Eye Candy

by Jessica Lemmon

  “I’m not convinced we should do this at all.”

  “You’re right. It’s a stupid argument.” I sigh, resigned, and place my fingers against my temples, where my headache has returned with force.

  “I’m not talking about the argument.” He sounds too serious for my taste. “I’m talking about us.”

  The only sound I can manage from my tangled vocal cords is a weak croak. I clear my throat and try again. Finally, I push out the words “Don’t say that.”

  “If you don’t trust me any more than this, Jackie, then one of us has made a grave error in judgment.” He takes a step backward into his office and mutters, “Namely, me.”

  “Vince.”

  “Go home. You’re not feeling well today and frankly, I don’t want you here. Take your flowers with you.”

  He shuts the door in my face and I stare at the wood, jaw dropped, unable to accept how quickly things spiraled out of control.

  “What’s up with you two?” That’s Sandy, the temp, whose timing is epically tragic. A wave of nausea sloshes in my gut. “You don’t look so good.”

  “I’m, uh…not feeling well.” Understatement. “I’m taking the rest of the day off. Please let everyone know. I’ll return calls as soon as I’m available.”

  She smiles tenderly. “Hope you feel better.”

  I zombie-walk to my office, every step requiring monumental effort.

  “Jackie?” Sandy calls.

  “Yes?” I ask, gripping my doorframe for support.

  “When can I tell everyone you’ll be available?”

  I cast another glance at Vince’s closed door and shake my head. “I’m not sure.”

  Chapter 28

  Jacqueline

  Since working from home isn’t an option, I’m back in the office the next day. I thought long and hard about tendering my resignation, but unfortunately I have bills to pay. On a side note: The employee no-dating rule is really underemphasized. There should be a big sign in the boardroom that reads NO SCREWING EACH OTHER UNDER PENALTY OF DEATH.

  That wouldn’t stop it from happening either. Human beings are a lot like cats in heat sometimes.

  After my first cup of coffee, I review the conversation that occurred yesterday between Vince and me. I left work thinking the end of the world was nigh. Perhaps I blew things out of proportion. I woke up this morning feeling worse, but what if that’s just me?

  A spark of hope glows warmly in my chest. I close my eyes and think of a motivational quote for this occasion. “Leadership is the ability to translate vision into reality,” I say under my breath.

  I can make my own reality. Better yet, so can Vince. What if I have this all wrong? What if Vince is in his office feeling as horrible about our argument as I do?

  I walk toward his office and several heads swivel in my direction. I straighten my shoulders and add a spring to my step. I’m not lurching to his office today—I’m walking in, head high.

  Vince’s deep laugh trickles from his office and beckons me like a tractor beam. A residual smile is on his face as he hangs up his desk phone.

  “Good morning.” I’m going for casual, but my voice is tight.

  “Butler.” His smile erases and he focuses his attention on his computer screen. “What can I do you for?” he asks as he slides the mouse and does a good job of ignoring me.

  I step into his office and run my fingers along the edge of the desk. “I took your advice and got rid of the flowers.”

  He still doesn’t look at me.

  “I went home like you asked, but I had to come back.” I laugh uncomfortably. I’m trying to lighten the mood, but the weight of the air might as well be ten tons. “Because, you know, paycheck and all that jazz.”

  Did I just use the phrase “all that jazz”? I’m worse than I thought. And he’s worse than I thought. His silence is making me edgy. Nervous.

  “I guess you were right about Riley being crazy.” I’m trying for camaraderie, but Vince hasn’t looked at me yet. I hold out hope that getting us on the same page will be the key to getting us over the fight.

  “Shut that door,” he instructs, his voice low and sexy. Unfortunately his blue eyes are icy and emotionless instead of heated with interest. I shut the door.

  “I know you’re mad, Vince, but—”

  “But what?” His eyebrows slide together. “Where do we go from you camping out on my crazy neighbor’s couch and ordering yourself flowers while the two of you spy on me from behind a tinted window?”

  “I didn’t know what to think.”

  “You could have talked to me.”

  “You could have told me Leslie came over. You’re not blameless, Vince,” I can’t help pointing out.

  “No?” Those thick eyebrows rise. “I’m sorry. I thought I was the one in my home and you were the one spying on me.”

  “I wasn’t spying!” I close my mouth and suck in a breath through my nose. I’m not yelling in here, closed door or no. “I wasn’t…exactly spying,” I amend at a reasonable volume. “I saw you nuzzling Leslie after she left your house, after you told me you had a project to work on that night. What was I supposed to think?”

  “That I was blowing you off and fucking my ex-wife, apparently.”

  Hearing the words makes it feel true. I hope it isn’t true. But the image is there. And he put it there.

  “Is that what you want to hear, Butler?” he asks. “That Les and I rekindled our lost love on the sofa where you and I normally watch movies and share sushi? That she and I ate pizza and then stripped naked to have one last go for old times’ sake?”

  “You shared pizza?” That news is like taking a skewer to the chest.

  “And beers,” he adds, his tone challenging.

  I take a step back, like I can escape his words and the images flashing in the frontal lobe of my brain like a horror film.

  Vince waits; for what, I don’t know.

  So I repeat, “You shared pizza and beers with Leslie on the couch…and that’s it?”

  “That right there,” Vince states softly, pointing at me, “is what I would’ve answered for you if you would’ve knocked on my door instead of Riley’s.”

  It’s like he’s slipping away before my eyes. I hate to ask, hate that my nose is stinging from pending tears, but I ask anyway. “And now?”

  His eyes go to his hands, folded on the desk, and he shakes his head. “It’s too late, Jackie.”

  “It’s not,” I manage, unwilling to accept defeat.

  His eyes find mine, and in those blues I don’t see anger or frustration but stark acceptance, which is somehow worse. “You know me, Butler. Or at least I thought you did.”

  His office phone purrs and I blink watery eyes from him to the handset, which he lifts and answers with a “Vince Carson.”

  He settles back in his chair, eyes on the computer screen as he continues to pretend I’m not there. After a few seconds of being ignored, I make myself scarce.

  I shut his door quietly behind me and beeline for my office, head down, teeth gritted. Safely ensconced inside, I close my blinds on the inside window and flip the lock on the knob.

  As I slump into my office chair, the tears start to fall.

  —

  The next day is better and simultaneously worse. Vince doesn’t mention Leslie or that night to me, which is a relief, because I had no idea how mean he could be. He’s not ignoring me, though, and that’s the “worse” part I’m referring to. He’s straightforward and calm. I would rather have a screaming fight to the finish. At least then I’d have closure.

  Vince enters my office and drops a mailer on my desk. “This came for you, but Sandy gave it to me by mistake.”

  He turns to leave, but I stop him. “Vince. Please sit?”

  “No time, Butler. I have to meet with Peter Vandalay in five minutes. I’m on my way out the door right now.”

  I recognize the name from the current account we’re trying to win.

  “Why don’t yo
u come with me?” Vince, his expression neutral, shrugs his shoulders. “He likes you. If anyone has a prayer of nailing him down, it’s you.”

  I don’t hesitate. If this is how to get back into Vince’s good graces, so be it. I grab my purse and he offers to drive as we leave the building together. Just as I’m sinking into his passenger seat, hope flooding my chest, a voice calls out behind us.

  “Sorry I’m late!”

  Lindsey, from sales, is running/scuffling along the asphalt and pulling her purse onto her shoulder. Her presence instantly makes my presence at lunch with Peter Vandalay superfluous, and Vince’s offer that I come along equally useless. Lindsey can close the deal as well as—if not better than—I can.

  I step away from the car and lift the seat forward. She climbs in the back and chatters all the way to the restaurant, killing any opportunity for Vince and me to talk. Really talk.

  The ride back to the office is exactly the same.

  Vince is congenial and he even smiles a few times. I’m assuming he wouldn’t have invited me along without a buffer, which does more than sting my ego. It cuts deep and leaves a gaping wound.

  My resilient attitude insists this week will get better.

  But it doesn’t.

  —

  I’m leaning over Kayla’s computer studying our website. “I like the new menu. It’s clean, easy to read.”

  “Thanks,” she says, then regards me with real concern in her eyes. “Are you and Vince okay?”

  I glance toward her open office door, but it’s fifteen past five, and the office is mostly cleared out. Joe is back in the corner milking the clock as per his usual, but he isn’t close enough to overhear. Anyway, he’s always wearing a huge pair of white headphones blaring his garage band tunes. He couldn’t hear us either way.

  Vince is in the office somewhere. I’ve become attuned to him over the past week or so, his every coming or going, watching him like a dog watches out the window for its owner to return. I’m pathetic. Truly pathetic. Kayla has clearly picked up on it.

  “Jackie.” She tilts her head to the side. “You don’t have to give me details, but don’t keep me completely in the dark. My heart is splitting in two over this.”

  “You?” I grunt with a wan smile. I’ve been merely surviving each day; trying to appear as “okay” as possible while my heart suffers another fatal fissure. At least I assume it’s fatal. It feels that way.

  “He’s okay and I’ll be okay,” I tell Kayla, keeping up the charade. My smile feels sickly. It must look that way too, because she stands and hugs me. I accept the embrace. My arms have been lonely, my heart hurting. I haven’t called Bethany yet because I have a feeling she’ll advise me to quit my job.

  “I don’t want to quit. I love my job,” I tell Kayla.

  “I know you do, honey,” she says, not asking me why I’m protesting my own resignation. She drags the guest chair to her desk and I sit. “I don’t want you to quit either. I don’t think you have to. Vince is being an ass. He’s a man and men are stupid.”

  I sniff. “Truer words.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “I do, but…not here.” I look over my shoulder but see no one. “Want to grab a coffee?”

  “Yes.” Kayla is off her chair like a shot. She doesn’t even bother shutting her computer down. “Let’s go.”

  Minutes later we’re at For Puck’s Sake.

  “They have coffee here?” I shout over the blaring TVs.

  “No!” she shouts back. “They have really good-looking bartenders here.”

  Kayla bellies up to the bar and I slide onto a stool next to her. She orders us two Goalie Manhattans, whatever those are. I can’t do liquor. It makes me crazy. See: ordering flowers for myself and letting Riley Mason choose what to write on the card. When I tell Kayla I shouldn’t drink lest I further ruin my life, she waves me off. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll call you an Uber and get you back home safely. My treat.”

  I tell Kayla about my seeing Leslie and about my confiding in Riley. About how I made a stupid mistake. About how Vince pulled away so suddenly, I’m beginning to accept that I should let him.

  “He’s scaring me,” I say as I finish my Goalie drink. It’s really good. I order another from the very attractive bartender, Mike. Mike has a nice smile that I return. Then I look at Kayla and my smile falls. “I bet Mike’s a jerk too. They’re all jerks.”

  “They aren’t all jerks,” she says through a laugh. “Tell me what you mean by Vince scaring you.”

  “The way he can detach. That scares me. How can he look deeply into my eyes one day and then go completely blank the next?” I accept my fresh drink from Cute Mike Who Is Probably a Jerk and then turn back to my office friend. “Lex did that, you know. Turned off his feelings like a switch. I guess it’s a man thing.”

  Kayla’s lips press together in sympathy. She’s never had anyone do this to her, I bet.

  “Kevin has never broken up with you, I’m guessing? He’s been perfect?”

  “Not perfect. No one is perfect. But no, he always claimed he was never going anywhere and he hasn’t.” She lifts and drops a shoulder like she has no idea how she got so lucky.

  I ache with envy at how lovely that sounds.

  “You know what really sucks?” I ask rhetorically, before answering myself. “I was benched. I was done dating. I was out there, and then I came back and resigned myself to singledom for a while. It was Vince who made me try again. He was the one who suggested I ask out J.T. And then I learned Vince did it because he wanted me to date him instead. What gives? Why go through the hoopla of forcing me out into the world when I didn’t want to go? If anything, he played games way before I did.”

  “He’s a man,” she says simply. “He’s a jerk.”

  “Hey, this sounds like a conversation not fit for me,” Mike interjects with a white-toothed grin. He winks and moves on to another patron and Kayla sighs.

  “Too bad this isn’t one of those bars where the men take their shirts off.” Kayla purses her lips, then her eyes light with an idea. She reaches for her purse hooked on the back of her chair and waves a twenty-dollar bill. “Maybe it could be?”

  Chapter 29

  Vince

  “How do you spell ‘eunuch’?” I ask Davis as he walks into my house. “Did you knock and I didn’t hear you?”

  He eyes the crossword puzzle on my lap and then the television, which emits a ball-jarring explosion. Probably I didn’t hear him.

  “How many times have you watched that?” he asks.

  I lift my chin and see Bruce Willis’s badass receding hairline and wonder if I’ll look that cool if mine goes in that direction. “Not sure. It’s either my third or fourth viewing since yesterday.”

  Davis mutters something that sounds like “It’s worse than I thought” before he sits next to me. “I’d rather you watch sappy, weepy movies than Die Hard. I feel like this is a cry for help.”

  “This is a man’s movie.” I gesture to the television with the pen in my hand. “I’m fortifying myself for what’s to come.”

  “You’re walling up and trying to grow a callus or two.”

  Eyes back on my puzzle, I try spelling “eunuch” with a K in the margin. That still looks wrong.

  “So what?” I say as I scribble through the word. “I could use a callus or two. I finally think I understand you.” I look at him. “Why you’re a serial dater. A fan of the one-night blonde.” Gripping his shoulder, I level with him. “It’s a superpower, my friend. I was shitty at the one-night thing, but you have it down.”

  I give myself a pitying head shake, since I’ve mastered the art of feeling sorry for myself, and return to my margins and my spelling challenge. I wonder if it starts with a Y?

  “They should make phonetic crossword puzzles,” I say, jotting down my new favorite made-up word: “younick.”

  Davis snatches the newspaper from me and tosses it on the coffee table, knocking over the beer cans sitting
there. He grumbles as he picks them up off the floor and walks them to the kitchen. He returns with a wad of paper towels and swipes the spilled beer—only a few drops—off the table before scolding me like my mother.

  “They aren’t from this morning,” I say, thinking his concern stems from my day drinking. I planned on starting early, but not this early.

  “I’m making you some coffee.”

  Never mind, he reminds me more of Leslie. “Good, you can be my new ex-wife.”

  Davis storms back into the living room, paper towels gone, something else notably missing.

  “Hey, where’s my coffee?” I ask.

  Then I’m zooming upward, a little too quickly, considering the beer cans from last night Davis just collected. My head is swimming from a few too many and not enough sleep. My best friend holds me by the scruff of the T-shirt.

  “What is going on with you?” Davis asks through his teeth. “Stop being so goddamn flippant and talk to me.”

  “And tell you what?” I swipe his arms away, a surge of anger shooting down my limbs. I scrape my hand through my unwashed hair and stalk into the kitchen, simply because I can’t stand still. “Tell you that Jackie underestimated, undermined, and underappreciated me?” I call out. “Tell you that I was going to tell her I was falling for her”—I open a cabinet and pull out the coffee can and a filter—“but no, she—”

  I cut myself off when I realize I’m shouting and Davis is standing a few feet away from me. I continue at a normal volume as I scoop the coffee. “I thought she was different, that we had a shot at something real. I never believed she’d assume the worst about me.”

  My heart does that thing where it hurts so much I wonder if I need to call an ambulance. It’s been happening every day since the morning I talked to Riley and found out Jackie had come to her own conclusions—albeit happily fueled by my troublemaking neighbor—about what transpired between Leslie and me.

  “After Leslie left,” I tell Davis, “I swore I’d never think about permanence again. Jackie made me hope. Made me take back that vow and imagine a future with her.” I gesture around the kitchen with the scoop. “Her here. Living here. Maybe more,” I mumble, miserable about…well, just about everything, frankly.