Drama, Diner, and a Deal #3
ready for work using that closet that doesn’t have a door that catches and hides half my clothes. It seems like exactly what
I’d want, and just as quickly I deflate. It’s a little bit more than I can swing, and there’s a good chance I won’t be getting
promoted this year, after all.
I pick up the phone. I now have a counteroffer. As soon as we exchange greetings, I say, “Thanks again for sending the tasks
over. I’m happy to do all the prep work shared, and I’ll make sure that Irene isn’t bothered. One additional ask.”
“Oh.”
“It’s actually something that can help you too, I think. You’d been working with Motley and Sons for your company’s branding,
right?”
“Yes, for years. They’ve been great.”
She’s right. Motley Senior has been great. He announced his retirement last month. His one son left for personal reasons last year, and the remaining son
has been investigated at least once for expense misappropriation. We both know that she’ll be on the market for a safer firm
once Motley leaves.
“Lana, I can get this building in shape in any way you need. And I will do everything to ensure Irene isn’t bothered by the
tenants. But would you consider coming to Westmore Communications?”
“Oh.” Her voice drops, as expected. “I don’t really see the benefit of going elsewhere right now.”
“I get that, but I’d like the chance for you to consider our firm. All I’m asking is for one opportunity. You know our reputation,
and now you’ll get a chance to see what it’s like working with me. Can you give me your word you’ll at least come in for a
pitch meeting?”
The line goes quiet. Too quiet. And my palms start to sweat that fast. She could back out now and everything I need to get
my life back on track could slip through my fingers. I should’ve been happy with the new apartment.
But if I can return from my leave having secured Lana as a client, even on a trial basis—that’s all I’d need to prove I was
director material after all.
They can put me on leave, but I’ll come back stronger.
The promotion and bigger office will be mine. The new apartment will be mine—and at such an affordable rate, I’ll have enough
spending cash to start marking my dream board a reality.
My heart pounds as I blurt out, “Unless you have someone else who can do what you’re asking of me, without Irene finding out.”
Another rush of adrenaline. It’s not a threat but it may as well be. There’s something alive inside me again.
I just hope Lana doesn’t know how much I need this.
“Okay.” She lets out a breath. “Sounds good. If things work out, I’ll come in and hear your company’s pitch for a longer-term partnership.”
“Thank you so much, Lana. It’s a pleasure.” I let her go lest I say the wrong thing and make it all go to shit.
No matter what, this building is going to be sold. It won’t matter if I rearrange the chairs on the Titanic or play in a string quartet, the iceberg is coming. I may as well get into a lifeboat that’s being offered. And maybe I read
too long of an article on submersibles in bed this morning?
I open the email again: your new life. In a few weeks, I can be moving into that apartment. I could even be onboarding Lana. Having brought such a big client into
the firm, I’ll be sure to redeem myself. Hell, this will put me even further ahead than I was before.
I can flip this blip in my career into something to be proud of.
And it’ll all be worth it. Everything I’ve worked for. Everything I’ve sacrificed . . .
I think of the last time I saw my dad before his stroke. I had him come to a coffee shop near my office. He was already waiting
for me when I got there. He’d just gotten a haircut and wore a golf shirt that had a collar—his nicest shirt. There was a
tiny hole in the sleeve that broke my heart.
And there was that box on the table. The box that sits hidden in the back of my closet.
He was so happy I came; I was so antsy to get back to the office. I downed my coffee so fast that it burned. He told me about
his new job—that he’d become the resident old guy in the warehouse.
When we left, he asked if we could meet next week again.
His expression was hesitant and hopeful. I looked into his eyes, and they were clear. Everything was clear.
So I said, “Sure, same time next week.”
His smile was so full of promise that I could almost imagine what he looked like as a child. Like how his mom might’ve seen him.
I took the box home and didn’t open it that night.
Then I got really busy at work and ended up staying until eleven every night for a week. I had to cancel our next coffee.
And the one after.
The third week, he died in the hospital.
I push the thoughts deep into my core and pull up a different memory: when he showed up to my MBA graduation hardly able to
stand. How he stumbled through the room, stuffed his hand into his rumpled suit coat, and fished a metal flask from his pocket.
I was so embarrassed that it felt like I was doing it.
I live in the memory until the anger surges high enough to be comfortable.
Alice zeroes in on me, but I can’t hold her stare.
In a few weeks I’ll be moving on from here. Everything will be back on track.
My new life awaits.