Authors: Tara McTiernan
Chelsea leaned forward. "Prada," she said in a breathy voice, nearly panting.
"Very special shoes. Just for you."
Kate pulled out the sky-high nude peep-toe heels that had been selected with a purpose: they would go with any outfit she was wearing that night. "Heels? Oh, Bianca? But you know?"
"Those are gorgeous!" Chelsea said.
"So? Try them on?" Bianca said, wanting them safely on Kate's feet.
"But, but Bianca? I hate heels. You know that?"
Bianca saw Chelsea flinch. She couldn't have picked a better person to witness this and champion her cause. Bianca said, "Kate. Please. This whole thing is ridiculous. I'm not asking you to hike mountains in them. Or even wear them all day! I'm just saying that you can't wear flats with everything. Especially in the evening. I mean, a dress like that with flats?"
"Come on!" Chelsea said. "Heels are essential. And they'll be beautiful on you. Just put them on for a minute. So we can admire them."
Kate tilted her head back and forth and then shrugged. "Okay." She pulled off the ballet slippers she was wearing and put on the heels.
Chelsea flapped her hands at Kate. "Stand up! We can't see how they look when you're sitting down."
Kate got to her feet, wobbling like a newborn fawn. Bianca was delighted to see the way Kate's legs trembled. How easy it would be. Just a little push.
Chelsea gasped and clapped her hands together. "Oh, Kate! You
have
to wear heels! You look
so
wonderful! Look at your legs! Wow!"
"Really?" Kate said, reaching out to put her hand on the table for balance. They were achingly high, those heels, and perfect.
"Really," Bianca purred, her eyes sliding half-shut with pleasure.
Vodka Martini
Sharon drove through the downpour, trying to focus on the road, shaking all over as if freezing. But the interior of the car was hot, steamy really. Her shivering had nothing to do with the temperature and she knew it. It was the events of the afternoon replaying in her head - that was what made her tremble. Faces swam out of the splashing murk, intent, angry.
"Focus!" she reminded herself, squinting through the sheets of water that were obscuring the road and other cars. Lights winked in and out. Flashes of color appeared and disappeared. Everything was reflective, nothing substantial.
She took a deep breath and forced herself to slow down, lifting her foot off of the gas pedal. The car following her honked in reaction. Normally, her response would be to shout out, "Ah, cool your jets," her tone dismissive with an attitude to match, but the rock solid foundation that her inner wiseass required was cracked.
The crack, split wide this afternoon, had been a mere hairline fissure slowly lengthening with each day working under Bob, each evening checking up on and taking care of Alan, and each week that went by without further contact with her neighbor, Dean. Bob and Alan were obvious straightforward problems: Bob was a jerk of the first order and Alan's drinking was barely controlled, artificially reined in by Sharon's efforts to help him as well as his denial that he had a problem.
Dean was subtler, someone she didn't know she would miss until she stopped seeing and hearing him, the gangly character tiptoeing across her lawn holding a box of chocolates, the buffoon hooting and bouncing on a trampoline at two in the morning. Someone she thought she'd be glad to be rid of. Now, not knowing how, she never saw Dean at all, even when she watched for him. It was as if he was avoiding her. And it wouldn't matter, she could forget him, if it wasn't for the dreams.
Almost every night, she would wake from a romantic dream starring Dean. Sometimes they would be kissing or walking hand in hand or having a supper by candlelight, his horsey face rendered handsome by the flickering glow. Sometimes they were just hanging out at her house, watching television or playing a hyper-competitive game of Scrabble. It was odd how realistic and mundane all the dreams were. And yet, in each love filled her heart, even the broken places, making her whole again and hopeful. Then she would open her eyes, spread her arm across the cool sheets of her solitary bed, and wonder.
The crack in her foundation had opened at their team meeting this afternoon at work while reviewing the results of the team's data collection. Sharon had prepared the reports and distributed them. The information in them, about Solara Sunscreen, was clear cut. Yet Bob disputed every finding Sharon reported, pointed out small discrepancies and exaggerated them, questioned her work. And she, the fissure splitting, blew up.
"Why are you attacking me, Bob? What is your problem?"
Bob's head jerked back. "What?"
"Every single thing I do, you question it. But there's nothing wrong with my report!"
He stared at her, then shook his head and said, "This is about Alan, isn't it? Molly said you would have trouble."
Sharon had a flashing vision of Molly's condescending poor-Sharon prediction, the two of them in Molly's office, discussing her. "Molly said what?"
"Let's not make a bigger deal out of this than it is. I know that the changing of the guard can be tough. For all of you," Bob said, looking around and nodding at the diminished team, only three of the six remaining, the rest let go in the same reorg that had eliminated Alan despite Alan's belief that the team would stay intact. Bob was interviewing now, though, looking to "grow the department" - the same department that had just required cuts.
"I'm not making a big deal out of it," Sharon said, clenching her hands at her sides. She took a ragged breath. "I just...may I talk to you in your office?"
Bob's eyebrows flew up. "In my office?" he said, and paused, thinking. "No. I have a better idea. Why don't I come see you in yours? I have a few things to attend to first. Are we done here?"
The rest of the team looked balefully back at him without reaction. They had learned to lie low. He put down Sharon's report on the small conference room table and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "All right. Thanks guys. See you in a bit, Sharon."
She should have known then that she was in trouble. He had only ever referred to her as Wozniak. An hour later she was chomping on her pencil and gazing at her computer screen where her report was displayed, trying to understand what, exactly, was wrong with it that she couldn't see, when Molly appeared in the doorway to her office.
"Sharon," Molly said with her dangerous fake smile. "Do you have a minute?"
Sharon took the pencil out from between her teeth, the soft wood nearly bitten through, and put it on the far left of her desk, out of sight. "Uh, sure?"
Molly stepped into Sharon's office, shut the door behind her and sat down in the guest chair. The same chair where Alan had sat, breath ragged and head bowed, almost two months before. Right before everything fell apart. Molly was almost perky, sitting down and crossing her legs and tilting her head at Sharon. "I think you know why I'm here."
Sharon shook her head. "No. I asked to meet Bob. I don't have any idea why you're here." She resisted the urge to sneer. God, she hated Molly and everything she stood for. The woman was artificial and deceptive and seemed to take pleasure in adversity. Lucie hadn't told Sharon what had happened between her and Molly, but Sharon could tell that working for Molly would be a very bad experience: every day spent answering to someone who invested in the downfall of others.
Molly said, "Yes, you did. You demanded to meet with him and you questioned his authority in front of the team. You refused to make the necessary changes to the reported findings for the client. Insubordination and a rotten attitude will get you nowhere. But I have a feeling that you don't really care. I have a feeling you want to torpedo Bob, damage the team, and make your point. I think you were done here the minute Alan Duffy was let go."
"Really? I don't see it that way at all."
Molly leaned back and folded her arms over her chest, her confidence unshaken. "Oh? Do tell. What way is it, then?"
"Bob criticizes
me
. He targets
me. He
is the one with the problem. I don't have a problem. I just want to do my job."
Molly lowered her head, looking at Sharon from under her eyebrows. "No, you don't. I knew this was coming, and I'm not fooled. And I think you wanted this meeting with me, too. So you could champion your friend, Lucie. But it's too late. She's already dug that grave."
Sharon's temper flared, hearing Molly say Lucie's name. Then she remembered what she had heard about Molly and an intern through the office grapevine, something about sexual harassment? She leaned forward, put her elbows on her desk, and said in a low voice, "The one who digs graves around here, Molly, is you. Your own. I heard about the harassment. That kid? It's really disgusting. I bet you think you can get away with anything."
Molly's eyes narrowed. "I don't know what you're talking about. Lucie probably told you some tall tales, huh? Well, know this: Lucie's a liar. You should be careful, the friends you keep reflect on you. Anyway, here's a little something I can have you sign now, or in front of Bob. Your choice."
Molly slid a manila file she had been holding across the desk to Sharon. Sharon hesitated, staring at it and remembering Bianca's story from that first night at Ibiza. Was it really true after all? Was Lucie a compulsive liar? But she liked Lucie, had so much fun in her company, and she had been meaning to call Lucie, get together just the two of them for coffee or a drink. But between work and checking up on Alan, the time and energy required were never available. If it wasn't for Chelsea and Bianca doing all the legwork, she wouldn't have plans that night at The Vault with the girls.
Sharon took the file and opened it. She read: Subject: Written Warning - Unsatisfactory Performance. Her eyes widened. She read the rest of the lies in the letter. Her name and a place for her signature was at the bottom next to Bob's signature.
Sharon read aloud, "'And this has indirectly cost substantial loss to the company'? Fascinating stuff, this. How do I work for TMB for over ten years, winning awards, achieving every deliverable, keeping clients happy, and suddenly I'm costing the company?"
"I think I've already covered what we believe is going on with you. Your priorities have obviously shifted. Now, if you can demonstrate that you're back on board, that could change things. In fact, I could make this go away with a little cooperation from you. That's why I'm here and we're not in my office. I wanted to give you a chance, Sharon."
She looked at Molly. There was a crafty glint in the Director of Human Resource's eyes, making Sharon wary but curious. "What? What chance?"
A small smile played on the woman's lips. "I thought you might be interested. There aren't many research companies in the area, none as big as TMB. Leaving here in disgrace wouldn't give you many options."
"Why don't you stop dragging it out and tell me."
"All right. You're friends with Lucie Scott. I hold that against you and your poor judgment. But it could work in your favor, because I need something from her. I need her signature. She failed to sign an important document, one that attested to her culpability in an incident she created. One that, unfortunately and unfairly, was left to rest on my shoulders. I take responsibility for the mistake of hiring her, but I shouldn't have to be held responsible for her wildly unconscionable behavior, something I couldn't have foreseen. If you get her signature for me, I'll make this little problem disappear for you. So, what do you say?"
"I say," Sharon said, looking at the greedy expression on Molly's face, an expression that belied her words. Molly had never been wronged, that was obvious. Sharon was just another pawn to her. "No way. Not a chance. Here, I'll sign." Sharon snatched up and signed the document with a flourish before shoving the folder back at Molly.
Molly's eyes blazed and her nostrils flared. She grabbed the folder up off of Sharon's desk and stood, leaning over the desk. "Wow. I overestimated you, Sharon. I suggest you start considering your alternatives," Molly said before turning, yanking open the door to Sharon's office, and stalking out.