She's the Boss

by Lisa Lim

  It was all just a bad dream.

  I forced myself out of bed, pushed back the curtains and came face to face with the black crow. It glared at me with its beady eyes.

  This was a bad omen. Black crows signify death!

  “CAW!” went the crow, “CAW! CAW!”

  Shit. I stepped back in horror. For every ‘CAW’ cawed, one day would pass before someone died!

  I raced to the bathroom, tugged on a pair of jeans and shot out the front door. “Maddy!” I cried as I barged into her apartment. “Oh thank God you’re alive.”

  The scene was so familiar I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Maddy was working on her laptop, her foot resting on the kitchen chair and her fluffy Persian cats, Spartacus and Crixus, were snoozing by her feet.

  “Ah!” Maddy glanced up from her laptop. “This is just like my chick lit novel. You’re my impossibly charismatic friend who just pops up at opportune times to offer me witty advice.”

  “Did you see the black crow?” I paused to catch my breath. We lived in the same apartment complex and for all I knew, the crow could be cawing at every window. “Did you see it? Did you?”

  “See what?” Maddy asked patiently.

  “THE BLACK CROW!”

  “Nope.”

  “Well I did. And it cawed at me. Three times.” I paced agitatedly across the floor. “It went CAW! CAW! CAW!” I stopped pacing and craned forward, staring at Maddy with round eyes. “I swear, someone’s going to die. AND THAT SOMEONE COULD BE ME!”

  “Don’t be silly,” Maddy said mildly. “Crows don’t signify death. Remember that movie The Crow?”

  “No,” I said distractedly.

  “Crows are protectors of the dead.”

  “Oh,” I murmured. Now that the imminent threat of death had been removed, my wits were slowly coming back. I slumped down on the kitchen chair, careful not to disturb the Gladiator Cats. “Well that’s a relief.”

  Maddy stared at me and said nothing for a while, then, “Are you all right, Kars?”

  “Me? Yeah. Of course. Why?”

  “You seem a little out there.”

  “I do?”

  She nodded solemnly. “And you know what?”

  “What?”

  “I think we need to find you a decent man,” she said with all the generosity of the newly engaged.

  “Thanks. But no thanks,” I said a touch defensively. “And please stop doing that.”

  “What?”

  “Trying to set me up with all these men. You need to stop.”

  She threw me a saccharine smile. “When has telling me not to do something ever stopped me from wanting to do it?”

  “Maddy!” I sighed with heavy resignation. “Just because I’m alone, it doesn’t mean I’m lonely. Anyway, I like being single. It’s a nice sense of … of irresponsibility,” I finished. “Seriously. I’m tired of taking care of my boyfriends.”

  “That’s because you’ve only been dating boys.” She fixed me with a pointed look. “Not men.”

  Truth is, dating was the furthest thing from my mind. My thoughts drifted back to the funeral service I’d attended only days ago. In spite of loss, life continued. I felt lucky to be here, alive at this moment. And for some inexplicable reason, I felt this sudden compulsion to connect with the people I love, not leave anything left unsaid, lest one of them decided to keel on me. And Maddy was on the top of my list for she has always given me a ready ear, unconditional love and infinite wisdom.

  “Maddy …” I sat forward, elbows resting on the kitchen table. “Have I ever told you that you’re my bestie in this whole wide world and I love you dearly like a sister?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well I do,” I said meaningfully.

  “I do too, Kars,” she said sappily. “Now can I get back to my work?”

  “Go ahead,” I said with offended dignity. “Don’t stop on my account.”

  While Maddy resumed working on her laptop, Spartacus hopped onto my lap and began to purr raucously. Obligingly, I stroked his fur with one hand. “So how’s your New York Times bestselling novel coming along?”

  Maddy was nose deep in her laptop and spoke without looking up, “I’ll be lucky if it even gets published.”

  “Of course it will,” I said reassuringly. “Are you going to use your real name or a pen name?”

  “Hmmm.” She tilted her head to one side thoughtfully. “I’m not so sure. All these authors seem to be using their initials; it’s all the rage these days.”

  “Really?”

  “Apparently,” Maddy went on, “if I use my initials, I’ll be in good company. J.K. Rowling, C.S. Lewis, R.L. Stine, J.D. Robb, J.R.R. Tolkien, T.S. Elliot, D.H. Lawrence, H.G. Wells, J.D. Salinger, J.M. Barrie, E.B. White—”

  I cut in, “O.J. Simpson! M.C. Hammer! Hah! You’re not in such good company now, are you? Just because they use their initials, it doesn’t mean they’re better than you.”

  “But doesn’t M.M. Lee have a nice ring to it? I think it sounds professional, melodious even.”

  “Sounds pretentious,” I said truthfully. “And it makes me think of M&Ms leaving. Not a good thing. Trust me.”

  “Or,” Maddy carried on brightly, “once I marry Mika, I could be M.M. Harkett.”

  “Nah. Now I have this image of M&Ms being hacked to death.”

  “Fine.” Maddy hung her head and said with heavy resignation, “I guess I’ll stick to my real name.”

  “Have you made any real progress on your book?”

  “Not really.” She sighed deeply. “I’ve been stuck on chapter two for weeks.”

  “I have a solution.” I stood up abruptly and Spartacus gave an indignant yowl. “Sorry, kitty,” I said emphatically before darting back to my apartment, bounding back moments later with a bottle of wine and two glasses. “This will get your juices flowing.” I poured wine into the two glasses and pushed one toward Maddy. “So, what seems to be the hold up?”

  “I’m trying to figure out my hero.” She took a swig and gazed unseeingly toward me. “I’m not sure if I want him to be a beta hero, a chief or a bad boy.”

  My glass stopped halfway to my mouth. “How many male archetypes are there anyway?”

  “Eight, I think.” She began chewing on her bottom lip. “Let’s see if I can remember all of them … there’s the chief who is usually a self-made millionaire or some successful investment banker. He’s more interested in leading than communication, which makes him bossy, arrogant and domineering.”

  “Oh, I know that type all too well.” I winced into my wine. “He’s usually hot-tempered and rarely ever admits he’s wrong. He’s the alpha male; the testosterone-filled chest thumper.”

  “Yep! You hit the nail on the head! Then there’s the bad boy who usually finds some type of redemption by the end of the story. And there’s the beta hero.” Maddy sighed dreamily. “My favorite.”

  I stared absently into my glass, surprised at the magical way it seemed to have emptied itself. “I could’ve told you that.”

  “Huh?”

  I reached for the bottle and refilled my glass. “More wine?”

  “Please.”

  “Your fiancé is a beta hero,” I stated matter-of-factly and topped off her glass. “That’s why the beta hero’s your favorite.”

  “He is, isn’t he?” Maddy grinned stupidly, hugging herself with happiness. “He’s the best friend who brings you soup when you’re sick. He’s the handy man who changes your flat tire. He’s down to earth, sensitive, kind, gentle, a regular boy next door. But he’s also the nice guy who all the girls overlooked in high school, in favor of the bad boys of course.”

  “Bad boys!” A faint smile touched my lips. “Been there, done that.”

  “And there’s the smooth operator,” Maddy went on, “he’s the rakish rogue, the suave playboy who’s afraid of commitment. And let’s not forget the tortured soul; he’s typically an artist or a musician, a lost and wandering soul who desperately ne
eds help finding himself.”

  “Let me guess,” I chimed in, “he’s also a bit of a loner, maybe even an outcast. And he’s mopey and broody, walks around with dark clouds looming over his head, like Edward Cullen.”

  “Yep.” Maddy nodded briefly in acknowledgment. “Most vampire novels celebrate the tortured soul hero.”

  “All right, you can stop there. I don’t need to know all the heroes. If you ask me, you should go with the chief.”

  Maddy slowly sipped her wine. “And why is that?”

  “Because I love a man in charge. The beta hero is just so predictable.”

  “How so?”

  “Let me guess, the beta hero is good with the forehead kisses and brushing hair off the face, right?”

  Maddy laughed and winced as if I’d thrown an accurate punch. “But women eat that stuff up! All men should add that to their repertoire of moves.”

  “I disagree!” I heartily exclaimed. “Here’s my pet peeve with the beta hero, instead of just kissing the girl, he asks for permission first.” I pulled a face. “Men like that should grow a pair! Any idiot who asks for a kiss should be denied. Always.” I took another swig. “Such pussies!”

  “Hey! You better check yourself,” Maddy cried, half-laughing. “The man I’m about to marry is not a pussy.”

  “Sorry, no offense to Mika, but he’s not really my type. I prefer my men like … like Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

  “Mr. Darcy, eh?” Maddy leaned back against her chair and regarded me speculatively. “The dominant chief? The stoic and arrogant man in charge?”

  “Only on the surface,” I pointed out.

  “Speaking of men in charge, how are things with you and your new boss?”

  I drained my glass of wine and filled it again.

  “So I take it that things aren’t much better?”

  “Put it this way.” I sighed dramatically. “I don’t think they could get much worse. He doesn’t seem to like me and the sentiment is entirely returned.”

  “But Truong tells me you have a thing for him.”

  “Did he?” I muttered, making a vow to do something unpleasant to him as soon as I got the opportunity.

  “Umm hmm. Truong says there’s so much chemistry between you two that he could almost light it with a Bunsen burner.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense,” I retorted. “Bunsen burners use a single open gas flame.”

  Maddy gave me a narrow-eyed look. “So do you?

  “Do I what?”

  “Have a thing for him?”

  “Don’t you start as well,” I muttered grumpily.

  “Truong says he’s simply divine.”

  “He’s quite attractive, I suppose,” I said in a mood of large-minded fairness. “If you like that sort of thing.”

  “What sort of thing?”

  “Long lashes and a full mouth.”

  “You mean the sort of mouth that would be the envy of every fashion model?”

  “I guess …” I picked up the bottle of wine and idly examined the label. Cat’s Pee On A Gooseberry Bush. It was a 2008 Sauvignon Blanc and I’d bought it at my local Trader Joe’s because the name just sang to me. I shrugged to myself. For ten bucks, it was a fairly decent bottle of wine.

  “Do you like the wine?” I asked suddenly. “We’re drinking Cat’s Pee On A Gooseberry Bush.”

  “It’s nice.” Maddy nodded absently, twirling her wine glass. “Is he nice?”

  “Is who nice?”

  “Your new boss.”

  I grimaced. Nice was not a word you’d apply to Carter Lockwood.

  Maddy was looking at me expectantly. “So what is he like?”

  I thought of him with a sudden burst of resentment. “Carter Lockwood is an island unto himself. He’s rude, cold, hot tempered, conceited, controlling, overbearing. Everything’s got to be his way or the highway. And you know what else? I think he’s crazy. Yep.” My voice pitched higher. “CRAZY. The mayor of CRAZYTOWN!”

  Maddy smiled blithely. “You sound like the crazy one right now.”

  “Whatever.”

  “C’mon, Kars. I’m sure he’s not that bad.”

  “No, really. He is.”

  For a while, Maddy sat idly gazing, tapping one fingernail against her tooth. I could almost see the cogs turning in her brain. “Let me guess. Is Carter perpetually grumpy? Always scowling?”

  “Yes! How did you know? All the time. Seriously, if Carter Lockwood scowled any harder, his whole face might just splinter.”

  Maddy snorted inelegantly.

  “What’s so funny?” I demanded.

  “Truong was right!” She keeled over laughing. “You do have a thing for him. I think you’re secretly smitten with him. Besotted. I even detect some unresolved sexual tension.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” I nearly choked on my wine. In fact, I should have tried harder. “What would make you even think of such a thing?”

  “Because,” she sputtered, “Carter is a chief. He’s the archetype hero you picked! He’s your Darcy.”

  Dun. Dun. DUN.

  No. This cannot be.

  I tried to speak, failed, so I drank some more wine.

  “C’mon.” Maddy pushed her chair back and padded into the living room. “You’ll have to see this with your very own eyes.” She plucked a DVD from the shelf and popped it into the player.

  “What are we watching?”

  “Pride and Prejudice.”

  “The BBC miniseries with Colin Firth and Jennifer Elhe or the movie with Keira Knightley?”

  “The BBC adaption of course! That version is a masterpiece!”

  “Untouchable!” I agreed, settling myself on a battered sofa that had seen better days. “Although, no actress could ever portray Elizabeth Bennet to my satisfaction.”

  “And why is that?” Maddy asked wryly.

  “Because,” I said it like it was a given, “I visualize myself as Elizabeth Bennet. I almost died when Darcy says: In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” I went boneless, spineless. Clutching my heart, I gushed, “Oh Darcy.”

  “No one ever talks like that anymore,” said Mika, walking in through the front door. “And if any guy ever said that to you, I suggest you run for the hills.”

  “Hi, honey,” said Maddy. The look on her face when she first spotted Mika entering the room … how I wished I had that kind of love in my own life.

  Although I’d gladly eat crow before admitting that to Maddy.

  Mika lobbed his jacket in the approximate direction of a kitchen chair and without bothering to wait and see if it hit anything, walked over and swept Maddy up in a bear hug.

  I watched the two of them with fascinated eyes, feeling more and more like the proverbial fly on the wall. Unexpectedly, I experienced a sudden constriction in my stomach, a painful longing. Sure, I had dated. But they were flings. Somehow, I could never begin to feel the trust required for a deeper attachment.

  Eventually, Mika released Maddy from his playful grip and flashed me a boyish grin. “Hi, Kars!”

  “Hey.”

  “How’s the party planning going?”

  “No worries,” I said reassuringly. “Truong and I are on it!”

  “Just promise me, OK, no strippers at the Bachelorette party.”

  “You know I can’t promise you that,” I informed him with a wide-eyed innocent expression. “It’s entirely up to the bachelorette.” My eyes cut back to Maddy. “So? Stripper or no stripper?”

  “Stripper!”

  “All right,” Mika conceded. “Then just make sure he looks like Chuy Bravo.”

  “No way!” Maddy balked. “Get me a hot policeman! Or fireman. Or sailor. Or construction worker.”

  Mika crossed his arms and sighed with heavy resignation. “Just get her the Village People.”

  “Shhhhh.” I made shushing noises and turned my attention to the TV. “The show’s abou
t to start.”

  Mika perched on the edge of the sofa. “What are you girls watching?”

  “Pride and Prejudice.”

  A big grin spread over his face and he gave a guffaw. “Later.” He got up and started for the front door.

  “Hey!” Maddy called after him, “Aren’t you gonna watch this with us?”

  He held up a hand in mock horror. “I’d rather dispose of biohazard waste.”

  Hours later, Maddy and I were still watching our little drawing room drama, sans Mika. On the flat screen, Elizabeth Bennet was having it out with Mr. Darcy.

  “And your defect, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, “is to hate everybody.”

  “And yours,” replied Darcy, “is willfully to misunderstand them.”

  “See!” Maddy cried, “Darcy was just misunderstood.”

  “Mmmmm.”

  “And look,” said Maddy, pointing one perfectly manicured finger at the TV, “there’s Darcy … scowling again.”

  “But Darcy’s scowl, his wooden stiffness is simply a facade for the strong emotions that rage underneath … he’s masking his underlying passion. He scowls to cover his discomfort.”

  “Yes,” agreed Maddy in heartfelt tones. “Now do you see it?”

  “What?” I drew a blank. “See what?”

  “Fitzwilliam Darcy!” she rushed excitedly. “Doesn’t he remind you of Carter Lockwood?”

  I blinked.

  She coughed loudly. “He does, doesn’t he?” she finished with a satisfied air.

  I fought to keep my face expressionless.

  “C’mon,” she went on teasing with an unrepentant grin, “admit it.”

  I simply ignored Maddy’s proselytizing. I would admit to nothing. I prided myself on being the only woman in the entire office impervious to Carter’s good looks.

  Meanwhile, on the flat screen, Elizabeth Bennet was saying crossly, “I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Half of these applicants are dumber than algae! Most of them are padding their resumes,” Carter fumed. “They can fib all they want! I make most of my hiring decisions by intuition.”

  With a palpable lack of interest, I murmured, “Mmmm.”

  Carter went on ranting, “I know if they’re a good fit within the first five minutes of the interview.”