Chapter 10
Chapter 10
I’m sitting in the only room at the office that isn’t blue. In fact, it’s red. Bright red. The room is—somewhat unimaginatively—called the Red Room, so you get what you read on the label. Apparently, red isn’t just the color of sexy dresses and the shade my skin goes if I stay in the sun too long. Oh, no. The color red is, apparently, so much more than that. According to Larissa, research shows that red stimulates vitality and helps one’s creative juices flow. Even though, sitting in this room right now, I imagine this is exactly what it’s like to be stuck inside a giant tomato.
I let out a sigh. I wish I were reclining on a sun lounger on a beach in Fiji (wearing sun lotion, so I don’t end up looking like the room I’m currently in), a pina colada in one hand and a good book in the other as a cute guy massages my feet. Instead, I’m listening to some guy who smells of incense and mud—and looks like he last washed sometime in the twentieth century—espouse the power of the Ethiopian “charms” he’s brought for Larissa to “have a life-changing experience” with. Apparently, when it comes to what look suspiciously like twigs wrapped in twine, you can’t just look at them or pick them up to examine them. According to Aleron, a.k.a. Mr. Smelly, you’ve got to “experience” them.
My cynical eyebrow is on perma-salute in this room, and today is no exception.
Larissa’s? Not so much.
“Can you feel the way everything inside of you is more alert, more in tune, more incredible than it was before you placed your hand here?” the guy, Aleron, says to a riveted Larissa.
“That could be this room, you know. It’s optimized for creativity,” Larissa replies.
“Of course. Red is the color of vitality, of excitement,” he pauses, his eyes intense as he adds, “of human sexuality.”
I raise my eyebrows at him. Is this guy hitting on Larissa now?
She nods, totally and blissfully oblivious to anything that may or may not be going on. “You’re so right, Aleron.”
He cups her hand, holding the “charm” in his own, and says, “Close your eyes and concentrate. Feel the charm working. Feel the way your blood pulses through your body.”
Well, I had hoped her blood had already been doing that all by itself, for her sake.
Larissa’s eyes pop open. “Oh, my goodness. Yes! I totally felt that.”
Aleron gives a knowing nod. “That is the power of the unanyo . It’s working at a deep level to improve your circulation. What it does is strengthen your body’s internal connectivity.”
I clamp my lips shut to stifle a giggle. Strengthening your body’s connectivity has got to be a good thing. You wouldn’t want to be walking down the street and have limbs and things just fall off, would you? Maybe your internal organs drop out of your butt? A messy experience for sure.
Aleron turns his head to glare at me momentarily before he returns his attention to Larissa.
I’m not always so cynical about the things people peddle to Larissa. Sometimes I actually believe in them, or want to believe in them, I guess. Like the time I wore a rock pendant that was supposed to attract love. Well, it attracted love all right, only not the human kind. The day I wore the pendant, Erin and I found a family of mice living in our oven, and despite the fact they’re super cute with those long whiskers and twitchy noses, we had to get someone in to get rid of them. They were eating our food and leaving little deposits all over the kitchen, which was pretty gross. Of course, we asked the guy to trap them and release them into a pretty field somewhere for them to play in, which he agreed to do, but I’m not sure how honest he was about their fate.
My phone vibrates, and I flip it over. It gives me a break from all this connectivity strengthening babble. I smile as I read a new message from Seth.
Did I tell today you how beautiful you are? I’d love to see you again soon.
Aww. He’s so sweet! Maybe a little corny, but I’m not going to think anything but positive thoughts about this one. After two dating disasters, I know Seth is one of the good guys. Three’s a charm and all that.
I tap out a message.
Dinner tomorrow night?
His response is immediate.
Perfect.
It’s a date.
I add two kisses at the end of my message and turn my phone face down on the table. I return my attention to the conversation in the room.
“Does it work on a cellular level?” Larissa asks, her hand still gripping the Ethiopian “charm.”
“Deeper. Much, much deeper.”
“Deeper than your cells?” I can’t help but question.
“Yes. Picture this, if you will. If your cells had cells, it would be working at their cellular level.”
Wait, what?
Larissa’s face is bright when she tilts her head to look at me. “Darcy, this is an amazing feeling. You have got to try it.” She turns back to Aleron. “How many charms do you have?”
My ears prick up.
“Oh, I’ve got a large supply, although they are in high demand, as you can well imagine.”
Larissa gives a knowing nod. “Yes, I can imagine. They’re so powerful. We’ll take a thousand, to begin with.”
“A good start, Larissa, but I need to warn you that there isn’t a limitless supply,” Aleron replies, if “Aleron” is even his real name. I bet it’s really something like Nigel or Derek. Colin maybe. Yes, he looks like a Colin under all those beads and hemp clothing.
Larissa’s face creases in distress. “What are you saying? My followers could miss out on these?”
It’s blindingly obvious she’s been sucked in by Aleron-slash-Colin’s super-powered vacuum. I need to do something about this fast.
“Larissa? I don’t think we should rush into this, do you?” I say.
“I think rushing in is exactly what she should do,” Aleron says. “The unanyo have proven very popular in the wellness arena. Larissa, your followers need these. No, they deserve them.”
Larissa nods emphatically. “Yes, yes, you’re so right, Aleron.”
Uh-oh. Not a good sign.
Quietly, trying my best not to be noticed, I pick up my phone and send a quick message with the number 104 . It’s a secret code between me and my coworkers. The whole company is in on it, unbeknownst to our boss. We had a meeting and everything, which is where the 104 code was decided (although one time, when I briefly dated a cop, he told me 104 was actually the official police code for “stupid cat stuck up tree,” but I think he was joking). Right now, I need the code to work.
The thing with Larissa is, she’s what she calls “open,” which is New Age speak for “pretty darn gullible,” as far as I can see. She readily believes in all this mumbo jumbo nonsense, lapping it up. People like Aleron know it all too well. She once bought an entire container of rubber ducks because she was told they were imbued with the spirit of a former Dalai Lama. Rubber ducks, people! I’m not so sure Dalai Lamas go in for little plastic things that float in the bath. That’s much more Ernie and Bert’s scene.
“You wouldn’t want your loyal followers to miss out on the incredible strength of the unanyo . They would miss out on experiencing the deep, deep healing power of body connectedness, the power you, yourself, have been privileged to experience with me here today . And you wouldn’t want that, would you?”
Larissa shakes her head. “No, I wouldn’t.”
I message 104 again, this time followed by a series of “!!!!!!” to show just how urgent this situation has become.
“Might I be so bold as to suggest closer to ten thousand units, Larissa?” Aleron continues. “You have a massive international following, after all, and I’m absolutely certain you’d want everyone to experience the life-changing benefits of the unanyo .”
Even though I’m fully expecting it, when the door bangs open, I jump right out of my seat. Maureen O’Connell’s imposing figure virtually fills the space where the red door was closed only moments before. She pauses to survey the room before she strides in, a determined look on her face.
“Maureen,” I say, widening my eyes in mock surprise at the head of our Accounts Payable team. “What are you doing here?”
Of all the brave people who respond to the 104 distress messages, Maureen’s my absolute favorite. She brings a touch of the theatrical, and, if I’m honest, it doesn’t hurt that she’s almost six feet tall and wears a men’s size ten shoe. When dealing with pushy salespeople, sometimes size does matter.
“I had a sudden need to be in this room,” Maureen replies as she pulls out a seat at the table and drops down. “I can’t explain it. It was like I had a . . . a calling.”
Or a message on her phone.
“Well, if you had a calling, you must be in the right place,” I say with a wise nod of my head.
You see, this is one of the benefits of working for Larissa. You can use any kind of excuse you want, like “my chi made me take an extra-long lunch break today,” or “my soul told me to stay in bed way past my alarm.” She simply accepts it, so long as it has the required New Agedness to it, and so long as you do it with the right attitude. Maureen knows it, I know it. We all know it.
“Maureen, this is Aleron Whitehead. He’s showing us these amazing Ethiopian charms that help work on the cellular levels of your cells’ cells,” I explain to her, my eyes wide with mock amazement. “Isn’t that unbelievable?”
“Wow, they do sound unbelievable, Darcy,” Maureen replies, her face serene.
Gosh, she’s good. That’s why I use her for these sorts of situations. She’s only getting started right now, but I know she’s tough and uncompromising. One time, she was on my bowling team when Larissa decided the whole company needed to “get back to basics” by playing the game of the “common person,” and she smashed the opposition. Literally. I won’t go into details. All I’ll say is it wasn’t pretty.
Maureen picks one of the “charms” up in her hand and Aleron eyes her suspiciously. I’m quite certain that right about now, he’s wishing both Maureen and I would have a “calling” to leave the room entirely so he could manipulate Larissa into purchasing even more of his little bundles of twigs.
Maureen holds the “charm” up in the air and says, “This must be why I was called in here.”
“It could well be. The unanyo is very powerful,” Aleron says.
“ Unanyo ,” Maureen says. “Interesting. Tell me more about them.”
Aleron launches into his speech once more about circulation and the cellular level of our cells’ cells.
Maureen nods along, looking as though this is the most interesting thing she’s heard in her entire life, although I know better. She’s sitting there, working out when to pounce.
His spiel done, Maureen sits back in her seat. “How much are they?”
Aleron throws her a look of irritation. “For Larissa, and only Larissa,” he turns back to her, “I could be persuaded to let them go for $45 apiece.”
$45? For literally a pile of twigs that are probably from his garden down the road? This guy is g oooo d. But not good enough. Not when Maureen’s in the room.
“You could sell them upwards of $150,” Aleron adds hopefully. “That’s a huge profit margin for your business.”
Larissa bites her lip. “Okay. I think ten thousand at that price sounds reasonable.”
Aleron works hard to suppress a smile.
This has gone on w aaa y too long. I shoot Maureen a look, and she leaps into action.
“Listen, Al. Can I call you that?” she says.
“It’s Aleron.”
“Great. The thing is, Al, we already have something very similar in our warehouse right now.”
“We do?” Larissa asks.
“Yes. They’re the,” she looks around the room until her eyes land on a bottle of water on the side table by the window, “the Evian-ilors.”
The Evian-ilors. Brilliant, Maureen. Brilliant. I almost break into applause.
“Yes, that’s right,” she continues. “I saw them on an inventory list I was reviewing only last week. The Evian-ilors. They’re from French Polynesia. Remember, Larissa?”
Larissa’s brow is as furrowed as her Botox will allow. “It does sound familiar. . .”
“From memory, the power of the Evian-ilors is that they work on the cells of your cells’ cells’ cells. So, you know, one better than these.” Maureen picks up one of the unanyo once more and then drops it carelessly on the table.
Now I want to give her a standing ovation, she’s so good.
Aleron-slash-Colin opens his mouth to speak, but before he gets the chance, I jump out of my seat and say, “Thank you, Maureen. We had completely forgotten about the Evian-y things.”
“Evian-ilors,” Maureen corrects with a satisfied smirk.
“Yes. Those.” I turn to Larissa. “Larissa? You’ve got that ten o’clock, remember?” I tap my wrist and raise my eyebrows.
“Oh, of course. My ten o’clock,” she says, looking as confused as a Kardashian in a camping store. She stands up. “Aleron, can we pick this up some other time?”
Colin—sorry, Aleron —narrows his eyes at me, and I smile back at him.
As I hustle Larissa out of the room, I hear Maureen say, “Thank you for your time today, Aleron. It’s been so enlightening. Would you like to take a bottle of Evian with you when you leave?”
——
Later that day, Larissa is back in her office going over product descriptions for the online store with one of the guys from marketing. She looks up at me as I walk in the room.
“The unanyo really was very potent,” she says.
“Yes, but the Evian thingies are even more so, Larissa.”
“You know, I really don’t remember those.”
“I’ll get you one.” I roll one of the spare Swiss balls over to her desk and sit down on it. “Hey. Joseph, right?” I say to the marketing guy. He only started here in the last week, I think.
“That’s right,” he says with a smile. “Larissa, if you’re happy with these, I’ll get them uploaded on the site.”
“They look amazing. Thank you for all you do for us.” She reaches out and takes him by the hand. “You are truly a valued member of our family. Here.” She presses a unanyo into his hand.
He looks down at it, clearly unsure how to respond to being given a clump of twigs. “Err, thanks for the, ah, gift. I’ll go get on with these.” Joseph’s eyes dart around the room. He’ll work out how these things go. You accept whatever thing Larissa gives you and act grateful. Then she’s happy.
“See you soon, Joseph. Enjoy your twigs,” I say to him with a warm smile. There’s no need to spook the horses. Or the product marketers, as the case may be.
Once he’s beaten his hasty escape, I say to Larissa, “I want you to see what I’ve got for the new gallery.”
She beams at her. “Oh, goody! Show me, show me.”
I got in early this morning and hung the photos Alex gave me on the hallway walls. I take Larissa to see them. As she oohs and ahhs over them, I tell her, “I’m collecting the ones you saw at Cozy Cottage High Tea later this morning.”
After “The Incident” at Alex’s place on Sunday, I did what he suggested and contacted Sophie to collect the photographs from Cozy Cottage. Not having to see Alex after I upset him so much is simply a side benefit of the arrangement.
Larissa pauses in front of the photo of the little girl in the field. Instantly, I think of the other photos in that collection, of the beautiful woman Alex didn’t want me to see. “Oh, this one speaks to me. You know, I didn’t think I wanted people to be the focus in my pictures, but this changes my mind.”
“It is gorgeous.”
“Oh, it’s more than gorgeous. It’s transcendental. Alex Walsh has such an eye.” We both look at the photo until she says, “Darcy, darling, write this down.”
I flip open my trusty notebook, my pen poised. In some ways, I like to think of myself as the anti-millennial. I still know how to use pencil and paper. It’s one of my superpowers.
“I need to know how Alex Walsh thinks, how he feels, how he taps into his higher state of consciousness.”
I write down “how A.W. thinks, feels, higher state of consciousness.” I look back up at Larissa. “How many more of his photographs do you need to answer these questions?”
“Oh, I need to talk to him. Face to face. I need to search his soul for these answers. Darcy, I want you to bring me Alex Walsh,” she says with a flutter.
My throat tightens.
“Couldn’t you just call him, instead?” I suggest. “I’ve got his number,” I add feebly, thinking of the name he tapped into my phone: “Alex the photographic genius.”
She shakes her head. “I want him here, in the Red Room with me. I want to know everything there is to know about Alex Walsh. I want him totally exposed. Naked.”
She wants Alex Walsh here, totally exposed and naked? Nope. I cannot have that image in my head. Not after seeing his amazing, creative side in his photographs. Not after seeing the sweet way he is with his nephew.
“And anyway, you’ve got to collect the photos from the café, don’t you?”
She’s got a point. “I’ll, ah, see what I can do.”
“I feel very strongly that this is something important. So, Darcy? Just do it.” She stands up straighter. “Hey, that’s a great, motivational line: just do it.”
“That’s what Nike thought.”
“Oh. Shame. I liked the sound of that.”
An alarm sounds on my phone, signaling that it’s time for Larissa’s kale fix. “I’ll go get your juice.” As I leave her standing in the hallway, gazing at Alex’s work, my insides tighten at the thought of having to see Alex again.
And after what happened at his apartment, I’m pretty sure I’m the last person he wants to hear from right now, too.