by Jean Joachim
"Grey?"
"Then her judgment is compromised. Who wouldn't think she'd want to keep her future sister-in-law employed? It's practically nepotism. She might have to fire us, simply to appear impartial. Either way, it doesn't look good for us…," he paused, "as long as you are here."
"And if I stop seeing Grey?"
"That might work…personally, I think it's too late for that."
"Good, because I wouldn't."
"I didn't think so. You have integrity, Carrie, one of the things I've always liked about you…"
"Stop buttering me up, Nathan," she said, suddenly unafraid to be direct, "you want me to quit, right?"
"I'd put you on another piece of business, though I'm not sure that would be enough except we don't have another piece of business for you."
"So I'm going to get the shaft here, right?" She felt tears at the backs of her eyes but would be damned if she'd let him see her cry. She took a deep breath, blinked a few times and got her emotions under control.
"Well…there are so many people involved here, production, traffic, account services, not to mention your own creative team…say ten people in all who would lose their jobs if you stay here and continue to see Barbara's brother. What do you think is the fair thing to do here?"
Tears pricked her eyes. Choose, Grey or her job?
"I'd make it easier and fire you but that wouldn't make things better. We would look bad, all of us. And I don't want it on your record. Your work is excellent and you haven't done anything wrong. Perhaps if you stopped seeing him, I could talk to Barbara and your job could be saved. This is not a great time to be out of work, especially in our business. It's your call."
She nodded, emotion choking her so her throat closed up. She worked so hard to make a success here. After her marriage blew apart, she was destroyed. GWB had become her home after her divorce, a place she felt she belonged. And she had been rewarded for her hard work and loyalty with regular raises and a promotion. The agency took her in, gave her a job and nurtured her, helped her, taught her and appreciated her work. Now, in the blink of an eye, it might all be over.
"Barbara wasn't mad at you, hell, she hasn't even met you, she told me, although she admitted she's heard about you from her other sister. She was insistent we take action. I assured her I would speak with you privately and you would make a decision in the best interest of everyone," he said, standing up to indicate their meeting was over.
"I'll have my letter of resignation on your desk by ten o'clock. Do you mind if I leave afterward?"
"Why don't you think it over during the holiday? There's plenty of time to resign on Monday, when you get back, if that's what you want. I'd be heartbroken to lose you, but applaud your selflessness in putting your colleagues first. You can count on me for a glowing recommendation to your next employer…if you choose him over us," he said, shaking her hand.
Carrie was numb. She went into her office and printed out the letter, before the tears started. Then she ripped it up and threw it in the trash. She closed her door, packed up and walked toward the hall. On the way out, she passed Dennis.
"Where are you going?" He asked, reaching for her arm.
She yanked her arm away from him and kept walking, refusing to respond to his repeated calls to her.
On the street, she looked for a coffee shop and found a Starbucks two blocks away. She went in and ordered her usual Latte and sat down. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she hid her face. All that time wasted and the new campaign, the new business pitches, the late nights, the stress…all for nothing. What did she have now? No job, no salary…nothing. Not nothing. She had Grey.
But did she? How long had she known him? A few months. What if his family didn't like her? She didn't have any guarantee of a future with Grey. He wouldn't be the first man to take a powder on her in her life. Instead of feeling more secure about Grey, she felt less. That's not fair. He hasn't done anything wrong. But I still don't feel like I can rely on him to be there for me. Marriage? We haven't discussed it since that day we fought about the list. Feeling a familiar throbbing at her temples, she massaged her head with her fingertips then popped two ibuprofen to head off the approaching headache.
Tomorrow she would meet his family for Thanksgiving. Stay in their house. In the same room with Grey. Oh, God! His sister, the ad director for Country Lane would be there. The woman responsible for putting her in this predicament! No way was she going there.
Carrie finished her coffee and hit the street. It was only one o'clock but traffic was piling up. People had begun their holiday journeys and the City would be a tangle of sports cars, SUVs, taxis, busses and trucks all vying for space and honking their horns until they were hoarse. The trip back to her apartment was arduous as streets were closed due to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade backing up traffic for block after block.
Her street and several other side streets were cordoned off. Some people had figured out it was better to come watch the balloons being blown up the day before than to be there on parade day. So they flooded the site like flocks of migrating Canada geese, honking and elbowing everyone out of the way. Parents with strollers and toddlers in tow, teens, even grandparents came down to see the balloons. Then they could stay in the comfort of their own homes on the holiday and watch football on TV.
Carrie walked to the bus which inched along, missing every green light, making her feel trapped in its stuffy atmosphere with people talking loudly on cell phones or sneezing in her face. She called her Aunt Delia.
"Hey, Delia, can you squeeze in another place tomorrow?" She asked trying to steady her voice.
"You're coming? What's wrong?" Delia asked.
"Nothing. Can't I change my mind and prefer to be with you?"
"Hah! I'm not fooled. Last time I saw you, you had stars in your eyes, now you can hardly keep from crying. I hear it, Carrie, I hear it in your voice."
"I'm on the bus and can't talk."
"You pack up and get your little fanny on the four o'clock train this afternoon. I'm chilling your favorite, Moscato and pulling out another wine glass. You come up here and tell me all about it."
"Who all is coming tomorrow?"
"Tony and his son, Marco. Freddie and her husband, Harold. Sam Wood and Joanie Johnson."
"Small crowd…hey you're having Sam and Tony together?"
"Yeah. Sam is last year's flavor and Tony is this year. Sam won't mind. He's got a new lady but she's out of town."
Carrie laughed in spite of her predicament. "I'll be there."
"Okay, Cookie, see you then."
Carrie hung up the phone just as the bus reached Amsterdam Avenue. She got off the bus and walked a block to her building. Grey! Oh, God. She's had to call him. After packing her suitcase and drinking half a glass of wine to steady her nerves, she picked up her phone.
"Hi, beautiful! Are you still at work?" He asked.
"I'm home…"
"I can come over for some alone time…if you're interested."
"Not tonight, there's a problem…" Carrie's voice cracked.
"What? Something wrong?"
"I can't go with you tomorrow," she said and held her breath.
"Why?" His voice rose an octave.
"Something happened today at work…and I'm…I've got to make a decision. About my job…and about you. So I'm going to Delia's because I need to think."
"Think…at Delia's? A decision? What kind of decision?" His voice sounded tight.
"I don't want to discuss it on the phone," she demurred, hoping he'd leave it at that but certain he wouldn't.
"Then I'll be right over," he countered.
"You can't get here. The streets are clogged from one river to the other. The parade, remember?"
"I don't care. I'll walk then."
"Grey, I don't want to talk to you right now."
"Why not?"
"Ask your sister, Barbara, about it when you see her tomorrow."
"Barbara? What's she got to do with us?"
"Everything. Train leaves in an hour and it will take me that long to get to Grand Central. I've gotta go," Carrie said, hanging up the phone.
She burst into tears and sank down on the sofa. The phone started ringing, it was Grey and she let it ring. Then he hung up. And called back. And hung up. And called back. He's persistent, I'll give him that.
Carrie whipped out the hard copy of her mystery book manuscript stuffed the pages into her briefcase with her computer. She'd begin working on the edits she received from Paul Marcel at Delia's. An ironic smile crossed her lips. Looks like I could get my wish to be a fiction writer after all, an unemployed fiction writer.
She slung her bag over her shoulder, tucked her purse into her briefcase and secured that under her arm. She left the phone ringing and trudged down the stairs then down the street to the subway, the only method of transportation in the City that would not have ground to a halt because of the parade.
****
The weather started to deteriorate; the sun disappeared behind light gray clouds. Carrie opened her computer and tried to focus on her edits for the hour and a half ride to Shelton, Connecticut. But all she could do was look out the window, dream and think about what she wanted. When the train screeched to a halt, it's wheels screaming, Delia Tucker was standing next to her White Toyota Rav, waving. Carrie smiled to see her beloved aunt and felt better immediately.
Delia enveloped the young woman in her arms Carrie immediately burst into tears. They stood there for a minute until Carrie could control herself. Delia picked up the bag and tossed it in the backseat while Carrie climbed in the front.
"Where are you parents?" Delia asked while she pulled out of the parking lot.
"Traveling. I think it's Thanksgiving in Turkey this year," she laughed, "That's ironic!"
"Still traveling?"
"A Mediterranean cruise, I think. They never took vacations when I was a kid. Work, work, work…"
"That's where you get your work ethic."
"I suppose. They're entitled to live the way they want now. It might be nice if they made more time for you."
"I'm used to it. It's okay."
Delia changed the subject and they chatted about the preparations for the next day on the ride home, skirting the one issue that was gnawing at Carrie until they were ensconced in Delia's kitchen, each with a glass of cool Moscato wine and some cheese and crackers in front of them.
"Apple pie or pumpkin…or both?" Carrie asked, rolling up her sleeves.
"I think I have the ingredients for both," Delia said, perching on a high stool.
Carrie pulled out the flour, butter and salt. Then she took a large bowl, a couple of knives and a rolling pin.
"This new granite countertop is perfect to roll dough on."
"Knock yourself out. So while you're rolling pie dough, tell me what's going on." Delia refilled Carrie's glass then sat back.
Carrie recounted her conversation with Nathan Goodhue and her dilemma.
"What do you want to do?"
"I don't know for sure…I've worked so hard and am so close to becoming a creative director…but Grey is so amazing…"
"Seems to me that Goodhue didn't give you much choice. Don't you have to resign?"
"Not exactly. If I gave up Grey, then I could stay. But I don't want to give him up."
"Ah, I see. The old I want my cake and eat it too dilemma. Hmmm. That's not going to work here, Cookie."
No one had called her "Cookie" in a long time. Delia was the first to nickname her that and her parents liked it, so it stuck. As the air got colder outside, Carrie turned on the oven to preheat. She was enjoying being in the warm kitchen in Delia's company.
"What do you really want out of life, Carrie?"
"Why don't you ask me something really big, Delia?" She laughed.
"Seriously. Do you want to be a creative director? Do you want to marry Grey…"
"Hold on! He hasn't asked me or anything."
"Going to his family's house for Thanksgiving? You don't think that's a prelude to a proposal?" Delia raised her eyebrows and took a sip of her wine.
Color came to Carrie's cheeks.
"I didn't want to see it that way."
"How does he feel about you standing him up?"
"Not too good, I'd guess," Carrie said, frowning.
"Did you tell him what happened?"
Carrie gave her head a shake.
"I didn't want to see him. I didn't want to tell him over the phone. He would have tried to talk me into going with him anyway and his sister's going to be there and…"
"So you bailed without an explanation?"
"I guess I did."
"Not good, Cookie."
"I told him to ask his sister, Barbara. He asked me what that meant and I sort of hung up on him."
"You didn't! Oh, Cookie! Grey is…he's…a keeper, a real keeper." Delia clucked her tongue at Carrie.
Carrie took down the pie pan, avoiding Delia's eyes.
"Do you love him?" Delia asked, softly leaning toward her niece.
Carrie stopped what she was doing and gave a slight nod with her head as two tears escaped down her cheeks.
"What if it doesn't work out? My track record isn't good. Grey has never had a serious relationship…what if he leaves me? Then I have nothing." Carrie began to pace the length of the kitchen and chew her lip.
"What if you get fired for another reason? There are no guarantees on either side of this dilemma," Delia said, sitting back again and finishing the wine in her glass.
"Then what do I do?"
"I can't tell you what to do. Listen to your heart. Underneath all that intelligence, your heart knows what's going on and what the right move is."
Carrie put the pie in the oven as the phone rang. It was Tony, and Delia disappeared into her bedroom, closing the door. Carrie went over to sofa in front of the fireplace where a small fire burned slowly, and sat down. The smells of the room in her aunt's wonderful house soothed her. She had spent many happy days here in this little stone house. Memories of sleepovers at Aunt Delia an Uncle Jack's house, shopping trips with the savvy Delia, and Uncle Jack teaching her to bake bread came flooding back, warming her heart.
She missed Uncle Jack, missed being a kid again where her biggest decision was whether she should have chocolate ice cream or strawberry for dessert. She hugged her knees to her chest and thought about Grey. What if he didn't disappear? What if Delia was right and this schlepping her to meet his family was a prelude to a marriage proposal? Would she want to marry him? Get back into that saddle again? Leave my career behind after all the sweat and tears? If the marriage doesn't work, where will I be? If there is no marriage, where will I be? An unemployed fiction writer. Carrie hadn't been in love since her divorce. Her ex-husband moved to the West Coast, telling her he was too young for such a commitment. The responsibility and restrictions of marriage had weighed too heavily on Todd. He wanted his freedom, he wanted out and he broke her heart. Now, three years later, would Grey do the same thing? Was he "a keeper" like Delia said? Too many questions and too few answers.
As she watched the fire burn down, Delia finished her phone call and returned to the living room. She sank down next to Carrie on the sofa.
"So, did you find the answer you're looking for?"
Carrie continued to stare at the fire and shook her head.
"It's like a game of Chutes and Ladders, Delia. I'm at the mid-point, one step and either I will take a ladder up, or a chute down to the beginning again." Carrie stood up and returned to the kitchen to check on her pie.
****
Grey broke with tradition, got in his car and drove north to Pine Grove on Wednesday night. Usually he'd leave at seven am on Thanksgiving Day arriving in time for breakfast. It was tradition for his whole family to gather for a big breakfast made by his dad and then not to eat again until the big meal. After breakfast everyone pitched in. They had assigned tasks and worked side-by-side, laughing, joking and teasi
ng while they straightened the house gathered firewood, sliced, chopped, rolled, basted and tossed everything for the huge dinner. Most of his siblings arrived the night before. Grey hated driving through the bumper-to-bumper traffic slowly leaking out of Manhattan on Wednesday night. So he arose at the crack of dawn and had an easy drive up the Palisades and Route 17.
But tonight he was too agitated to stay in his house. He paced and paced until he couldn't stand it anymore. Barbara would be there tonight and he had to find out what was going on. By seven o'clock he couldn't stand it anymore, so he threw his bag in the trunk and roared the Jag to life. On his way to the Palisades he was surprised to find a donut hole in the traffic and he had little difficulty until he reached the George Washington Bridge, where traffic came to a halt.
Feeling his temper rising, he turned on the radio, flipping the dial to find some calming music when he came upon Michael Bublé's song, "Haven't Met You Yet". He stopped surfing, sat back and listened, remembering the first night they made love. As he inched across the bridge through the dark of early evening, he smiled when he recalled dancing with Carrie, then taking her on the table. How beautiful she was when he was making love to her; lost in passion, the fire in her eyes, her body soft and pliable, bending to him, responding to his every touch. He began to get hard losing himself in the memory. The feel of her skin, the taste of her lips, the fullness of her breasts wouldn't leave his mind.
I'm not giving up! When the song finished, he surfed until he found a classical music station. The music calmed him and allowed him to think on the way to Pine Grove. By the time he reached exit 12 the traffic had thinned out. He drove most of the rest of the way on automatic pilot, thinking about Carrie and their time together.
I don't care it's only been a few months. I want her. She's the one. About two exits before the one leading to his parents' house, Grey made up his mind that he would have Carrie. She would be his wife no matter what the cost and he would not give up until she agreed. He took a deep breath and a temporary sense of peace settled over him. A small smile crept over his face.
