Confessions of an Alli Cat

by Courtney Cole

  I motion to the little café area on the side, where there is a mocha/coffee/latte machine and baskets of chocolate bars.

  Sara rolls her eyes. “Hmph. He’s just trying to create repeat customers. He wants to bring us back for liposuction.”

  I chuckle and pick up a magazine. But I don’t have to wait long enough for me to read it. They call us and we go back together, led by a very trim Barbie-esque nurse.

  After having our faces poked with long needles for a brief moment, we are walking back out within minutes.

  It was quick, it was painless, and it was nothing like the experience-from-hell that I had with the Brazilian wax. It almost doesn’t seem fair—it seems like there should have been some pain involved to pay Sara back. I turn to her.

  “See? We’re fine. And within a couple of days, we’re going to look ten years younger. You can thank me then, if you like. You don’t need to do it now.”

  I laugh and she glares.

  But that entire scenario is reversed in the morning.

  ********

  When Sara stops by my house to check out my face, she laughs until she almost pees her pants. Because I look like the Elephant Man. Or, rather, I look like the Elephant Man would’ve looked if he had just had an allergic reaction to botulism.

  I am wailing as Sara laughs when Sophie bursts into my bathroom.

  I see my daughter visibly flinch as she looks at my face. And to be fair, it looks like my face has been hit with a garbage truck.

  My eyes are swollen to the point where I am basically peering out from two puffy dough piles with slits in them. There are faint shadows under my eyes and I’m not certain, but I think there is even a broken blood vessel in my left eye. I can’t tell though, because I can’t open it far enough to examine it.

  “Oh, my god! Who did this to you?” Sophie demands, rushing to me and spinning me around. “I swear to god, if Dad did this, I’m going to kill him. We’ll call the police.”

  I stare at her for a minute in confusion, before I realize that she thinks someone beat me up. I look so bad that it looks like someone punched my face in.

  Sara is dying now.

  Sophie glares at her. “How can you laugh like that? I think my mom needs a doctor.”

  Sara howls.

  “Your mom already saw a doctor,” she gasps. “That’s what happened. It’s called Botox, sweetie. And your mom insisted that we go. And apparently, because of a little thing called Karma, your mom has had some sort of reaction.”

  Sara is picking up her cell phone as she speaks, punching in a number. A minute later, she’s talking to the doctor’s office. She nods and agrees with someone and then turns to me.

  “Are you having problems breathing?”

  Sophie gasps and I shake my head quickly.

  “No.”

  Sara relays that to the nurse, then nods again before hanging up.

  “Yep. It sounds like you had a reaction. She said that the swelling should wear off within a day or two probably. If you have difficulty breathing or swallowing, you’re supposed to go to the emergency room. Otherwise, you can use over the counter meds for the discomfort and ice packs. I’m so glad that we did this, aren’t you? What a great idea this was.”

  She raises a sarcastic red eyebrow at me. And I glare at her.

  “I can’t go anywhere,” I growl. “Not looking like this. I look like I belong in a women’s shelter.”

  Sara finally takes pity on me and stops laughing. She actually hugs my shoulders a little.

  “I think this has taught us a valuable lesson,” she says seriously.

  I nod. “To never have a toxin inserted into our faces?”

  She nods. “That, but also, this is why we leave decisions like this to me. I’m the one with the brilliant ideas.”

  I don’t bother rolling my eyes because no one would be able to tell anyway. Instead, I just stomp to my bed and drop into it, covering up my head.

  Sophie brings me an ice pack when she leaves for school because clearly she is an angel. She gets that trait from her mother. I thank her and give her $20 for lunch. I press the ice to my poor face and pick up the remote. If I’m going to be in bed, I’m going to use it to my full advantage and watch the Lifetime channel all day.

  And that is exactly what I do. That is, until my cell phone rings at 4:00 pm. I see from the ID that it is the office, so I have to answer.

  It’s Taylor.

  “Hey boss,” she greets me cheerfully. “Are you feeling better?”

  I had called in this morning and said that I had the flu. Obviously, there was no way that I could tell them the truth.

  “A little,” I answer truthfully. “Hopefully, I’ll be back in tomorrow.”

  “Good deal,” she replies. “Hey, I’m calling because Alex came by and asked me for the file that he gave you yesterday—the one with the background info on the supplier that you’re going to see this week? I told him that you have it in your briefcase. That’s right, isn’t it?”

  I nod, then remember that she can’t see me.

  “Yes, I have it in my bag. I’ll give it to him tomorrow.”

  “Well, that’s the thing.” And I freeze at her hesitant tone. Taylor is never, ever hesitant. It’s part of her charm.

  “What’s the thing?” I ask nervously.

  “He needs it today because he’s putting together some sort of report or brief or something for the meeting. He had to leave early for an appointment and he wanted your address so he could swing by and pick it up afterward. I gave it to him- I didn’t figure you’d mind.”

  I want to kill myself. Seriously. Clearly, suicide is the only way out of this.

  “When is he leaving, do you know?” I’m surprised that I am able to ask this calmly. I can see a vague reflection of myself in the TV screen and it isn’t pretty.

  “He left over an hour ago. I’m guessing that he should be there any time.”

  I grit my teeth and take a breath. A very fast breath, since I don’t have a lot of time.

  “Taylor, I need you to add something to my calendar for tomorrow morning.”

  “Okay- I’ve got it pulled up. I’m ready,” she says. “What is it?”

  “Put, ‘Kill Taylor’ in a one-hour block of time at 9:00 am. I want to have plenty of time.”

  I then hang up for emphasis.

  I’ll apologize tomorrow. For now, I’ve got to figure out what to do.

  I briefly consider wearing a Muslim hijab and only shoot the idea down because I don’t have one on hand.

  As I’m flying around the room, on the very verge of hysteria, I remember the cooling gel mask that came in a spa kit that Sophie gave me for Christmas. It’s in the freezer right now, probably buried under thirty-four bags of frozen peas. I’ve never used it. And I never make frozen peas, either.

  I make a run for the fridge.

  I’ll look ridiculous, but it’s better than looking like the Elephant Man.

  As I dig through all of the frozen food in my freezer, I am starting to panic because I can’t find it right when I hear a car door slam closed in my driveway.

  Craaaaaap.

  And then, a miracle. I find the mask buried in the back.

  “Thank you, God,” I whisper.

  My heart thunders in my chest as I slide the mask over my head and situate it on my face. I don’t even have time to look in the mirror. I can only pray that it hides my hideousness.

  The doorbell rings and I straighten my night-shirt and stick my shoulders back. The only way to carry this off is to be confident. And act normally. Everyone answers the door in pajamas and a spa mask, right?

  I stride for the door.

  I know that I look ridiculous, but I don’t care. And besides, it can’t be helped, anyway.

  I throw the door open.

  And Alex flinches in the same exact way that Sophie did.

  I seriously want to die.

  Chapter Fifteen

  (Because now is a perfect time to hea
r from Alex)

  Alex

  “Holy shit,” I say, before I can help it.

  I’m staring at Allison and she looks like a semi has plowed into her. Into her face, specifically. She also looks like she is attending some strange sort of masquerade ball as a disheveled, abused housewife. She’s wearing a night-shirt, bare feet, messy hair and some sort of ice mask. If I weren’t instantly concerned about her well-being, I would laugh.

  “Were you attacked?” I ask as I step inside. Alli looks like she wants to either hit me or curl up in a corner. I can’t tell which.

  She shakes her head. “No.” And then she sighs.

  “Are you alright?” I ask, examining her again. She’s got bruising along her cheekbones. “Did someone hurt you?”

  She flushes, or at least, I think she flushes. It’s hard to tell from behind the mask.

  This is a side to Alli that I haven’t seen yet. Usually, she is fierce and strong—a true dynamo. To be honest, when I first met her, I was a little intimidated. The woman certainly has game. And she’s beautiful, which makes her a force to be reckoned with.

  And by now, I’m seeing that nothing else appears to be wrong with her. No other marks on her other than her face.

  And she’s shaking her head.

  “No, no one hurt me. Except for a doctor. But I paid him to because I’m an idiot.”

  I raise an eyebrow because now I’m confused.

  “What?”

  She is sighing again and she looks embarrassed. Or she appears to be, from behind her ice mask. I stare at her, waiting for her to explain.

  She lifts a slender shoulder, shrugging.

  “I had Botox. And then I had a bad reaction to the Botox.”

  I can’t help it. I laugh.

  And even the indignant and embarrassed expression on Alli’s normally lovely face doesn’t keep me from laughing harder and harder. I literally have tears pouring down my cheeks before I am finally able to control myself.

  “I’m glad I can amuse you,” Allis says. From what I can tell, her cheekbones are blushing even more now. Her very swollen cheekbones.

  I swallow what is left of my amusement.

  “Are you in pain?” I ask. She shakes her head.

  “No. I just look like hell. Won’t you come in?” She gestures with her arm and I step further into her house.

  Her home is beautiful, exactly like I expected. Expensive furnishings, tasteful art, a lot of natural light and modern conveniences. She leads me to the kitchen, where she digs through her bag.

  “You didn’t need Botox,” I tell her stiff spine. I clearly put her on the defensive by laughing and I didn’t mean to. “You look great. I’m sorry for laughing. I was laughing because the idea that you would do that when you look great already just shocked me.”

  And her spine loosens.

  Sometimes, I guess I can pull it out and say something tactful. I’ve learned something in forty years, apparently.

  She turns, a small smile on her lips.

  “Thank you,” she says graciously, handing me the file. “And I don’t blame you for laughing. My best friend laughed too.”

  “Nice best friend,” I answer. Alli smiles again.

  “Well, to be fair, I talked her into having it done with me and so she thought it was fitting. Karma and all. But she’s talked me into a hundred different things…all of them worse than this, I can assure you.”

  I stare at her. “Worse than Botox?” I am doubtful.

  She nods. “Oh, yes. Far worse. But they’re a little inappropriate to discuss with my boss.”

  And now I’m intrigued. But obviously, I can’t ask. She’s already standing in front of me in a night-shirt. To talk about inappropriate things at the same time would be over-the-line, probably.

  Particularly since I’m attracted to her. I’d admitted that to myself the first time we’d met. After I got over being intimidated, that is. Hey, she’s a gorgeous, smart woman and I’m a red-blooded male. It’s only normal.

  I take a step toward her.

  “What did they tell you to do for it? When do you think the swelling will go down?”

  “I’m taking ibuprofen and using an ice pack,” she says, tugging the mask down a little. I think on that.

  “Shouldn’t you be using an antihistamine cream? My sister gets hives sometimes and she uses a cream to take down the swelling. Do you have any?”

  “Ooh- that’s a great idea!” Alli exclaims, turning around immediately. “I keep some on hand for my daughter, Sophie. She actually gets hives sometimes, too! Thank you for reminding me!” she calls over her shoulder as she starts down a hallway. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Take your time!” I answer.

  I sit down at a breakfast bar stool and wait, looking around as I do. Stainless steel appliances, granite counters, spotless surroundings. I’m not sure if she actually uses her kitchen, but it sure is nice. A plate of fresh lemons and limes sit next to me. Among the various art hanging on the wall, there is a picture of a smiling teenage girl. Hazel eyes, gorgeous smile, dark hair. The girl looks just like Alli- it has to be her daughter.

  As I’m looking at it, my phone rings.

  I glance at it. My son’s number flashes on the screen.

  I sigh and pick it up.

  “Hey, Colby.”

  “Hi dad,” my son answers coolly. “I got your message. I don’t really want to do an internship at your new job. I’ve told you this a hundred times before.”

  “Really?” I answer, as patiently as I can. “What else are you going to do? You’ve got a college degree. You’ve got to figure things out and decide what you’re going to do. You’re twenty-three years old.”

  “So you’ve said…many times before,” Colby answers. I fight really hard to bite out a sarcastic come-back. My son is head-strong, a trait that he might get from me. Or he definitely does, according to my ex-wife.

  “Look, you can start on Monday. The pay is decent and you’ll get your foot in the door of a really great company to work for. You are a creative person and I think you’ll see that marketing is a great fit for your imaginative mind. Come to Zellers’ headquarters on Monday and ask for Allison Lancaster at the front desk. She’s the executive director in charge of marketing. She reports to me and I think you’ll like her.”

  Colby is silent for a second before he responds.

  “Allison Lancaster, huh? Okay. I’ll ask for her on Monday and I’ll give it a shot. You obviously feel strongly about it.”

  I am stunned but I try hard not to show it. “Excellent! I’m glad you’ve changed your mind. I’m certain this is the right decision, Colby.”

  “Well, we’ll see,” he responds.

  We hang up and I exhale slowly.

  My son is certainly full of surprises.

  As is my new executive director. I turn in my seat, waiting for her to re-emerge from the hall. My son is as stubborn and headstrong as I can be. I hope Alli can manage him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  (Because obviously we have to hear from Colby at this point)

  Colby

  Holy shit!

  I hang up my phone and sit in stunned silence in my bedroom.

  Allison Lancaster works for my father. And I will be working for her on Monday. In a non-sexual capacity, I mean. She’s going to die. She’s going to fucking die. I can practically see the expression on her face right now.

  I glance at my phone. I should call her and give her a head’s up. But then hesitate.

  A devilish idea comes to mind and I can’t help but smile. Allison is adorable when she’s embarrassed. I remember the look on her face in the restaurant when she was trying not to orgasm in front of the waiter. And then the crotch of my pants shrinks two sizes at the memory of what followed after that…in the restaurant’s bathroom.

  So instead, I pick up my phone and text her.

  Why don’t you make an appointment with me on Saturday? I need my Alli Cat fix.

  I set my
phone down.

  I’m not going to tell her. I’ll surprise her when I show up on Monday. The look on her face will be worth it.

  Chapter Seventeen

  (Or: Lines are made to be crossed, aren’t they?)

  Alli

  I have just slathered on antihistamine cream while staring in the bathroom mirror when my phone buzzes with a text. I wipe my hands off and pick it up.

  Shade.

  Why don’t you make an appointment with me on Saturday? I need my Alli Cat fix.

  I can’t help but smile.

  I’m so glad that I drew the line in the sand with him- and made sure that he knows that I can never date him. But that doesn’t mean that I’m ever going to stop using his services. And then I feel ultra-naughty for thinking that, considering my new boss is waiting for me in my kitchen. My ultra-sexy-I-might-even-have-a-crush-on new boss. The very one.

  I answer Shade: I’ll think about it.

  But I know that I will. I’ll get home from San Diego on Friday evening, so I can probably even do it that night. Or I can play it safe and make the appointment for Saturday. We’ll see.

  I apply some concealer beneath my cheeks and then pick up my jar of bronzer powder. I apply some with the brush, then examine myself in the mirror. The swelling is still there, but at least the bruising is concealed. I still look like I went five rounds in the boxing ring with a prize fighter, though.

  I look at myself again. Make that ten rounds.

  At that moment, I hear Alex calling me.

  “Can I grab a drink from your fridge?”

  I start to answer, but realize that he wouldn’t be able to hear me. I walk back out to the kitchen and try to ignore the fact that he can see my Elephant Man face more clearly now that the mask is gone.

  “Of course,” I tell him, walking to the fridge. “What would you like?”

  Alex slides off the stool and circles the breakfast bar, quickly coming to my side.