3. Mandy
3
MANDY
“ Y ou’d think he’d be happier that you found an in with Mr. Isaacs.” Jess spins around to face me as I return to my desk.
I wipe at the tears on my cheeks and pull out the glass cleaner. “He’s only happy if he gets to cut me down.”
“Aww, don’t let him get to you.” Jess dabs at my eyes with a Kleenex.
“It’s fine. That’s what the money is for, right?”
“Salinger does not pay us that much.” My friend makes a face as I quickly wipe the whipped-cream smears off of the glass wall under Salinger’s angry gaze.
He smirks as if he’s noticed the redness in my eyes.
I squirt more Windex on the glass, shielding my face from his view, then wipe it away, wishing I could wipe him away too .
“I need to go buy Salinger’s lunch.” I blow my nose. “And me another coffee. Can you watch Pepper? Be good for Auntie Jess,” I tell the corgi, “and I’ll bring you a Puppuccino.”
“Just buy a can of whipped cream and keep it in the fridge.”
“She likes the cup,” I protest, grabbing my purse.
“You get Salinger random meetings and invites all the time. Shoot, you scored him a sit-down with Michelle Obama once. I feel like you could get a stack of the Starbucks Puppuccino cups if you really wanted to.”
Pepper, seeing me put on my coat, starts whining and slobbering.
Jess makes a face. “Take her with you. She gets really upset when you’re not here, and I don’t know if Salinger’s nerves are going to take it if she starts howling.”
In his office, the man has resumed his pacing. He’s engaged in a tense conversation on his Bluetooth headset while he’s apparently texting someone and periodically answering chat messages.
“Is it just me, or is he getting worse?” Jess whispers.
“It’s that port contract. It’s worth billions of dollars,” I explain in a low voice. “It will be the biggest deal any private investment firm has done in the last fifteen years. He wants it more than he’s wanted anything else in his life. He’ll do anything for it, or so he says.”
“Sounds mentally healthy.”
“I’m thinking positive. It’s lunchtime—my favorite time of the day. Salinger’s occupied for a solid twenty-five minutes, and I get to eat my leftovers on the roof deck that no one else uses and pretend I’m at a fancy café in France with my wonderful husband. ”
“You need to stop spending so much time at the office,” Jess scolds, “and more time looking for your dream man. What happened to that guy you met at the singles party who sent you all those roses?”
“Uh… I wasn’t really what he was looking for,” I squeak. “Better go pick up Salinger’s lunch before he throws the phone through the wall again.”
I admit it—I haven’t told Jess about the stalker. I haven’t told anyone.
My motto in life is that if you pretend it isn’t happening, you can survive anything. That’s how I’ve lasted so long with Salinger. And I’ve prayed, wished, and delusionally hoped that the stalker will lose interest if I just ignore him.
It… is not working.
“What am I going to do?” I ask the dog softly.
She whines and lumbers along behind me as we step off the elevator.
“Hi, Pepperoni!” the receptionist coos.
Pepper immediately runs to her, stubby tail wagging, and the receptionist lowers a piece of lunch meat from her sandwich to Pepper’s mouth.
“You could just have us order in the food for him,” the receptionist calls to me. “No need to go out.”
“You know how Salinger is about delivery. Plus, I like the exercise.”
The receptionist shrugs.
My toxic trait is believing I deserve a treat every time I leave my desk. I’ve earned a coffee after the morning I’ve had, right? Starbucks has a new white-chocolate-cheesecake mocha latte that has my name all over it.
Pausing at the door, I look around furtively.
The coast is clear .
Salinger doesn’t tell me where he wants me to order his lunch from. That would be beneath him. I am supposed to read his mind and guess.
As if.
Instead, I’d been choosing restaurants that are close to both the office and a Starbucks. Thankfully, in Seattle, you can sneeze and accidentally land in a Starbucks.
The close to the office bit? Ever since I met Jaxon at that singles party, I’ve felt like my world has shrunk smaller and smaller as I’m doing anything and everything possible to avoid a confrontation.
The only place I really feel safe is at the office—and only when Salinger is there. I have this superstition that the office is in a sphere of protection, that Salinger is such a horrible, awful man that he has his own force field that keeps other terrible men away and keeps me safe.
Yes, I also believe in horoscopes and healing crystals, but let me have this, okay?
Except my methods aren’t working. This morning was proof of that.
And my only other real plan is sticking my head in the sand.
“It’s going to be fine,” I lie to myself then immediately jump out of my skin when my phone rings.
It’s my sister Lauren. “Oof! Sending that one to voicemail.”
It rings again—this time, my mother’s name pops up on the screen. Is something wrong? Is it my dad?
Worried, I answer the call. “Hi, Mom—”
“Don’t sound so happy to answer the phone.”
Gritting my teeth, I say as pleasantly as I can, “How are you, Mom? I’ve been meaning to call you! ”
“I don’t need the sarcasm this morning, Mandy. Your sister has an announcement she wants to make to everyone at dinner this weekend. I want to make sure you’re coming.”
“What’s the announcement?”
“I don’t know, Mandy—that’s what the dinner is for. I’m making your father’s favorite. A rib roast, twice-baked-potato casserole, a garden salad, and those Pillsbury rolls you like. I wanted to confirm that you’re coming.”
I roll my eyes. “No, Mom, I have a hot date.”
“You have a date? Ma, Mandy has a date!”
Heavy breathing from the other end. “Mandy?” Gran asks. “Can you see me, Mandy?”
“Hi, Gran!”
“I can’t see you. I can’t see her, Gale.”
“This isn’t Facetime, Ma!”
Wincing, I hold my phone away from my ear.
“Who’s your date?” my mother demands. “Is he as nice as the last boy? The one who sent you all those lovely flowers?”
Yeah, even more people in my life who don’t know about the stalker situation.
“He doesn’t need to be good-looking as long as he has a good job,” my mom continues. “At your age, you need to settle.”
“Never settle,” Gran rails. “I settled and look what it got me—two sons who never write, never call. I have to live with your mother and that hobbit she married. Shoot for the moon, Mandy!”
“Gran…”
“Just go into this date with a positive attitude,” my mother says. “Don’t worry about dinner. I’ll make you a plate.” I can visualize my mother in her eighties kitchen, glasses perched on the end of her nose.
“Mom, of course I don’t have a date.”
“Oh my gosh, Mandy, how can you do this? You get my hopes up, then it’s just more of your sarcasm. I guess I’ll just die without ever being a grandmother then.”
“Yeah, it’s a real injustice for you.”
“I don’t need the attitude, Mandy. Your father’s been doing yard work since six this morning. I’m going to strangle him with the cord from the weed eater. I’ve gone through half a box of wine already. My nerves.”
“She drank all my wine,” Gran complains.
“I’ll bring you some more, Gran.”
“Nothing in the bottles,” my mother warns. “It’s too much of a pain to try and recycle them. Just buy the box.”
“The pink box,” Gran says. “I’ll send you a picture. Gale, send her a photo.”
“Sure, I’ll bring some. Anyway, have to go. I’m out buying lunch—”
“You don’t have money to waste eating out,” my mom scolds. “Things are so expensive—you need to save your money. Honestly, I thought I raised you girls better than this. I was at the market yesterday, and do you know how much a lemon is these days? A lemon!”
I hold the phone away from my ear, silently counting to five. “I’m buying my boss’s lunch.”
“Well that’s fine, then. Just text me when you’re at the restaurant, so I know you’re safe.”
A lump clogs my throat. Sure, my mom is annoying, but something about her just wanting me to be safe feels like it is breaking my heart. I want to tell her. I want someone to help me solve my problems—want someone to save me—but I can’t dump my problems on her and my dad. It would kill them.
“And call me when you’re back at your office,” Mom is saying. “There are lots of dangerous men downtown. I watch the news—I know these things. You need a nice husband, one who will take care of you so you don’t have to work in the city.”
“One with a big cock,” Gran adds.
“I’m here! I have to go. Love you.”
Ending the call, I walk up to the counter at Mythos restaurant. “Hi, Mr. Doucas! I like your new sign.”
“It’s snazzy, yes?” The elderly man wraps me in a big hug.
“Very chic.”
“I’m here for pickup.” I set the cash on the counter.
“A cold cracked-wheat-and-scallop salad, rare steak, no pasta, no bread, no cheese, and definitely no dessert.” The elderly restaurant owner gives me a mock glare. “Mandy! Your boss doesn’t want my bread? You put ‘no bread’ on the order.”
“You know how he is.” I take the offered bag. “But I love your bread.”
“And my cake, no? I put an extra slice in there with the bread.”
“I shouldn’t…”
“You can give me an extra tip. Boss will never know.” He winks. “And of course, a little meatball I saved just for you, Pepper.”
The dogs eats the treat greedily.
“You never feed this poor animal,” he scolds.
“Don’t let her fool you.” I slip the receipt in my purse. “Thanks, Mr. Doucas! ”
The sky is overcast when Pepper and I step onto the sidewalk.
“I wonder what kind of cake it is?” As we walk, I peek into the bag. “White-chocolate raspberry. Yum! This might even be enough to convince me to skip Starbucks today,” I tell Pepper. “See? Positive thinking. The day can only go up from this morning. I got my stalker run-in early in the day, and now I don’t have to worry about him showing up again.”
“Even though you’re a snobby little girl who hates my guts, I still kind of like you, you know.”
Pepper yelps and I stumble tripping over her leash as a man with the beginnings of a beer gut blocks my path. Jaxon.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you after our text rendezvous this morning,” he says.
We’re in the middle of a busy public sidewalk during the lunch rush. He can’t hurt me, right?
“I am very busy right now, and I cannot do this.” I hate the way my voice trembles.
“I thought you were different from other women. You seemed low maintenance, eager to please. You had this special quality. I saw you that night at the party and thought, there’s a woman who deserves better.”
“I am not looking for a relationship right now—I told you.”
Jaxon grabs my purse strap, yanking me off-balance. “Lying bitch.”
Pepper growls. He kicks a sneakered foot at her.
“You used me,” he snarls. “Do you know how much those flowers cost? That dinner? I know what you’re doing, and I’m not letting you get away with it. You didn’t even let me kiss you.”
“I told you.” My voice sounds screechy. “I will pay you back for all of it if you just promise to leave me alone.”
He ignores my offer. “I was trying to do something nice for you. You’re old. Women hit a wall when they’re in their thirties. No man is going to want you.” His breath is energy-drink sour in my face.
“Fine,” I choke out the words. “You’re right. Now just leave me alone. Please.”
I shouldn’t engage, shouldn’t talk to him. But I am just so tired.
“I told you , I was doing you a favor taking you on that date. Why can’t you women ever be grateful?” He wraps his fingers around my arm and jerks me roughly to the side.
Pepper lunges again and grabs onto his ankle, sinking her teeth through the thin fabric of his white socks.
Red blooms there as he shakes her off, yelling, “She bit me! Your dog bit me! I’m bleeding. I’m calling the pound. I’m having that dog put down.” Spit flies out of his mouth.
“Give me that,” he rages, swiping for the leash.
“Leave my dog alone! You’re not hurting her.” I swing my arm, and Jaxon takes the bag of food to the face. Cake and freshly grilled scallops explode on his overpriced designer shirt, unbuttoned to show too much skin.
“You’re going to pay for that, stupid female. And that fucking dog is going to get it.”
Dropping the broken take-out bag, I take off at a run down the street toward the Rainier Equity office. Pepper sprints as fast as her stubby legs can take her. To be fair, she keeps a better pace than me .
My lungs burn. Snot and tears run down my face as I push through the annoyed crowds of office workers out on their lunch break. Wheezing and gasping, I fumble with the keycard, swiping, swiping, until the side door finally opens and we’re safe in the Rainier Equity offices.
My phone chimes. Is it him?
I drop my phone, trying to fumble it out of my purse with shaking hands.
Jess: Where you at?
Jess: Salinger is hangry.
Jess: Better hurry.
“Shit. Shit!” My hair is snarled and tangled under my fingers. “I don’t have his lunch. Oh my god. He’s going to be so mad.”
I can’t take it.
I can’t do this.
At my feet, Pepper whines and licks my shoe. Bending down, I scoop her into my arms, squeezing her tight, too tight. She grunts and wiggles in my grasp.
“I’m sorry.” I bury my face in her soft fur. “I need a lawyer. I’m going to hire a lawyer. I have extra money saved up. Jaxon’s not going to hurt you, I promise.”
Pepper’s warm tongue licks my face.
But what am I going to do about lunch? Salinger is going to scream at me if I don’t show up with something. I can already hear him. How can you fail at the easiest part of your job? You’re so fucking useless, Mandy!
The simple thing to do would be to go out and buy more food. If I call now and hustle, I might not be too late for curbside pickup. It’s already too late for delivery. The Seattle lunch hour is in full swing—it would be ninety minutes before a delivery person arrived.
I’m going to puke.
I’m such a wreck that I’ve lost my appetite for my own lunch.
That’s it! I’ll feed him my lunch. I have casserole and a salad. Shoot, I think he has a call coming up. He won’t even notice that it’s not his usual, right?
The office is mostly empty. A lot of the more enterprising employees work out at the office gym on their lunch hour then eat at their desks while they work in the afternoon.
My Hello Kitty lunch box is tucked under my desk. Salinger’s back is turned as he yells into the phone.
Crouching down, I scurry to the break room. Trembling, I carefully plate the cold cube of casserole.
My family is honest midwestern stock, and nothing beats the Seattle chill like casserole. Though this is slightly more upscale version. Pastitsio takes hours to make—you have to stew the meat, make a béchamel, broil the eggplant separately, assemble it all, then bake.
Half an hour ago, I was looking forward to my lunch. Now, I just want to survive the rest of the day without a panic attack.
After arranging both mine and Pepper’s portions neatly on the plate, I place it into the microwave and set it for two minutes.
At my feet, Pepper drools.
“I’m sorry, but I need to feed Salinger your portion too. You’ve seen him—he’s huge.”
More canine whining .
“You ate a meatball,” I remind the dog, “and a whole, entire donut. It won’t do us any harm to skip a meal. You’re not going to starve to death between now and dinnertime.”
The dog flops down on the tile floor.
Then my Greek salad with feta, fresh veggies, and fancy olive oil goes in a white bowl, and I place it on a bamboo tray. A glass of ice water with a slice of lemon joins it.
My stomach grumbles. Maybe I’m a little hungrier than I thought.
What is Salinger going to say, though?
My stomach churns with nerves as I arrange the rest of the food on the bamboo tray. The casserole is a cheesy, meaty, greasy rectangle of deliciousness, all carbs and dairy. I’ve never served Salinger something like it before.
I scurry in and silently slide the tray on his desk, bracing myself for the inevitable outburst.
He makes an angry face at me then barks at someone on the phone. Before I can escape, he holds up a hand, stopping me.
I stand there, sweat pooling under my bra as I wait for him to finish his call.
The call ends.
I brace for the detonation.
My boss scowls down at his food. “What the fuck is this?”
I’m about to pass out from holding my breath. “New restaurant,” I squawk out. “Mediterranean. You like salad.”
“Is this pasta?” The scowl deepens.
“Yes, but mostly meat and veggies. You can try something new. I’ll order you the scallops again tomorrow.”
The smell of the pastitsio makes my mouth water.
He looks down at the food again .
I swallow. “Or I can just go right now…”
“No,” he barks, “just leave it. I’m already behind schedule.”