“Over two million.”
Finola collapsed on the sofa. “We’re just not that interesting. How can anyone care?”
She didn’t expect an answer and Rochelle didn’t say anything. Finola closed her eyes. “Isn’t it enough that we’ve had meetings discussing what segments we can and can’t do on the show? My agent yelled at me when she found out. She reminded me that when anything like this happened, she was my first call. The producers all huddle together and stop talking when I walk by.” She opened her eyes and stared at her assistant. “I’m not the bad guy.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Let me get you some tea.”
Because Finola couldn’t go home yet. She had fittings for the next quarter’s wardrobe and after that she had to work out for two hours to stay thin enough to be on TV and be attractive so people wouldn’t think Nigel had cheated on her because she was a hag.
“Thanks,” she said gratefully. “I swear I’ll get this figured out and quit whining.”
“You’re not whining,” Rochelle told her as she stood. “Finola, you’ve been through a lot. You’re dealing and it’s damned impressive.”
“Thank you.”
Finola told herself she would hang on to the kind words of support. She would stay strong and get through this, whatever it took. And when things were sorted out, she would—
Honest to God, she had no idea what she would do, but she was determined to be stronger than she had been. Honed by fire or whatever the phrase was. Because she was so tired of feeling broken.
*
Midmorning Ali finished the semiannual inventory of Mustang parts. The process controls she’d suggested a few months ago had turned out to make a big difference. She had a few more ideas she was going to discuss with Paul once she got her thoughts down in writing. As she made a few notes to review later, she thought about the possibility of going to college.
She hadn’t—after Finola and Zennie had gone, her parents had told her there wasn’t any money. She didn’t have a burning ambition to do anything specific, so she hadn’t really minded. Now it occurred to her she should have protested a little more than she had. Both her sisters had four-year degrees and she had nothing. They both had well-paying careers and she worked in an auto-parts warehouse. Yes, she’d moved up, from stocking to shipping to inventory control, but did she want to do this for the rest of her life? Didn’t she want to grow and be challenged and maybe contribute more than making sure there were plenty of headlights in stock? Not that she didn’t pride herself in her work, but was this where she saw herself in twenty years?
She knew her restlessness was as much about her breakup as her job. She was in transition and that was never easy. Even good change was stressful. So fine, if she didn’t have direction, she would figure it out. In the meantime, she could go to community college and start taking her general education classes. At least she would be moving forward instead of standing still.
She entered her inventory results into the computer, then went to the shared printer to pick up the paperwork. On her way, she saw Ray. Instead of his usual jeans and T-shirt, he had on black pants, a dress shirt and sports jacket.
“Ray, what’s going on? Hot lunch date?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Ali. I have a date.” He tugged at his collar. “Man, I hate dressing like this, but it’s for a good cause, right?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ray frowned. “You haven’t heard? Paul has given notice. He’s finally retiring. I’m interviewing for his job. The owner asked me to. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck,” Ali said automatically. “Let me know how it goes.”
“Sure thing.”
Ali stood there, unable to move. No one had asked her to interview. No one had said a word. She was working by herself right now but in her previous positions, she’d had people working for her. When Paul went on vacation, she was the one who took over for him. She’d been doing that for two years. Wasn’t she the more obvious replacement? Ray was gruff and moody and he frightened people. Not exactly great management material. So why not her? Was it because she didn’t have a degree? She wasn’t sure of Ray’s academic status, but she thought maybe he might have a few years of college. Or was it something else? Her age? The fact that she was a woman? Or was it because she’d never once talked to anyone about wanting to grow in her career? She’d never expressed any desire to take on more responsibility.
She didn’t have an answer and she wasn’t sure where to get one. All she knew was that just when she’d finally found a little peace, everything had turned crappy again.
*
Saturday morning Finola risked the grocery store. She figured the busy shoppers wouldn’t really care that she, too, was buying bread and cantaloupe—they had schedules to keep and lives to live. Her mother had gone to work—weekends were always busy at the mall in general and the boutique in particular. Young women looking for clothes to make them feel powerful would be on the prowl and Mary Jo’s successful store was a go-to stop.
In an effort to distract herself and to avoid spending the day alone and moping, Finola texted her sisters, inviting them over to lunch. There was just enough time between their answers to make her wonder if they were texting with each other first. She told herself she was being paranoid only to have them reply at exactly the same time using nearly the same phrasing.
Can’t wait. Want to see you.
So excited. Want to see you.
She didn’t know what was up with that, but honestly, it was more than she could deal with so she ignored it. That was her new mantra. Just ignore it. Maybe not as spiritually healing as finding the good in the world or inviting in kindness, but for now it was working and that was enough for her.
California Girls
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