Let’s All Get Rec’d
Let’s All Get Rec’d
And just like that, it’s Tuesday afternoon, which means there’s only two weeks left until I’m due back to the office. My phone
pings with an email from Carolyne (and Bill Cleg!) as I’m in the middle of feeding Ernest his breakfast. It lists protocols
for my return, my schedule going forward, and points of contact for who was overseeing my projects. It’s detailed, not at
all the kind of message I’d expect if they were planning to bring me in just to formally dismiss me. In fact, it’s surprisingly
friendly, with Carolyne even adding, “We’re excited to see you soon.”
After a full month of anxiety and creeping guilt, I grasp on to those few simple words. I let them carry more weight than
they should, filling me with a fragile sense of worth in a way I’m not willing to explore.
When I first began this leave, I thought the days would crawl by, just a bleak stretch of wasted time until I could get back
to my life. But between preparing this place, dealing with all the tenants, taking care of Ernest, and my walks with Sami,
the whole thing kind of . . . flew by. The building is all set for viewings to start. And from the sounds of Lana’s latest
communications, it looks like this place is going on the market tonight.
I need to start getting myself back into the mindset of a working person. I promised myself I’d come back stronger, so I might
as well begin catching up now. I ring Olivia, and she picks up almost immediately.
“Hey there, Mona!” Her voice is bright but—am I imagining it?—a little curt. It’s probably because she’s at work and has a million thoughts floating through her head.
“Hey, I don’t mean to bother you. Looks like I’m coming back to the office in two weeks, and Carolyne sent me an update that
you were handling the Vesterno account.”
“Are you serious?” The excitement in her voice, I realize, was exactly what I was looking for. “I’m so relieved. I’ve missed
you like crazy.”
I smile as I go to my fridge to grab a water. Over the past few weeks, the shelves have gotten messy with random ingredients
and takeout containers from the diner. I’ll have to get back into the swing of meal planning. “Yeah, I’m starting to catch
up now. Actually, I’m reviewing the campaign packet you prepared—I truly appreciate all the effort you put into it. But I
noticed the ad spend files aren’t in my drive. Would you mind transferring them over?”
“Oh . . . yeah. So we were going to fill you in on your return, but Carolyne asked me to hold on to that file. And the client
agreed as well.” Olivia’s voice is soft and regretful.
“I see,” I blurt out before thinking. Because what does she mean, the client I’d been managing for Two. Whole. Years—fielding
their emails and phone calls on almost a daily basis—is now suddenly being poached?
“I know that was your baby,” Olivia rushes to add. “And I mentioned that to Carolyne, but since we’re right in the middle
of a huge campaign and I’ve been handling the day-to-day, Carolyne felt we had to prioritize the client’s best interests . . .
is all.” Her voice is pinched; I’m sure she genuinely hates telling me this. But I can’t help but wonder how hard a fight
Olivia really put up. This is a huge client for her.
“No, I get it. That makes sense.” I wish my own voice hadn’t lost all its bounce. Because it does make sense. If I were the client, I wouldn’t want to switch points of contact right in the middle of a campaign either.
Olivia continues, voice softer, “Mona, you know, after this campaign’s done, maybe we can discuss transferring the info back
to your portfolio or—”
I’m such a dick. Olivia’s always been my biggest supporter, and I should do the same for her.
“No, Olivia, don’t worry, I get it. You’ve done amazing work, and this is a great opportunity. I think it’s fair, after everything,
for that client to be yours now.” I nod to reiterate to myself the truth of my words. This is the kind of thing I knew was
at risk when my leave first started—it’s the whole reason why I was so scared to take time off. Plus, Vesterno is a moderately
evil pesticide company—nothing sexy, but it was mine. “I’m truly okay. So don’t feel awkward.”
I will just have to work a little harder to get back on track. Nothing I’m not used to.
“And you still have Lana Winston locked in, right?” Olivia adds.
I look around my tiny apartment. “Yeah. Right, I do.” Olivia’s right—bigger opportunities are ahead. It's time to let go of
the past and focus on what’s next. I’m coming back stronger than ever.
“God, I’ve missed you.” Olivia’s voice has brightened again. “This place is just not the same without you.”
“I can’t believe how much I miss work.” I nod as the words leave my mouth, as if doubling down will make them stick. And there
is a part I’ve really missed—at least the version of myself that had direction, deadlines, a reason to get dressed in the
morning.
Alice spins in her tank, a judgmental stare on her face.
My phone buzzes, reminding me of my therapy appointment. “I’ve gotta go, but I’ll call you soon.”
“Love you!” Olivia calls out.
I head through the hallway doing a final once-over, relieved to see that Carmen’s mountain of packages and the reek from Norm’s place are still gone. Everything is all set for Lana.
Once I’ve finished with the first floor, I make my way down the dingier stairwell to the basement. The earthy smell has somewhat
lifted after the exterminator’s most recent visit last week. I first open the metal door to peek into the parkade, and the
sight before me is a miracle. Better than I could’ve hoped. All the old metal junk has been cleared, even the long-abandoned
bikes on the rack are gone.
Carmen must’ve tidied it all up. What a guy.
When I reenter the basement hall for a final check on the laundry room, the sound of Carmen’s voice carries through: “I don’t
want to hear it no more.”
Followed by Jane’s voice as she retorts, “Aren’t you tired of being wrong?”
“Guess I’m used to it,” Carmen mumbles.
Shit.
Why must there always be conflict between those two? I follow the sound of their voices through the musty-ass hall toward
the laundry room. Did Jane straight-up accuse Carmen of being the panty thief?
I lightly step my way farther down. The rec room’s light is on, which is weird, because other than when Jane and I hide out
for panty stings, nobody ever hangs in there. When I reach the threshold, I stop midstride, gaping. It’s almost impossible
to take in at once.
There stands Carmen in a white old-man tank top, sporting a limp tool belt with old leather work gloves sagging in his pockets.
Jane’s in a bright pink sweatsuit, holding a clipboard. All the old furniture—even the broken treadmill—have been cleaned
out, and it looks like the floor has been vacuumed . . . or leaf blown, considering how much debris there was. They must’ve
been at this for hours.
“Hey, Mona.” Jane nods at me like this is all very normal. She directs her attention to Carmen. “Here, why don’t we let Mona decide? Carmen thinks we can have people throw darts in this room. I told him that’s actually fucking twisted.”
“It’s a very common thing for a rec room.” Carmen wipes the sweat off his brow, exasperation sealed onto his face.
“It’s a communal space. Why don’t we just get some fucking axes to throw at one another at this point?”
“What’s going on here?” I try to keep my voice light.
“Doesn’t it look amazing?” Jane grins brightly. “I was going to ask you first, but I was down here making the plans and Carmen
volunteered to take some of the junk for his next dump run and it all kind of happened.”
Carmen puffs out his chest proudly. “Reckon we can throw a little shindig here by the weekend at this rate. One with darts—a
very normal communal activity everyone loves.”
Jane seems to suppress the urge to roll her eyes, but holds a polite smile.
And shit. It comes back to me. Last night, while Jane and I were lurking for the Panty Thief, she suggested this place wouldn’t
be such a piece of shit if we simply cleared out the junk and set it up a bit better. I told her she had a point.
I didn’t expect her to roll with it.
But holy shit—this is so much work already.
Carmen pipes in, “If it’s not going to be darts, how about I try and get ourselves a foosball table?”
Jane rubs her chin. “Hmm, might be too big, but let’s think about it. For now, why don’t we just get it clean?”
Carmen nods and heads out of the room with a pep in his step that makes his work gloves bounce against his hips.
“He’s actually a really nice guy,” Jane mutters. “Definitely not our perp. We should formally add him to the force.”
I nod noncommittally at this. “I can’t believe how much you’ve done.” I try not to look too concerned as Jane places the clipboard on the pool table.
Jane’s smile is full of pride. “Do you think Irene would be okay if we added a coat of paint to these walls?”
I think about the impending sale. I can’t exactly have people working down here while people are viewing the place. “Hmm,
I’m not sure. Doesn’t seem like there’s much ventilation down here to be painting.”
“Good point.” She nods. “I’ll have Carmen pick up some masks if we go that route. Does a light green seem nice? Something
bright, since there’s no windows?”
Carmen returns, awkwardly carrying a giant red bucket heaping with soapy water that’s splashing everywhere. “Figure with the
three of us, we could get the baseboards clean within the hour,” he mutters.
“Great!” Jane grabs a giant yellow sponge from the bucket and squeezes most of the water out. “We were just discussing that
we’ll need masks when we paint.”
“Noted.” Carmen grins, putting down the bucket to join Jane, who’s kneeling to scrub the baseboards.
“Hey, guys.” Freaking Norm appears at the top of the stairs. He’s in a clean grey shirt and navy pants. “I looked through
my cards and I have tons of extras. And my mom’s gin boards. I don’t know if those are the kind of games you meant?”
Carmen and Jane both nod at him like it’s not weird he just came here and said those words. “That’s so great of you. Thanks,
Norm.” Jane smiles. “We’re going to paint the room before we set up the new game rack, so hold on to that for now.”
Norm’s face goes red. “No . . . no problem.” He smiles just a little bit and speaks more confidently this time. “I’ll bring
them by when you’re ready.” He disappears down the hall.
Our resident shut-in Norm is even contributing to this?
It’s official, this has gone too far. Jane and Carmen are each wrapped up in wiping the walls in their respective corners.
I have to say something. I have to stop this runaway train.
I can’t have people down here painting while Lana’s clients come to view the place.
Not only is it a lot of wasted work for a building that is about to sell, it might raise suspicions if Jane and Carmen catch Lana literally leading buyers around the place.
This is why I should always keep my big mouth shut.
I have to do something. I have to stop even one more ounce of goodwill being exchanged among these tenants before their world
blows up.
“Guys, I hate to say it, but I think we should wait on doing anything more.”
“What?” They both turn to me.
“I just mean that the . . . we don’t know if there’s asbestos—”
“Don’t worry, asbestos isn’t in this building,” Carmen mutters, like he’s encountered it enough times to be an expert.
“Did Mr. Chaudhry say how big the coffee maker he has was?” Jane asks Carmen.
“Not that I can recall. Probably just a standard one.”
I need to stop this. I’m about to start trying some bullshit about the room not being fire-code compliant—which probably won’t
work since it was once a rec room anyway, when my phone buzzes.
First viewing scheduled for tomorrow night! Buyer is very interested, so I think it’s more a formality. Don’t worry, clients
will stick to lobby and basement and just Irene’s suite. Everything will be all set?
Fuck.
I was so close. Yet somehow the timing couldn’t be worse.
I need everything to go seamlessly for Lana. I need her to want to keep working with me, all the way back to my job.
I tap to hit reply: Great! Everything’s all set! Should we start telling tenants, if you’re going to bring viewers in?
The reply comes fast: Not yet. These deals can take time to close or fall through. We need to keep everything calm until we know for certain we
have a buyer.
Carmen throws the sponge in the bucket and pulls out his phone. “Shit, I just realized, I gotta leave now if I want to make
it to the dump.” He angles his head in my direction. “Hey, Mona, you mind taking over for the last wall?”
“Sure.” I smile and take the sponge. Then I start cleaning the wall in the rec room for the building that will likely not
be ours by tomorrow.