Mia interrupts my reflections. “Excuse me. I just need to powder my nose.”
Of course I stand as she pushes her chair away from the table. The waiter is faster than me, though, and pulls her chair out for her. She smiles up at him sweetly before walking away from the table, the champagne-colored silk of her dress shining in the candlelight. I watch the waiter as he refolds the napkin and places it on the table, as if she were never there. He ignores me completely. That’s fine. My thoughts are elsewhere.
8:45 p.m.
15
Turns out I did need Caroline Fisher.
It is my fault, I know. But I thought if we could just talk one more time, she’d see what she was missing. It had been more than two months of no contact and two long months of watching my back. Or, more precisely, two months spent on full alert, watching to be certain that no one would see me watching Caroline. Rebecca More was not a fan of mine, of course, she had told me as much. I had no way of knowing who else in the office she had turned against me, who else was watching me.
As for Caroline, if I saw her walking down the hall, I’d duck into someone’s office before she could see me. Andy had taken over all of her accounts, and the transition had been seamless. Caroline’s new cubicle was on another floor of the building; she was handling our automotive accounts with a senior account executive, a ballbuster woman named Judy. Fine.
But for some reason, I couldn’t get my mind off Caroline. I couldn’t stop myself from stealing a glance at her as she walked into the office each morning from the parking lot, for example. It was something to look forward to, a moment I cherished, catching a glimpse of Caroline stepping out of her car, looking lovely. This particular November day, there was a chill in the air, and Thanksgiving was just a week away. Somehow, we ended up alone together in the same elevator. I swear I hadn’t planned it. It just happened. Serendipity. She wore a tight-fitting navy knit dress and high-heeled leather boots, and she smelled like apricots. She tried to get out of the elevator when she spotted me, but it was too late and the doors closed.
“Hello, Caroline,” I said. Friendly, nonthreatening salutation, but my voice was husky with desire, I’ll admit.
“Paul,” she said. She nodded but kept staring at the doors as if willing them to open.
“Good to see you, it’s been a while,” I said.
Caroline kept her gaze on the closed elevator doors. “Yes, it has.”
“Drinks tonight, for old times’ sake?” I asked. That’s all. I promise. I may have added, “You look amazing,” or “God, I miss you,” but that’s it, really.
She turned her head and looked at me as if I’d grown horns. Her face was white, her eyes wide as if she was afraid, which was ridiculous. How could she be afraid of me? “You are unbelievable. You’re sick. You really are sick,” she said, and as soon as she stepped out of the elevator, I knew I was in trouble.
It took Rebecca an entire week to summon me to her jungle-like lair that last time, which is why for seven days I had convinced myself that Thompson or Payne had saved me. We were the good old boys. We did what we did, and we got a slap on the wrist. That’s what I had thought. In the end, I didn’t get anything more than two months, Mia is correct.
Rebecca stroked a fat green leaf on one of her plants and smirked as I walked toward her desk. She’d won, she knew it. “Mr. Strom. Have a seat.”
I closed the door behind me, but it opened again immediately. A stout short guy dressed in a rent-a-cop uniform appeared behind me. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said.
“I can assure you this is no joke, Mr. Strom. It’s over. You’re fired. Your things will be shipped to your home address. The partners have generously given you two months’ severance, although I recommended against it given the severity of your crimes.”
Rebecca was enjoying this. I was not. “Crimes. Really? I’ve been a loyal employee, I’ve made this place what it is.”
“We’re finished here. Please escort him out.” Rebecca smiled, a tight-lipped smile. I felt the meathead’s strong hand around my arm.
I shook him off. “Big mistake, Rebecca,” I said, and walked out the door, my head held high, a smile on my face until I reached my car. Inside the Flex, I began to formulate my plan.
I have been draining my 401(k) although minus the company’s match for last year. I lost that when I got terminated. I’m considering it to be my severance package. I lost a lot in penalties using it, but it is what it is. Back then, when it happened, it wasn’t long before Christmas rolled around and Phyllis and Donald’s gifts rolled in. I had imagined we could make the 401(k) money stretch to another Christmas, get the gifts from good old Phyllis and Donald again. That was as far as I’d gotten, back then. Oh, and my special credit card. I know now it was not a solid financial plan. This money thing is my only weakness, I told you that.
My wife reappears at the table, and I scurry over to pull her chair out before the waiter can. I’m not a barbarian. After I settle her in, I pat her shoulder once before I return to my seat. She tenses under my touch. We need to move on to a nonfinancial topic. We are locked in a no-win conversation. I’m eager to change the subject, to set her mind at ease. She hasn’t ever worried about money in her life. There’s no need for her to start now. She has all we will ever need, already.
“I have a plan,” I say. And I do. But I don’t know why I just said that. It’s the corner I’m in, I suppose. My plan is for me only. I will not share it with Mia. She will find out soon enough. Perhaps beginning tonight.
“What’s the plan, Paul?” she says, extracting her napkin from the table, unfolding it before it disappears onto her lap.
The waitress whom I waved over appears at our table and thinks I want her to pour the champagne. The bottle is empty. I finished the last of it when Mia was in the bathroom. I would like to ask her to be our server, but instead say, “I’ll have a Tito’s on the rocks with a lime. Mia, anything?”
“Ah, sir, I’ll get your waiter,” the waitress says, although I know in a place like this she has been trained and told to help out whenever asked, whatever is asked by a customer.
“Mia? A chardonnay?” I ask.
“Yes, please,” Mia says. When the woman leaves, she adds, “So far it appears that your plan is to drive us into debt. I took a look today, and all of the credit cards are maxed out—did you know that? Do you have a secret pile of cash somewhere you aren’t telling me about?”