Can't Touch This (22 page)

Kyle smiles with a raised eyebrow.  “Now you’re catching on.”

“Wait.”  Hitch in the plan.  “It won’t have the software.”

“Can you say your demo disk never worked?”

“Sure.  The IT guys burn so many of them, I’ll bet some of them slip through that aren’t formatted properly.”

This plan could work.  However, it’s manipulative and it makes me a lying coward.  Here I am dragging Kyle down with me.  I have no idea if I’m actually responsible for this breach in security.  I can’t prove anything.  Maybe I should just tell the truth.  Then again, would anyone else in a similar position?  No.  And they probably wouldn’t walk in front of an eighteen-wheeler.

“Let’s get to it,” he says.

As he opens the door, I stop him.  “Why are you doing this?”  I thought he was corporate through and through, yet he wants to help me buck the rules.

His smile is damn near heartbreaking and I actually feel butterflies pounding their wings inside my chest.  Silly insects.

“Vanessa, you’re a hard worker and you don’t deserve to lose your job over this.  Jiles is putting his focus into this instead of keeping the customers happy.  I’ve got to deflect his attention elsewhere by solving this mystery.  If he doesn’t get back to the basics of running this company, there won’t
be
a company to run.”

Okay.  No undying love in his confession.  It’s all about business.  All the same, I appreciate Kyle’s camaraderie.

Two hours later, I hand over the counterfeit disk to LBJ, trying not to retch as I stand in front of him.

“Here you go, Jiles.  Don’t bother with mine, it never worked anyway,” I say, testing the waters.

He tosses it onto a pile of other CDs on his desk.  “You’re the third person who’s said that.  Damn IT guys not checking their work.”

I stand rooted in place in front of his desk.

Jiles pops his head up and glares.  “Is there something else?”

I take two steps back, blown away that my feet are moving.  “Nope.  That’s it.  Thanks.”

My heart pounds away in my ears and I feel I may faint from the overpowering relief.  Our little plan worked.  Yet I don’t feel any liberation.  I’m a bad employee and I have to somehow make this up to DigitalDirection by working my ass off even harder.

In business, it’s oftentimes admirable to screw the competition.  However, I came too close.  Have I committed the ultimate corporate sin?  If so, whom do I make a confession to?

Of course, with sin comes guilt.

Guilt I’ll have to live with.

For now.

“H
ello, Vanessa.  I
trust you’re feeling okay?”

I cringe as I’m about to put the key in the front door of my apartment.  Instead, I turn to the land lizard and say, “What can I do for you, Mr. Paulsen?”

“I’m concerned about what’s going on in your apartment.  There are regulations you must abide by and I’m legally responsible.”

“For what?”  This guy’s been eating too many Fruit Loops.

He points at our window.  “You and that boyfriend of yours.”

“William’s not my boyfriend.  He’s gay.”

The land lizard either doesn’t believe me or he’s not listening.  “I found something in your trash,” he says.

“You were digging through our garbage?”  This guy needs a hobby.  One that doesn’t include my life.

“I was sorting recyclables and your pregnancy test popped out.”

“My what?”  I haven’t had sex in forever.  “It’s probably the girls downstairs.  Have you asked them?”

His brows lower.  “It was next to some of your mail.”

Someone call a cop.

I don’t have to stand here and take this.  I have packing to do.  I’ve got to get to San Francisco.  I’ve got to talk to Rory.  Suss out what’s going on.  Face-to-face so I’ll know the truth about the disk.  “I’m not now, nor have I ever been pregnant.”

Mr. Paulsen doesn’t falter, though.  “This house has lead paint.  If there’s a child in there, the apartment will have to be de-leaded at the tenant’s expense.”

I push open the front door and wave him away.  “Whatever.”

He follows me inside.  “I wouldn’t be a responsible landlord if I didn’t give you these, Vanessa.”  He places a stack of pamphlets in my hand.  “Call me if you have any questions.”

“Thank you?” I ask more than say.

“What was that all about?” William asks when I step inside.  He’s stirring brownie batter, so I dip my finger in and suck the chocolate gooiness into my mouth.

“Freakazoid upstairs found a pregnancy test in the garbage and thinks you knocked me up.”

William beams at me.  “Darling!  I’m so happy.”

I bat him away.  “Get over yourself.”  Then I pause.  “Do you think it’s Mia’s?”

He shakes his head.  “She hasn’t been on a date in six months.  Too busy with school.”

“Then I don’t care,” I say.

“Actually, it’s me,” he says with a laugh.  “I had phone sex the other night and now I’ve missed my period.”

I swat at him with the stack of brochures.

“What are those?”

“They’re from the land lizard,” I say.  I look at the pamphlets in my hand and double over laughing: 
Lead and Your Baby – a Guide to Lead Paint Removal, Massachusetts Tenants Responsibilities,
and in 72 point red bold type, a tract from the Catholic Church entitled: 
HELL
...Is that your next residence?

Probably so, but not for the reasons Mr. Paulsen thinks.

I’ve got to right everything in my life.  ASAP.

*****

T
he next morning,
I decide Mr. Paulsen’s bad karma is screwing with my life.

Before I leave town, I check my biorhythms.  The website states my health is “getting worse,” I should “avoid communication” and relationships are “unstable.”  Lovely.  The gods are laughing their asses off at me.  This whole trip has “natural disaster” water-colored all over it.

At the airport, I smile when I see Kyle’s friendly face.  A nice distraction in the not-so-friendly skies.  As we stand in line, he asks, “How’s that pteromerhanophobia going?”

“I’m impressed.  That’s a big word to memorize.”

“Well, I do have a Master’s degree,” he says with a smile.

“I took an Atavan.”  The two cups of coffee will probably counter-balance the sedative, though.  “If the flight’s not full, I hope to stretch out and wake up on the Wrong Coast.”

Kyle takes the row opposite me and goes straight to work even before we take off.  He’s such a diligent employee, trying so hard to keep our clients happy.  He puts the company first and his efforts are paying off.  He’s saved some big accounts this week with the whole SalesTracker calamity.  With his customer service plan, we’re bound to get plenty of renewals.  I admire Kyle’s work ethic and dedication.

My medication is starting to relax me when suddenly the captain announces, “Folks, we’ve got to turn around because of a small technical difficulty.”

“What difficulty?” I ask the passing flight attendant, a wee bit of dread in my voice.  “I’m not good at this flying thing to begin with and I’m certainly not good with ‘difficulties.’”

She flashes a plastic smile.  “We’ve popped a hatch and the cabin is slowly depressurizing.  But, nothing to worry about.”

I can’t breathe.  I need air.  I want to get out.  I paw at the window like a trapped animal as marshmallowy clouds mock me with their free-floating independence.  “We’re going to crash and burn.  They’ll be nothing left of me for my parents to bury.”

Kyle slides into the aisle seat of my row to comfort me.  “Don’t panic, Vanessa.  Everything’s cool.  No need to worry.”

“Like hell there isn’t anything to worry about!”  I pull out the bottle of Atavan and down another one dry.  Looking around, no one else seems fazed by this announcement, but readily accepts our doomed fate.

Suddenly, a baby starts crying.

Flights with babies on them never crash.  It would be wrong.  Just then, the plane banks hard to the left, turning back toward Boston.  I grip the armrest and close my eyes.  “Oh, dear God.”  Prayer.  The last refuge of a scoundrel.  I feel a nudge against my arm and glance over.  Kyle is offering his hand again, just like on the flight from Vegas.

“Feel free to hold on.”

Well, that’s sweet.  I need to feel secure.  I need strength.  I need to know I won’t die in a fiery ball.  I need to not reach out to him.  Or feel the heat of his skin.  Not a good thing.  “I’ll be okay.  Thanks.”  I don’t want to run the risk of enjoying the way his hand will surely feel.

When we land in Boston, fire trucks, police and Federal Aviation Administration authorities meet our flight.  We have to get re-booked and wait another two hours before finally taking off.  By then, I’m so woozy from the extra medication that I pull the tray table down, lay my head on it, and sleep the entire way across the country.

More karmic retribution when we check into the Fairmont Hotel.  My corporate AmEx is rejected.

“Here, Vanessa.  I can take care of that.”  Once again, Kyle and his magic credit card save the day.

I trudge to the furthest end of the hallway and open the door to my room.  It smells like an old man who hasn’t bathed in a month.  Since the hotel’s totally booked, it’s this room or a park bench.  I breathe out of my mouth and begin unpacking.

Twenty minutes later, there’s more bad news.

“Our booth hasn’t arrived yet,” Reagan reports when I step into the ballroom.

“Of course, even if it had arrived, I forgot to bring the fucking key with me again,” I rant.  I should buy stock in that biorhythm website.  They know their shit.

My head just isn’t in the game.  It’s on talking to Rory face-to-face.  I’ve got to get to the truth, find out what happened in my room last time I was in this city.  I have to take charge.  I have to be strong.  Because, after much anxious consideration, I’ve decided I’m breaking it off, no matter what he says about the disk.  The fact that I even think he was capable of taking it means he’s not the guy for me.  Trust is the foundation of all relationships and something about Rory now screams out, “Beware of Dog.”

Plus, Kyle just totally saved my professional ass.

I’m doing the right thing.  And I’m doing it on my terms.

Reagan hugs me to her side and knocks me back to the here and now.  “Maybe we can pick the lock with a paper clip?”

“Ted’s done it before,” I say.  Only Ted’s not here.

The boxes of collaterals I’d arduously packed and shipped are actually here, so I spread the marketing materials from them over the table, along with business cards and a wicker basket to gather leads.  Kyle and Reagan set up their laptops on each corner to give demos.  That’s when I see the familiar teal SalesTracker logo across the ballroom and decide the time is now.  I make my way through the box-strewn clutter toward it.

I hear my heart thundering in my ears.

The blood in my body is rushing to every vital organ.

Perspiration coats the back of my neck under my hair.

Yet, I’m strong and read for the necessary.

This is it.  Time to get this over with.

Rory and I’ll get everything settled, part as friends, and move on.

No more sneaking around behind closed hotel room doors.

I can do this.

I take a deep breath and step into the half-built booth.  “Hey there, Gene.”

The Italian Stallion is bent over a carton, but stands up when he sees me.  I’ll be professional, even though SalesTracker is a big turd in my company’s punchbowl.

“Hey Vanessa.”  A smile spreads underneath his mustache.

I glance around. “I’m looking for Rory.  Is he here?”

Gene rubs his chin and his face pales instantly.  He glances around, seeming to search for the right thing to say.

“What’s wrong?”  Did something happen to Rory?  Okay...I know I’m breaking up with him, but I don’t wish the guy any harm.

Gene scratches his bald head.  “Hell, Vanessa.  I don’t really know how to tell you this.”

“Tell me what?”  Hot blood courses through my veins, rushing throughout my body in that human animal natural fight or flight reaction.

“He’s... ahh... well, there’s no easy way to say it.”

“Gene, you’re scaring me.”

He takes a deep breath.  “Rory’s been arrested.”

“Arrested?  When?”  My rapid pulse throbs in my temples and nausea roils through my intestines, which are cramping for good measure.

“Two days ago.  These guys with the State Attorney General showed up at the office and cuffed him.”

“Why would the AG arrest him?  I didn’t know they had that authority.”

“Well, they do.”

“What for?”

“Seems he abandoned his wife and six-year-old son in Indiana and owes court-ordered back child support.  You know, deadbeat dad sort of thing.  His wife’s been trying to track him down for four years, but every time she got close, he disappeared again.”

Oh my God... oh my God... oh my God.

Breathing becomes a task as I struggle to hear Gene’s words correctly.  How ignorant of me for not knowing something wasn’t right with Rory.  Blinded by lust.  Fooled by his charm.  He has a wife.  He has a kid.

Gene pours out the rest of the worms from the can.  “I know you two had something going, but you should also know he was living with our receptionist at SalesTracker.  Scuttlebutt is he fathered her kid too.”

Jesus, it just keeps getting worse.

“And, it turns out his name isn’t Rory Ellery.  It’s Rodney Elmore.”

My heart rate accelerates; my ears ring like Sunday church bells.  That does it.  I wish I had a paper bag to breathe into as the choppy pants stuck in my windpipe threaten to overtake me.  The walls of the ballroom close in and I get a tingly feeling all over, like ants crawling on my body.  I can feel bile rising in my throat.

I have to get out of here.

“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, Vanessa,” Gene calls out.

I breeze by Reagan and Ted.  “I’ve got to run an errand,” I say quickly as I grab my purse and bolt through the lobby.

“Hey Vanessa, I tracked down the booth,” Kyle says, trying to impede my flight.

“I’ll talk to you later, Kyle.”  Then I fly out the front door of the hotel.