion.

  To: Roxnrhead@interlog.ca

  From: Mclib@hotmail.ca

  Subject: Gathering momentum

  Rox,

  Just thought you’d like to know that the geologic disturbance you felt on the European continent last night was not an earthquake, but the aftershock of my crush shifting into third gear. Richard has turned up the heat on the flirting. Today, he told me he likes your lucky dress! You were right about its powers!

  What a relief. Third gear means I can acquire candles and perfume without guilt. I booked an appointment at the Aveda spa for a facial and eyebrow waxing—time to surrender my simian ridge for a provocative arch!

  Third gear protocol also permits the purchase of
a new ball gown. Now, don’t give me a hard time, Rox. I’ve got a formal event this evening and Richard has taken too much notice of your frock for me to wear it again so soon. Besides, I need to show more skin to offset the mouth guard. I so wish it came off today instead of tomorrow. Lola recommended a place in Yorkville that sells used designer cast-offs from the city’s jet set. I picked up a silver-gray strapless Ralph Lauren for a mere $200! It’s a little big around the bust and since there’s no time to alter it before tonight’s event, I plan to use double-sided tape to anchor it in place. If it works for Jennifer Lopez, it will work for me.

  Thank God I’m triple the Minister’s size. Imagine if I showed up in one of her cast-off frocks? Gotta run. It’s almost 4:30 and I’m sneaking away early to tape my dress on!

  Lib

  It’s a miracle that I’m only twenty minutes late arriving at Casa Loma. Margo caught me just as I was leaving and demanded I reformat the Minister’s remarks a font size larger. By the time I sweet-talked the balky printer, there was no time to buy double-sided tape. Instead, I secured the dress with loops of ordinary transparent tape, which should do the trick. Soon I’ll be so burdened with bouquets and clutches that no one will even see my dress.

  Laurie, who also received a last-minute decree to attend, greets me at the castle door.

  “Hey, Cinderella, is that a new gown?”

  “Well, new to me.”

  “Trying to impress the Big Dick?”

  “Laurie!” I exclaim, looking around quickly. “That’s Prince Charming, if you don’t mind.”

  We’re still giggling a few minutes later when the Minister makes her grand entrance, dazzling in a silver, sequined, strapless dress.

  “Libby,” Margo calls, “we could use a little help over here.”

  As I take her coat and wrap, the Minister favors me with a look of such intense loathing I fear I’ve stepped back through a time warp. What have I done now?

  “You’re wearing silver,” she snaps. “We look like the Double-mint twins. Stand away from me, please.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone will confuse us, Minister,” I reply, drawing myself up to full party height of six foot five. “My gown is gray and yours has sequins.”

  “They’re virtually identical! Put my wrap on,” the Minister commands, as she pushes Margo, in her sensible navy taffeta, between us.

  “I am not wearing a wrap all night, Minister—it’s warm in here. If my dress bothers you that much, I’ll keep to the other side of the room.”

  “I don’t think so,” Margo says. “We need your support. Put the wrap on.”

  She stands on her tiptoes and tries to slip the Minister’s shawl over my shoulders. I shrug and it slides off onto Margo’s head. Tousled but undefeated, she tries again.

  “Stop it, you two,” the Minister whispers, before calling out, “Why, Tim! What a pleasure to see you!”

  Tim Kennedy is standing at the entrance, apparently transfixed by the sight of Margo and me wrestling with the wrap. At his side is a stunning woman with sleek blond hair. A wave of nausea rolls over me as I look from Tim to his date. I let my hands drop to my side and Margo seizes the moment to hoist the wrap onto my shoulders. Tim eyes me coldly, then turns his gaze on the Minister and signals that he’ll be right over. He turns to help his companion with her coat.

  “Minister, let’s invite Tim and his girlfriend to sit at our table,” Margo says.

  I glance down to see Margo watching me watch Tim. She may not know the source of tension between us, but she instinctually recognizes an opportunity to make me suffer. I snatch the Minister’s wrap from my shoulders, roll it and shove it under my arm.

  “Lily, be careful, that’s cashmere,” the Minister says. “By the way, your dress looks very familiar… Is it Lauren?”

  Richard’s arrival saves me from responding. He strides across the hall and plants a kiss on the Minister’s mouth.

  “Clarice, you’re absolutely enchanting,” he booms. “And Margo,” he adds, stooping to buss the wretched one’s cheek, “Aren’t you smashing?” Margo blushes to her rosy roots.

  “Richard,” Mrs. Cleary pouts, “don’t you think Lily’s dress is too similar to mine?”

  “Of course not, Clarice, you’re in a league all your own. I promise all eyes will be on you. But,” he adds, winking at me, “Libby does scrub up well.”

  He puts a warm hand on my bare shoulder and I almost drop the cashmere wrap. When I look up, I find Tim watching me swoon. In retaliation, perhaps, he places his hand in the small of his date’s back to guide her across the room toward our table. To my relief, however, they sit at the other end, leaving me flanked by two painfully boring bankers.

  The Minister is the first speaker of the evening and despite a hurried belt of champagne, she delivers my toast brilliantly. I’m elated with the audience’s warm response. Tim speaks next. I’m impressed with his ease and his humor, but my enjoyment is ruined by his date’s overly enthusiastic applause. Look at her showing off those big white teeth, the shameless hussy.

  Speeches over, the waiters begin circulating with trays of food. Most guests are free to mingle, but I’m on a short leash, never more than ten feet from the Minister as I wrangle her purse and her wrap. Not that I miss out on the refreshments. I have learned to stake out a spot where I can place my drink and goodie plate, which allows me to indulge with one hand. In fact, I’m enjoying a plate of shrimp when Richard approaches.

  “You did a nice job with that speech,” he says, spearing two of my shrimp.

  “I’ve got my hands full, but somehow I manage.”

  He leans over to wipe a tiny speck of cocktail sauce from my arm. “You can dress a girl up…”

  “Careful of the cashmere. I can’t even afford the dry cleaning.”

  “Richard,” Margo’s piping voice shatters the moment. “I don’t believe you’ve met Tim Kennedy.” She has Tim and date in tow and I suspect her timing is deliberate. “Tim runs the Ontario Youth Orchestra and this is Melanie.”

  Tim ignores me as he shakes Richard’s hand. No one introduces me to Melanie so I stand by awkwardly, until Margo instructs me to fetch Tim and Melanie a drink from the bar. This is a particularly humiliating move and even Tim seems embarrassed.

  “No need, Margo,” he says. “We’ll head over to the bar in a minute.”

  “I’d be happy to get you a drink,” I say, eager not only to avoid another scene, but to avoid having Tim detect my mouth guard. I hand Margo the Minister’s things and set off.

  “Pick up a tray of snacks, too, Libby,” she calls after me.

  Having noted earlier that Melanie, like Tim, is a red wine drinker, I request two glasses of white. I take my sweet time about delivering them, too. I am duly punished, however, when I find Tim sitting alone at our table, making it impossible for us to avoid each other. The Minister and Melanie have disappeared, while Margo and Richard have moved a few steps away and are speaking in hushed tones. At first, I assume they’re discussing the northern tour, but then, to my shock, Margo actually laughs—a sound I’ve rarely heard. Richard raises his wine and they clink glasses.

  As much as I’d like to observe them longer, Tim’s presence is too distracting. I set the drinks on the table in front of him; he simply nods his thanks.

  “So, how are you? I hope Stella is well,” I say.

  “Fine,” he replies, icily.

  “Great! Well, I suppose I should see to the Minister…”

  I’m about to bolt when I notice Margo has left the Minister’s purse and wrap beside Tim. Reaching for them abruptly, I topple the table’s floral centerpiece, which rolls toward Tim. As I lunge across the table for it, my right breast blasts through the tape loops and over the top of my dress.

  “I wouldn’t leave that out where Clarice can see it,” Tim says smiling, as I clumsily stuff everything back where it belongs. My face is so hot it feels as if my head could explode. “Relax, Libby,” Tim says, thawing marginally. “I’ve seen it before
, remember?”

  Finding my tongue at last, I say, “It’s all Stella’s fault. She ate my best party bra.” When he laughs, I seize the moment to say, “Listen, Tim, I really want to—”

  “What’s going on?” Margo interrupts, arriving with Richard.

  “Libby is taking her frustrations out on the flowers, as usual,” Tim says, retrieving the centerpiece from the floor. “Aren’t you chilly, Libby? Maybe you should put this wrap on.” He stands and arranges the Minister’s wrap around my shoulders; I clamp it to my sides with my elbows.

  Margo is suspicious and she toys with me further when Melanie returns to the table.

  “So, Libby,” she says, with false chumminess, “Melanie writes for Maclean’s magazine. Isn’t that exciting? You went to journalism school too, didn’t you? I was just telling Melanie that you often help the Minister with her speeches.”

  Melanie gives me a puzzled smile, but Tim appears to enjoy the abuse. (Maybe I just imagined a thaw?) Richard, however, steps forward chivalrously and hands me a glass of white wine.

  “She drinks red,” Tim says.

  “You do?” Richard asks me.

  “This is fine,” I say quickly, “although I often drink red.”

  “I’ll get you a glass of red, then.”

  “No, I’ll get it,” Tim says. “I have to get some red for Melanie and me, anyway.”

  While Tim gets the wine, I ponder whether he is trying to make me feel small for the white wine stunt, or is jealous of Richard. He soon returns and hands me a glass, but I’m afraid to raise it to my lips, lest a boob escape.

  “So, Libby, Margo’s been keeping you chained to your desk?” Tim asks, with a trace of bitterness.

  “Very busy, yes,” I mumble.

  Margo says nothing, but watches closely, alert for clues.

  “Oh, she gets out,” Richard says. “We met at a bookstore recently.”

  Both Margo and Tim look annoyed at this—and Richard has only begun peeing around me.

  “That was shortly after I arrived from London. Of course, I still go back every other week to consult with two major British corporations. So, remind me what you do, Tim?”