The Balance Thing

by Margaret Dumas

  “Please.”

  THINGS WENT AS WELL as could be expected. I spoke to five people, and I got myself into gear about halfway through the second interview. After that, Joe Elliot took me to lunch upstairs in the executive dining room. I hadn’t realized there were still companies that had executive dining rooms, and the kind of clearly defined social strata they implied. But apparently at WorldWired these anachronisms were still accepted as a matter of course.

  I fully redeemed myself with Elliot over lunch. He may have been wondering what the hell George had seen in me when he’d turned me over to the first interviewer, but by the time we’d finished our excellent biscotti and espresso, I recognized the gleam in his eye as that of a man who had to have me.

  Professionally speaking, of course.

  And I wasn’t wrong. After the last of the three afternoon interviews, Joe Elliot entered the conference room with a slim leather portfolio in his hands and a let’s-make-a-deal smile on his face.

  We handled the preliminaries fairly quickly. He asked me what I wanted, and I knew full well he’d already figured out what he’d give me. The only trick was to not ask for less. I’d played this game before. Finally, with a resigned grin, he slid the portfolio across the table toward me.

  “I don’t want you to evaluate this offer now, Becks,” he explained. “I want you to take it home and study it. Give me a call in the next day or so and let me know if it works for you. I think you’ll find it’s very generous.”

  I ran a fingertip lightly over the supple leather that encased my future career. “Thank you, Joe. I will.”

  He gave me one last conspiratorial smile. “I don’t mind telling you we usually don’t act this quickly. But we’re all in agreement that you’ve got just what we’ve been looking for. We need a shark in this position, Becks. A no-holds-barred, take-no-prisoners winner who’s bottom-line all the way and doesn’t care if she puts a few backs up as long as she gets the job done. You seem to have all of that. You’re a perfect…” He flailed at the last word, but I suspected it might have been “bitch.”

  “Fit,” I supplied

  He laughed. “See? We’re finishing each other’s sentences already.”

  It couldn’t have gone better in my wildest imagination. And my imagination can get pretty wild. So five minutes later I stepped onto the street with the expectation of a fantastic surge of energy and satisfaction.

  And why not? I deserved it. This was everything I’d worked and planned for.

  So why not?

  Twenty-seven

  Being fabulous takes it out of you. By the time I got home I was craving my fluffy pillows and feather-soft sheets the way an addict craves a fix. I didn’t care that I’d promised to meet Max and Vida at Citizen Cake for a celebratory slice of Retro Tropical Shag. I just wanted sleep. And if passion-fruit-filled, coconut-covered goodness couldn’t distract me from my bed, nothing could.

  Except the sight of six Hartmann suitcases piled in the center of my living room.

  “What the—” I had a momentary panic, then reasoned that masked marauding burglars probably didn’t bring a matched set of luggage (with makeup case) to their crime scenes.

  “Hello!” I yelled up at the sleeping loft, where—if I wasn’t mistaken—I could hear the shower running. “Who’s there?”

  Josh? For one bizarre moment I imagined him coming out of my bathroom wearing a towel around his waist and saying, “How was your day, dear?”

  I shook my head. That would never happen. When the sounds of the shower stopped, I shouted again. “Hey!”

  “Becks?”

  Not masked marauding burglars. Not Josh.

  “Connie?”

  She stuck her dripping head over the half-height wall that gave the sleeping loft a measure of privacy. “Becks, I’m so glad you’re home!”

  She headed down the spiral staircase, pulling a yellow polka-dot terry bathrobe (mine) tight around her as she descended. Talking.

  “I didn’t know where you were or when you’d be back, so I used the key you gave me that one time, remember? When you went to Amsterdam for that thing and you wanted me to let in the cable guy? So I still had it and I didn’t know where else to go, so I used it, and I hope you don’t mind, but when you weren’t here I wasn’t sure, and”

  I would have been well within my rights to slap her. It was done all the time to hysterical people. I’d seen it in the movies.

  “Connie, calm down. Of course it’s all right that you’re here.” I looked at the suitcases, then back to her. “Why are you here?”

  She stood up straight and cinched my belt tighter. “I’ve left Ian.”

  So we went to Citizen Cake after all. I needed backup.

  “YOU LEFT HIM?” Vida said, for about the fifth time.

  Connie nodded and swooped Max’s After Midnight cake out from under his upraised fork.

  “Hey,” he protested.

  “I just left my husband,” she hissed.

  She won.

  We were all a little stunned. Even though we’d all had our reservations about Ian, and even though we knew perfectly well that Connie’s staff had a pool going on how long the boss’s marriage would last, and even though we each, in moments of frustration over the whole elaborate wedding, had been known to mutter “I give them six months,” we were still stunned.

  Connie chose to deal with her emotions by ranting at hyperspeed and self-medicating with high-end pastries. We all took turns nodding our heads.

  “I mean, I had certain expectations, you know? I thought once we were married all the stupid things he did that annoyed me would just seem unimportant, you know?” She flagged down a waiter and demanded a German chocolate cookie and a lemon tart. “But all of a sudden it seemed like there was this whole long list of things, and it just seemed to get more and more huge, and then it was like everything annoyed me. How he holds his knife and fork in that stupid European way, and how he crosses his legs like a girl, and…”

  Connie was right. It was a long list.

  THE UPSIDE OF connie’s life crisis was that it took my mind off WorldWired and the staggering figure I’d found listed in Joe Elliot’s slim leather portfolio under the line item “Annual Salary.” It was an offer no sane person would refuse. So there was absolutely no reason for the little doubt seedling in my belly. If I was queasy, it was due to overdosing on the cake. I didn’t want to think about it, and—thanks to Connie—for a while I wouldn’t have to.

  At some point, someone (possibly me) suggested that we step away from the cake and adopt a more sensible approach to the crisis. Drinking.

  I dragged them all back to my place and put Max in charge of the bar.

  Connie had grown more introspective on the way over. She’d gotten to the point where she was questioning every decision she’d ever made.

  “I mean you just do things, don’t you? You go to college, and then you pick a job you think you’ll like, and then, whether you like it or not, you stick with it because it’s what you’re invested in and God help you if you have to start over, right?

  “And it’s the same with relationships, isn’t it? I mean, you just date someone, for God’s sake, and the next thing you know you’re living with him and you don’t remember when, exactly, you decided to stick with this particular investment, but you’re picking out a huge white dress and it’s way too late to cut your losses and start again—”

  Max got a word in. “Isn’t that what you’re doing now?”

  “Sure, now!” she wailed.

  EVENTUALLY CONNIE ran out of steam, and eventually Max and Vida helped me make up the fold-out couch for her, and eventually she drifted off and they drifted away, and eventually I was able to crawl into my own bed.

  Where I couldn’t fall asleep to save my life.

  The thing Connie had said about making a seemingly unimportant choice and finding yourself stuck with it had gotten to me. Not in terms of men, of course. But in terms of a job, a career, a life.

/>   I’d gotten into marketing because it had seemed like the most exciting aspect of a business. You got to travel a lot, and you got to do a lot of your stuff in the spotlight. Bold, persuasive presentations and brash, groundbreaking ideas were your stock in trade. Not like the finance geeks or strategy wonks. Marketing had seemed…cool.

  But in all the time I’d been working my ass off and getting ahead bit by bit, I’d never really stopped to check and make sure my initial assessment of the situation had been correct. Was marketing cool? And did it make a difference whether I was marketing animation software, a butt-kicking vampire sex bomb, or corporate telecommunications solutions?

  According to Connie’s theory, this job offer was the inevitable result of my years of investment. And my career was the only thing I’d ever invested in. It wasn’t as if I had a fallback plan. Which is exactly why I’d been walking around with that hollow feeling ever since I’d been laid off from Megaware.

  But when I checked that statement for accuracy, it didn’t ring true. Yes, I had been a member of the shell-shocked digerati for a good long time after the layoff. But lately…lately I’d been better. In fact, it could be argued that lately I’d been better (if not richer or more powerful or more influential or more corporate) than I’d been in years. Maybe ever.

  I felt better. I looked better. I didn’t have to regularly knock myself out to get to sleep at night, and I didn’t wake up with that sickness in the pit of my stomach that I called energy. I’d spent more time with my friends, and I liked that. I’d even built up something interesting with Vladima’s marketing. And I’d built up something interesting with Vladima’s creator.

  Josh.

  It was the last coherent thought I had before sleep.

  WHEN I STUMBLED DOWN to the kitchen in the morning, I found a bright, cheerful note from Connie.

  Becks,

  Thanks for everything! I feel so much better today! I’m going to work! I’ll call a realtor about finding a new place this afternoon! I’ll pick up something good for dinner tonight!

  Con

  She came back an hour later in tears. We ordered pizza and spent the rest of the day watching every Jane Austen movie available on DVD.

  FRIDAY MORNING I had a choice. I could spend another day wallowing with Connie, or I could haul my ass down to the studio and face Josh. I was scheduled for a recording session at ten, and I could take that as an opportunity to tell Josh about the WorldWired job. Or I could drink cocoa and keep Connie company through an Audrey Hepburn film festival.

  Frankly, I was leaning toward denial and Sabrina.

  Then Vida knocked on the door.

  “I got the good salty bagels from Katz, and I’ve made reservations for massages and things at La Belle.” She swept past me, deposited the bagels on the kitchen counter, and gave Connie a quick hug and appraising look. “How much time did you spend crying yesterday?”

  “Hours.” I answered for Connie, who was only capable of a shrug.

  Vida seemed to notice me for the first time. “Why aren’t you dressed? Don’t you have to be at the studio in like half an hour?”

  “How did you know?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You only mentioned it every fifteen seconds when we were drinking the other night.”

  “Did I?” The way I remembered it we’d only talked about Connie’s problems.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Vida’s hands were on her hips, and she looked at me the way the school nurse had whenever I’d tried to fake the flu on chemistry-test days.

  “I thought I’d stay home and help Connie out,” I offered.

  Vida’s eyes narrowed. “Have you even talked to Josh since The Incident? Does he even know about WorldWired yet?”

  Connie perked up a little. “What’s The Incident? What am I missing?”

  I hadn’t told her about Josh and the kiss. I kind of figured my romantic problems paled in comparison with hers.

  “I’ll tell you all about it later,” Vida said. “I took the day off so Becks wouldn’t have to miss her session at the studio and you wouldn’t have to be alone.”

  Which caused Connie to burst into tears (again) and me to realize I didn’t have a choice in the matter.

  I was going to see Josh.

  Twenty-eight

  I let myself in to the studio at 9:58 A.M. precisely to find the place deserted. No surprise—it was still a little early by minion standards. There was a light on in the break room, so I figured Josh was making tea and we’d be able to talk privately. I took a deep breath.

  As I got closer to the break room, I heard the unmistakable sound of Vladima’s dialogue (“Kneel before me and die, villain!”), but not in the unmistakable voice of Vladima’s voiceover artist (me).

  Had Josh already heard about WorldWired and replaced me? Or worse, had he not heard about WorldWired and replaced me anyway because of that damn kiss?

  How dare he!

  I marched into the kitchen prepared for battle and found Raven deep in serious conversation with my hairdresser. Not a Josh in sight.

  “Okeydokey,” Shayla said to Raven. “More like ‘kneel before me and’—Hey, Becks!” Shayla spotted me in the doorway and gave a very un-Vladima finger wave. “Raven’s teaching me how to be just like you!”

  “God help you.”

  I’d totally forgotten that Shayla was scheduled to come in to try on the Vladima costume that morning. And that I should have been there an hour ago. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “No worries,” Shayla said brightly. “I think we’ve made a lot of progress.” She looked tremendously pleased with herself.

  “Thanks for helping out, Raven.”

  The tiny sound engineer, swathed in a full black skirt and black poncho sort of thing, looked more likely to be giving instruction in the proper serving temperature for eye-of-newt casserole than doling out acting tips. She waved away my appreciation.

  “This one’s not bad. She’ll need to work on lowering her voice a bit if she’s going to sound anything like the real Vladima—” Raven looked momentarily flustered. “I mean you—oh, you know what I mean.”

  “I’ve got CDs of all your recordings,” Shayla said. “I’m going to listen to them constantly until I’ve got it right.”

  Odd. Of course I had realized that someone else was going to dress as Vladima—which hadn’t for one instant been something I’d ever wanted to do. And I was happy we’d picked Shayla for the part. She had the classic comic book babe figure and could work wonders with wigs and makeup to get the rest of the look right. Plus, with her personality she’d probably be able to spend hours in the ComixCon booth talking to fans without wanting to slap anyone.

  Still…I’d placed the orders for Vladima’s costume and Vladima’s boots, and everything else a real-life Vladima would require, but it had never really hit me that someone else was going to be Vladima’s voice at the convention.

  I mean, Vladima’s body was one thing, but Vladima’s voice…it felt odd. Really odd.

  Which was the perfect description for the look Raven was giving me. “Are you all right, Becks?” Her bright little eyes didn’t miss a thing.

  “Fine.”

  “Great, then why don’t you find the costume for Shayla? We can get started recording while she tries it on.”

  I must have misheard her. “Get started recording? Is Josh around?”

  Raven smiled in a way that made me think I’d just confirmed something for her. “Josh couldn’t make it this morning. He asked me to take your session.”

  “You?” I realized how rude that had sounded but couldn’t think of how to make up for it.

  “I do all the voiceover recordings except yours, you know.” She was looking up at me like a curious black bird, and I suddenly realized why she went by the name Raven.

  “You do?”

  “Of course,” she said briskly. “I have no idea why Josh has been doing you all this time.”

  Shayla stifled a giggle. I probably flushed.<
br />
  “Let me get that costume.”

  I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

  “OKAY, BECKS, TAKE IT FROM ‘What can I do for you, Doctor Black?’”

  Here’s something else that was odd—Raven’s voice coming through my headphones as I sat alone in the recording booth. I’d never realized how much the sound of Josh’s voice had soothed me when we’d worked. How it had relaxed me. How it had made me—

  “Becks!” Raven’s sharp cry made me jump. “Can you hear me?”

  I looked over at her, perched in Josh’s room at Josh’s soundboard, and gave her a thumbs-up.

  Where the hell was Josh?

  IT WASN’T UNTIL AN HOUR LATER, when Raven was finished with me, that I was able to answer that question.

  I’d emerged from the recording booth to the unmistakable sounds of minions in full-riot mode. Apparently Shayla was a hit. A quick trip down the hall to the cubeyard confirmed her status as the reigning sexual fantasy object of Vladima’s largely dateless staff.

  “Becks!” She spotted me and came bounding over, with alarming results to her…do you still call it décolletage when the neckline plunges all the way down to the navel?

  “Shayla, you look…” Words failed me. She’d poured herself into the costume and zipped herself into the thigh-high patent leather platform boots. The black wig was long and luxurious, and the pale makeup with scarlet lips and deeply shadowed eyes was…“perfect.”

  She broke character completely by squealing in delight, which had a profound effect on Jeremy, who stood back and regarded her silently with worshipful adoration.

  “Josh says I completely freaked him out,” Shayla told me, clapping her hands with glee.