Twitterpated

by Jacobson, Melanie

  “You have to! It looks so good on you.”

  “We’re eating Italian. What if I spill marinara sauce on it before I can give it back to you? I guess I could hide it in one of your laundry piles. That way you’d never find it,” I mused.

  “Ha, ha. Get their artisan meat plate with a side of cheese instead of pasta and you’ll be fine.”

  “Is it easier to clean out of cashmere?”

  “No, but it’s harder to spill. Try these,” she said and held up a pair of BCBG boots. The gorgeous deep brown leather ended in her signature four-inch heels.

  “Those are your favorite boots!”

  “Yeah, well, for some unexplainable reason, you’re my favorite roommate. Go ahead and try them.”

  “No way. I’ll cry if something bad happens to your sweater, but I’ll lose the will to live if I screw up the boots too. Besides, I’d be almost six feet tall in those. What if he’s one of those guys who lies about his height?”

  Sandy cocked her head and looked me over for a minute. “You’re right. You’d probably break your neck trying to walk in these.” She put them down and rooted through my shoe collection. I have a lot of great shoes; they just have lower heels than hers. She pulled out a brown pair with a slightly pointed toe and an ankle strap. “These will work. Wear your hair down and some lip gloss, and you’ll be good to go.”

  Much like her belief in Oprah, Sandy also believed lip gloss could cure most of the world’s ills. I had a quick mental flash of her hawking her own line of lip gloss in an infomercial some day. “Fixes thin lips, weak chins, and poverty,” she’d say as she waved some of the wonder goo around.

  I’d learned not to question her in matters of style though. It was like having the fashion police right across the hall. I looked over my reflection in the mirror once more. The girl I saw looked chic and fresh. I liked it. “You’re good at this clothes thing,” I said.

  She lifted a dismissive shoulder and smiled. “You’re the one wearing them. Don’t sell yourself short.” She paused to consider the total effect for a moment. “You look Jennifer Garner-esque.”

  I straightened my posture and looked down my nose at her. “You’re right. I’m fabulous.” And then I rubbed feverishly at my freckles. “If only I could do something about these.”

  Sandy walked out, laughing. “Keep rubbing them,” she called over her shoulder. “That’s supposed to work real well.”

  I leaned toward the mirror and glared at the seven offending freckles. “Is it wrong to pray for your freckles to go away?”

  An emphatic yes echoed down the hall.

  “What about for my roommate to go away?” I asked and ducked as a pillow came flying through the doorway.

  Once I heard her door shut, I reached for my jewelry box. Time to figure out my accessories. As I sorted through my meager jewelry collection, I examined my nerves over this date with Ben. True, I hadn’t been on a date in more than six months, but I had gone on several before the pool had dried up. I wasn’t a novice. So why was I so nervous?

  Chapter 6

  I COULD SEE KATIE’S FOREHEAD over the stack, but that was about all. The towering mound of paperwork separated us.

  “This is ridiculous,” I said.

  “Is it for real?” she asked, walking around to my side of the desk.

  “The view doesn’t improve,” I told her. Craig had made his next move. In the past, I’d ignored a story or two about people he’d stepped on in his climb to management, but the whispers came back to me. I wished I could explain to him that I never asked for my promotion, but I suspected it would only inflame him more. And he felt plenty mad already based on the mountain on my desk.

  It had appeared this morning when his assistant had trailed him into my office, pushing a cart overflowing with stacks of paper.

  “Good morning, Jessie,” he’d said, friendly as ever. “I enjoyed your input at the manager’s meeting on Monday.” Nuts. “The more I thought about it, the more I realized you’re right. There is an opportunity to save money on payroll. It made so much sense that I’d like to offer my assistance. So I had Brad here,” he gestured to his uncomfortable-looking assistant, “pull some preliminary records for you to look through. Consider it a goodwill gesture.”

  I’d waited warily for the punch line, and he’d delivered. “Of course, if you don’t think you guys can get to it, I’d be glad to let Dennis know we’re ready to step in if you need us.”

  So Craig wanted to usurp the payroll project. My temper bubbled, but I kept it on a low simmer and returned his smile. “That’s nice of you, Craig. Really nice. I’ll let you know if we need your help,” I’d said and begun unloading the papers from his cart.

  It totally threw him. He didn’t need to know I only called his bluff so I could buy myself some time while I figured out what to do. He didn’t know how good my human resources contact was, but until I could talk to Sandy, I didn’t either, so I needed to keep him guessing.

  “Yes, well,” he’d said, as I kept transferring the stacks. He tried to inject some nonchalance into his voice. “You let me know what I can do.”

  Oh, I had several suggestions for that. “You bet,” I’d said. He’d left with Brad trailing obediently after him.

  Now, three hours later, I cursed myself for not thinking faster on my feet. I’d been trying to get Sandy on the phone all morning, but she had a staff development session until noon. That left me with Mt. Paper until she or I had a better idea.

  “Well played, Craig,” I mumbled under my breath.

  “Excuse me?” Katie asked.

  “Nothing. Thinking out loud,” I said. “Why don’t you go ahead and take off early for lunch?” She smiled gratefully and left.

  I eased back into my chair and surveyed the mess. I didn’t know why I’d let Craig suck me into his petty power struggles. He thought I was as ambitious as he was because Dennis promoted me so quickly. But I couldn’t have care less about the promotion. I worked extra hours because I got absorbed in a problem and was compulsive enough that I couldn’t leave it alone until I’d figured it out. Add in the fact that I never had anywhere else to be anyway, and it translated into a lot of overtime. I caught a few people’s attention. My department head, Dennis, asked me to pinch hit when my boss periodically went down to our Southern California office. When she got promoted, they offered me her old job. I liked having a reputation as a hard worker, but truthfully, I spent the same amount of energy on the Sunday crossword. I didn’t have a passion for my job as much as I had a need to see things through.

  Yet somehow, despite not caring about office politics, I’d ended up in some sort of turf war with Craig. For him, it was a power struggle, but for me, it was that I hated to be pushed. I always push back whether it’s the smart thing to do or not. I glowered at the paper pile and fumbled for a solution. I would push this back to Craig one last time and then abandon the fight. But only after every scrap disappeared from my office.

  My phone rang. Sandy’s extension flashed on the caller ID. At last. I grabbed it and said, “I’m drowning.”

  “On dry land? How original of you.”

  “No, in paper. Craig decided to help me with the payroll audit, and now I’ve got thousands of sheets to go through.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I have to find some cost savings, so I’ve got months of log sheets to check for patterns.”

  “No, I mean why would you go through the paper to find that out? HR is ground zero for gossip. I know who’s fifteen minutes late and always claiming they’re on time, I know who’s overworking their assistants, and I know which departments have the lowest morale and worst attendance.”

  “That’s perfect! I don’t know if I owe you more for this or for loaning me your skirt.”

  “Definitely the skirt. Do you know how hard it is to find a size six on sale in such an obnoxiously healthy city? They always fly off the racks first.”

  I caught sight of my nemesis. “Thanks again, Sandy. I�
�ve got to go,” I whispered.

  “Craig?” she whispered back.

  “Why are you whispering?” I asked in a normal voice.

  “To make you feel better about acting crazy.”

  “Thanks for that too. I’ll see you at home.” I hung up the phone and called Katie in on the intercom then surveyed Mt. Paper thoughtfully. “You think you can find us a cart?”

  “Is this going to make Craig mad?”

  “Probably.”

  “Then I can definitely find a cart.” And she headed off. Having an assistant who knows where everything is kept is the first rule to succeeding in business. Sure enough, Katie came cruising back a few minutes later with a media cart in front of her.

  “Perfect. Let’s load it up.”

  When we had returned the stacks to the cart, I turned to Katie. “Ready to rattle his cage?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Let’s push.”

  We made slow progress down to Craig’s office and rolled right through his open door.

  “What are you doing?” he asked. After taking in the cart, he added, “Did you give up?”

  “No. But I have a wager for you, since I know how much you love competition.”

  “I didn’t think you were the betting kind, Jessie.”

  “Only when it’s a sure thing.”

  “I’ll bite. What are the terms?”

  “Whoever saves the most payroll hours by noon tomorrow wins. The loser forfeits their assistant to the winner for three working days.” Brad looked hopeful, but Katie looked faintly sick. I winked so Craig couldn’t see. No way would I lose this. For one, Brad didn’t love working for Craig, and he wouldn’t knock himself out trying to find a solution. And Craig actually thought the answer would be in the mound newly transferred to his desk.

  I could almost see the cogs churning in his brain, calculating the odds of losing Brad temporarily versus beating me and overworking Katie for a few days.

  “I’ll take that bet. This should be embarrassingly easy.”

  “Oh, I hope so, Craig.” His smile slipped, and I turned and walked out of his office. Katie scampered after me.

  “Now I’m scared,” she said.

  “Don’t think for a second I’d throw you under the bus. Trust me,” I said and headed to my desk to call Sandy. Katie veered sharply toward the cubicles to tell Lauren and Mike about the brewing drama.

  I closed my door with a smile, then reached for the phone and punched in Sandy’s extension. I had a wager to win.

  Chapter 7

  THE DAY OF MY LUNCH with Ben started out badly. I ducked into the restroom at work and leaned against the door. My Thursday already needed a reboot. Big time. This did not bode well for lunch. I checked to make sure I had the bathroom to myself before I faced the mirror. I figured I had cilantro from my breakfast omelet in my teeth or a roller in my hair.

  But . . . everything looked fine. I leaned back in irritation. I dug my cell phone out of my handbag and called Sandy.

  “Yeah?”

  “This was a bad idea.”

  “Are you okay?” She sounded alarmed.

  “Everybody stared at me.”

  “Where are you?”

  “In the fifth floor bathroom.” A weird noise came over the line. “Are you laughing at me? Because I will kill you.”

  “Um, no.” She took a deep breath. “So you’re wearing your lunch date outfit?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you leave your hair down?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you have on lip gloss?”

  “Yes! I said I would.”

  “Well, there’s the problem.”

  “I should take the lip gloss off?” I asked in confusion.

  “No, you should take a closer look at yourself. Since I didn’t see you before I took off this morning, you’ll have to tell me. Do you look good?”

  I studied my reflection again. It was me, just . . . shinier. “Yes.”

  “And has anyone laughed?”

  “No.”

  “That rules out your skirt being tucked into your underwear or a run in your stockings.” I craned my neck over my shoulder to verify that I was still keeping Victoria’s secret. I was.

  “You probably look like Sunday Jessie. Your office isn’t used to Sunday Jessie. Give them a few minutes to acclimate. I bet you look great, so don’t worry about it, okay?”

  “I feel like an idiot,” I complained.

  “You’re going to be fine. Maybe pull your hair back and wipe the lip gloss off until lunch. You’ll feel better. But remember they’re looking at you because you look good,” she said. “I have to go, but I want a full report after lunch.”

  I hung up the phone. How ridiculous. I always wore makeup to work, but I kept it toned down and paired it with basic suits to maintain some professionalism. Sandy could show up in a bright yellow blouse and zebra print heels and be taken seriously because she came off as sophisticated. Not me. It disconcerted me that MAC lip gloss could cause an outbreak of sidelong glances. Then again, if this was all it took, maybe I was too buttoned down. I’d have to remember to wear skirts and lip gloss on alternating days in the future. Clearly, my workmates weren’t ready for the two together.

  Taking Sandy’s advice, I blotted the lip gloss, whipped my hair into a low ponytail, and took the pink sweater off for good measure. It fit neatly into my handbag. The office would have to deal with my skirt, but hopefully that by itself wouldn’t completely blow their minds. Sheesh, they acted like Dennis Court had shown up wearing it.

  I headed back into my office. Some of the cube dwellers outside my door had apparently invited their friends to gawk because they all looked vaguely disappointed when I came back looking like my old self. They wandered off in search of juicier office drama. Buzzards. They earned the nickname for their relentless pursuit of the latest buzz. I shoved my purse in my desk drawer and pulled up the payroll project. By the time I finished tracking down some of the leads from Sandy, people would forget about the lip gloss, and everything would be back to normal.

  Three hours and a dozen phone calls later, I teetered on the cusp of victory in the Craig Payroll Smackdown. I had spent all morning confirming Sandy’s information, which proved to be golden. After each phone call, Katie cross-checked the data with the payroll records, and a plan to save emerged. If they adopted our proposal, the company would pocket a nice chunk of change. It surprised me how much, actually. I hoped it impressed Dennis too. If so, maybe I could get away with a slightly longer lunch today. I glanced at the clock.

  Craig and I had agreed to present our findings together and leave the wager out of it. That might not come across as . . . grown-up. I filled in the final spreadsheet and hit print, watching without much enthusiasm as the paper landed in the tray. I doubted Craig could beat me. I should be elated, but I only felt relief at finishing. Pride was a stupid reason to overwork myself, and yet I kept falling for it.

  Good old Jessie “All or Nothing” Taylor, my dad used to tease me. My sister Breanna says it gets in the way of my relationships. “You can date a guy for fun,” she always lectures me. “It doesn’t have to be either marriage material or nothing. There is an in-between.” I know Breanna loves her life, but I’m pretty sure her constant needling to go on “just for fun” dates has something to do with living vicariously through me. Kind of like why I watch The Bachelor. My mom thinks my all-or-nothing tendencies are messing me up because the “all” is work and the “nothing” is my social life. I’m not great with balance. I stay so focused that I don’t always notice other things going on around me.

  Until today. In fact, this whole week my mind had wandered to this lunch, sifting through the possibilities. I imagined a good meal with great conversation and plans for another date. Then I imagined a disaster, where I ruined Sandy’s sweater, couldn’t think of anything to say, and turned out to have something unsightly clinging to my nose the entire meal. Maybe worst of all was the scene where the lunc
h is perfectly ordinary, Ben turns out to be a nice, boring guy, and we have a pleasant, boring conversation, and I regret putting myself through the torture of wearing a skirt to the office because he doesn’t notice anyway.

  The intercom on my desk intruded. “Dennis Court’s assistant called. He’s waiting for you,” Katie said.

  “Thanks,” I answered. I collected my report from the desk printer and was shuffling the last piece into place when Craig poked his head around the door.

  “Are you ready?” he asked, challenge clear in his voice.

  “Of course,” I answered. I grabbed my file folder and followed him into Dennis’s office, ready for my last hurdle before lunch. I could almost hear a ticking clock in my head, counting down the minutes until I could leave, meet Ben, and be done with Craig. All great motives to get this going. Luckily, Craig wasted no time. As soon as Dennis greeted us, Craig laid down his report.

  “When I realized what a good point Jessie made about payroll savings on Monday, I couldn’t wait to help her with the project,” he said.

  Dennis raised an eyebrow at me. He knew Craig rarely played nice without a reason.

  “I’ve been working hard for the last two days,” he continued, “and in my preliminary audit, I found over fifty hours we could cut every month without impacting productivity.” He pushed the report toward Dennis triumphantly. Oh boy. I hadn’t counted on him finding only fifty.

  Dennis looked the report over and nodded his head occasionally. Craig grew more smug with each nod. Finally, Dennis turned to me. “Ms. Taylor, I assigned this project to you. I assume you have something to report as well?”

  “Yes, I do.” I tried not to look uncomfortable as I pushed the spreadsheets over to him. “My team worked hard too.” I almost felt like apologizing to Craig. Dennis leafed to the summary page and looked startled. He flipped back to the beginning and read more closely, his eyebrows climbing even higher than before. Craig tried to smother a smile, turning it into fake concern.

  “You’re sure these numbers are right?” Dennis asked.

  “I’m positive. I confirmed it all this morning. A few key changes will save us almost seventy hours a week as soon as we implement them.” I didn’t dare look at Craig. No way would he take this well.