Authors: Tara McTiernan
"Do you have a minute?"
"Maybe....sure. Please, sit down."
"Thanks," Sharon said, pulling the door shut behind her and sitting down in the guest chair that was crammed in front of Molly's desk. For all the lording about that Molly did, as if she was the Queen of Sheba, her office told the truth: management didn't think that much of her. The office was one of the smallest window offices at TMB's Stamford office.
Molly's eyebrows were raised as she glanced at the closed door. "Oh? So we're going to be candid now. Interesting. It took you two signed warnings to get you here, and, honestly, I doubted you'd come at all. Well, what do you want?"
"You were right."
"I was what?" Molly said and chuckled without humor, throwing up her hands sarcastically.
Sharon realized she was clenching her teeth and forced herself to relax her jaw. "You were right. About Lucie. It was a mistake for me to be friends with her."
Molly's face became avid and almost gleeful. "What happened?"
"Let's just leave it at that. You were right. She's not to be trusted. Oh, and she's totally fake. What a goody-two-shoes."
"Huh," Molly said, her eyes narrowing. "What a turnabout. And you won't tell me what happened?"
Sharon shrugged, "I'm the one who looks like an idiot if I tell you. All I can say is she deserves what's coming to her. You must have been royally screwed by her, too."
Molly leaned back in her chair and steepled her hands together in front of her mouth, touching her fingers lightly to her lips and regarding Sharon. Sharon fought to keep her face neutral and body relaxed while she endured Molly's inspection.
After a moment, Molly said, "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were up to something. But no. You're not like that are you?"
"I'm no bullshit," Sharon said, repeating the words Lucie had told her. "I want to make a deal with you. I can get Lucie's signature on that document. I can find a way to sneak it in. She still thinks we're friends. She won't know what happened until it's over."
"Why? Why would you do that?"
"I just told you. She screwed me sideways. And I'm about to lose my job here, so, I figure, I scratch your back, you scratch mine."
"I don't know. I don't know if I want you to do it now. That offer I made, it was a limited-time kind of thing," Molly said, her steepled hands folding and dropping into her lap.
"Okay. Fine," Sharon said, feeling her body grow hot with panic. She had to try and run with the final and most important part, see if Molly bit on any of her bait. "At least let me take you out for a drink. Maybe we can figure something out that you're cool with. I just want to keep my job. I thought you still might want the help with Lucie, but, if not, there's got to be something I can do for you." Swallowing back the bile that was rising in her throat at the thought of what she was going to say next, she continued, "And you seem cool. We've never hung out. Maybe we should start."
"Drinks? With you?" Molly said, chuckling, her faux-humor back.
"Ah, it's no big deal. It's what everyone here does: the apres-work drink or two. I've got some good gossip?"
Molly's smile became genuine. "Really?"
"Aha.
Now
you're interested. What about tonight? What are you doing in a half-hour? Come on, one drink, on me."
"Well," Molly said, tilting her head back and forth as she tried to decide and dragging out the moment.
Sharon marveled at how much Molly enjoyed any power or control she was able to get, stretching it out for all it was worth. Molly had to live for it; her whole life revolving around the manipulations and maneuvers she felt necessary to get her favorite thing.
Finally, Molly said, "Okay. Why not? On you? Where?"
Sharon grinned and said, "What about Pylos, that little Greek place down the street? We can sit out on their terrace in back. It's a nice night." It was also usually a quiet place per Lucie, which was essential.
"Yeah, I've been there. All right. But one drink, that's it?"
"That's it. One. And a little hope I can talk you into helping me out."
"We'll see about that," Molly sneered.
Sharon wanted to smack the sneer off of Molly's face. Instead, she simply smiled, shrugged, and got up to leave. As she gave a wave to Courtney and headed back toward her office, she fought the urge to cheer and clap her hands together with delight. It might work! It just might work!
Two hours later, a decimated platter of spanakopita sitting on the table between them that had only a few remaining shards of crackled golden phyllo on it, two rounds of drinks in their systems, and soft but jolly Greek bouzouki music playing in the background as they sat on Pylos' terrace, Molly had started to truly warm up. Of course, Sharon had to tell Molly a bunch of gossip about various people in the office that she'd rather have kept to herself, but she had to do what she had to do. Molly had gobbled it up.
Then, Sharon had started in with the compliments, which Lucie had told her were a sure-shot way to make Molly love you: lavish her with praise. Whether it was genuine or not, no matter how completely transparent you were while doing it, it melted Molly into a gooey puddle of joy and brought every last guard the woman had down. Lucie said Anna, Molly's toady and henchman, did it constantly.
Molly, fattened up on a feast of flattery, picked up her wine glass and tried to take a sip, but it was empty, and she kept lifting the glass higher and waiting for a drop to fall into her mouth for a full minute before she realized. Then she blinked and put it down. "Well, this was fun. More fun than I thought it would be. Sharon, you're not bad. Not bad...at...tall. Wow. I don't know if I should have had that second glass of wine."
"Two? That's nothing," Sharon said, waving away Molly's concern with a screwed up face. "You should see how many drinks Kristine Booker put down when we all went to Mulligan's one time. Oh, my, God. That woman can drink!"
"What? How many?"
"I'm gonna say ten. Eleven?"
"Holy crap! Seriously?"
"I'm no bullshit."
Molly leaned in, suddenly looking serious. "You know, that's what I like about you, Sharon. You
are
no bullshit. Aren't you?"
"It's true. I hate all that crap. Fake stuff. Oh, I love everybody! Everyone loves everyone! Diversity, diversity!" Sharon said the last few sentences in a high mimicking voice and rolling her eyes around like a demented person. She wanted to draw attention in particular to those words that she now knew pushed Molly's buttons.
"I know! Diversity! What a joke! Do you know that our office is almost eighty percent Jewish? How is that diverse?"
Sharon leaned forward, hoping. "Really? But wait, I thought that's what you wanted? You're in charge of most of the hiring?"
"In charge? What a laugh. No, upper management makes all the decisions. And they're Jewish," Molly said. "Can I be honest?"
"Haven't we already established that I'm no bullshit? Of course."
Molly looked around and then ducked her head before saying in a low voice, "I never knew it before I worked at TMB, but I hate Jews. I mean, I
hate
them."
"Really? What do you think it is about them?" Sharon said, lowering her head and voice as well, and watched the horrendous bigoted words pour out of Molly's mouth while in her purse, which Sharon had boldly set on the table and left slightly open, the small black tape recorder wound on, catching every last damning syllable.
Strawberry Daiquiri
When Chelsea saw the emerald and gold pendant necklace in the jewelry store's display case she felt a childish delight bloom in her heart. The emerald gleamed and winked at her, the exact shade of the silk dress she bought yesterday for Bianca's dinner party. It was perfect. Perfect!
She put down her large collection of shopping bags on the floor and leaned over the glass. Then she saw it: the price. One thousand dollars? Really? It couldn't be that much. But it was so spectacular, of course it was.
One of the store's salespeople, a slender dark-haired man in all black, glided over. "May I help you, madam?"
"Oh," Chelsea said, flummoxed. Yes, John had told her she could have whatever she wanted, but a thousand dollar necklace? Especially for a party that he didn't want her to attend, a party that they had fought over, the argument still ongoing and repetitive like a long weary war?
Her hands went out involuntarily toward the case. "I was just looking at the necklace, the emerald?"
The man rolled his eyes and smiled at her wickedly. "Girlfriend, I love that necklace. If I could wear it, I would. My skin's all wrong, though. It makes me look like I've got jaundice of the liver. Now you,
you
would look amazing. That skin! Like cream! We've got to put it on you and see how you look."
He didn't wait for her reply, but instead unlocked the case, pulled it out, and crossed to her side of the display. Chelsea, feeling both torn and aroused by the idea of it on her neck, let herself be dragged in front of a nearby mirror after he had secured the clasp. Even though she had to roll back the frills of her blouse's neckline to be able to get an idea of what it would look like with her dress, she could see it was as dream-come-true as the salesman said it would be, illuminating her skin and making her eyes look so blue they resembled the large sapphires glimmering in a nearby case. It was drop-dead gorgeous on her. But...
Chelsea stuttered, "It is so beautiful, but-"
"But what? Are you nuts? This was made for you. Look at you. Gorg-gee-us!"
"It is! I just...I can't."
"Is it money, honey? Let me tell you, the things I should have just gone ahead and done, paid the piper later. They say the only stuff you regret on your deathbed is the things you didn't do. Are you going to regret this?"
Chelsea hesitated. Regrets: there were so many of them already, piling high, like all the shoeboxes in her closet, threatening to tumble down on her. She even regretted John lately, her supposed prince. To add another regret to the wobbling tower was too much to bear.
She took a deep breath, a nervous thrill breezing through her, and said, "All right. Let's do it!"
"That a girl! Now we're talking. And living...with zest! I imagine this will be credit?"
He rang her up, packaged her necklace in a silk-padded leather box, and placed it, nestled in tissue paper, in a shiny black shopping bag with the jeweler's name emblazoned on it. Chelsea floated out of the store feeling like a princess. She had jewels and gold, a freshly acquired new perfume that smelled of chocolate and exotic flowers, a hot new dress she'd found in a little boutique, and tiny lacy boy-short panties and matching demi-cup bras in all the colors of the rainbow which she knew John would love. Life was beyond good.
Stepping out of the cool darkness of the store into the warm sunshine on the sidewalk in downtown New Canaan, Chelsea paused, looking both ways. Where should she go now? She should probably stop, go home. She turned in the direction of the lot where she had parked, and strolled between the patches of sun and dappled shade made by intermittent trees, enjoying the bubbles of excitement that continued to rise and pop within her.
She had chosen New Canaan as it was ideal for her illicit shopping spree: no one knew her there and there were plenty of fabulous high-end stores to choose from. To ensure her safety, she was shopping in the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday. Everyone she knew was at work right now, slaving away. Well, not Bianca, who seemed to have tired of pharmaceutical sales already, complaining it was all studying and tests.