Chapter Two
Six days, a zillion missed calls, a dozen grilled cheese sandwiches cut on the diagonal, and seventy-three episodes of The Nanny later, Addison Irwin pulled her fired ass off her sofa and answered the insistent buzz of her apartment intercom.
“I didn’t order anything, Anthony,” she answered impatiently.
“Your friends are here to see you, Miss Irwin.”
“Ugh. Tell them I’m not home.”
“We can hear you,” her three besties shouted back in unison.
“Go away,” she barked in return.
Within seconds, they were banging on her door. It was clearly an intervention of sorts as the three women bounded in like the Catastrophe Avengers, armed with groceries and flowers and self-help books titled Better Days Ahead and Now What?
That last one really got to her. “Now what?” was not a question Addison had ever contemplated before.
Addison was a planner, and once she set goals in her head, she had tunnel vision until they were achieved. Nothing and no one would get in her way. Losing her promotion and then her job in such a public manner was not something Addison had ever envisioned. She did not know if and when her career, and her self-esteem, would rebound.
It certainly was a cautionary tale, and as such Addison was sure it had already been repeated up and down Madison Avenue and beyond. And if, by chance, someone in the ad world didn’t catch the story of her career-ending faux pas, it landed on Page Six of the New York Post. With her photograph. A stellar career snuffed out by one dumb joke.
Lisa Banks, the first to enter, pulled Addison into a strong embrace.
Addison had met Lisa, a single, straight-haired, straitlaced psychologist and fellow Chicago native, while bonding over their accents years earlier at a Midtown bar. She was the blonde of the group and the most affectionate of her friends, as evidenced by the one-sided hug she currently had Addison enveloped in. When Lisa finally released her, she preached, “The universe is telling you what I’ve been saying for years!”
Lisa often lectured Addison about her all-consuming work ethic—warning her of the dangers of putting work first and life second. Addison was in no mood for I told you sos—though she gave her a knowing nod.
“Save the shrinking for another time,” Kizzy Weinstein piped in, while habitually twirling her index finger through one of her deep-brown curls. Kizzy was a headhunter, married to her Manhattan prep school sweetheart. She added, “I know all the candidates for your replacement—they don’t touch you.”
“My team feels awful—especially Emma. They call every day.”
“With questions, no doubt. You ran that place, let’s see how long they last without you,” added Prudence Parker, a redheaded attorney originally from Georgia, married to another easily sunburnt ginger, with whom she had one adorable red-haired baby boy. You could practically see the gears in her head quietly turning, in search of a litigious angle. Addison sighed. She had to admit that it was nice of her friends to come. It felt good to be cared for. She may have put her job above her love life over the years, but at least she had nurtured her friendships. She thought of her last breakup. The guy had claimed he came in fifth place after her job and three besties. He was right.
Her phone rang. It was a number from an unknown law firm that she had been ignoring all week. “Who’s that?” Prudence asked, while glancing at Addison’s mobile.
“Nelson, Nelson, and Leave Me the Hell Alone. They’ve called me at least six times this week—they’re probably ambulance chasers for wrongful termination suits or whatnot.”
“It would thrill me to get them off your back.” Prudence held up the phone and stepped into lawyer mode. She never met a debate she didn’t win.
“Knock yourself out,” Addison encouraged.
Pru walked away with Addison’s phone and returned ten minutes later, carrying the last remaining contents of Addison’s fridge: a bottle of Bottega prosecco she’d been saving for her promotion and four glasses.
“Addison. Do you have an aunt Gloria?”
“Um, yes, my father’s estranged sister, Aunt Gicky. We were never close.”
“Well, we are meeting with her lawyers tomorrow morning at nine. Apparently, you were close enough for her to leave you her house on Fire Island!”