Getting Even

by Sarah Rayner

  “There are others dating in the agency,” Stephen pointed out. “I’m not sure it’s relevant, if Orianna thinks she can handle it.”

  “I didn’t know you were seeing one another,” said Neil. “But now that I do, may I say I think you make a nice couple.”

  “Thank you.” Orianna smiled. What a decent guy Neil is, she thought. I’m going to miss him. Then she saw Ivy flash past the smoked-glass wall. She took the initiative, turned again to her colleagues. “Are you offering me the job?”

  Neil glanced at Russell.

  Russell nodded.

  “Yes,” said Neil.

  “Then I’d like to accept.”

  “Great,” said Neil.

  Orianna continued, “Before we finalize the salary, I’d like to have a deeper think about what I’d plan to do for the agency. It might be good to set aside some time in a few days, and meanwhile I’ll gather my thoughts into a short presentation. I’d prefer to leave discussing the package until then. Would that be all right by you?”

  “Good thinking.” Neil nodded.

  Stephen checked the agenda. “We’ve got quite a lot to crack through.”

  “I’d be happy to move on,” said Clare.

  “Then would you mind if I left you to it? I’ve a meeting shortly.”

  “That’s fine,” Russell granted.

  Orianna glanced through the smoked glass to verify Ivy was out of sight and surreptitiously left the boardroom.

  * * *

  Dan was in the middle of being shown some uninspiring product shots by a photographer’s rep when he noticed Orianna hovering. He could tell from her jigging feet she needed to speak urgently, so while the rep was concentrating on a particularly dull transparency, he mouthed, “Give me ten minutes.”

  Afterward, he went to find Orianna. She was brainstorming ideas with Ivy. “Did you want me?”

  “Er … no, it’s OK.”

  But she seemed uncomfortable, even jumpy. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, yeah. It’s nothing. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “Now you two lovebirds—no secrets in the office,” said Ivy. “Actually, Dan,” she caught his arm as he turned to leave, “you’re a man with a fine head of hair, when all around you are losing theirs. How do you feel about hairspray?”

  “What, for me?” He shook his head. “Never used it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Hardly a guy thing, is it?”

  “Precisely my point.” Ivy turned to Orianna. “We’ve not a hope in hell of getting men to use this product, as long as it’s called hairspray. Unless they’re drag queens. We’ll have to change the name.”

  Dan returned to his desk—umpteen messages had amassed in his absence—and shortly there was the red flag of a priority mail.

  Quick, while Ivy’s gone to the loo—you psychic or what? I just got called into the board meeting and they’ve offered me the job of CD! Can you believe it? Trouble is they want me without Ivy—just as you thought. How spooky is that? Need to discuss where I go from here/what salary to ask for/how to tell Ivy. Over a celebratory drink—where do you fancy? She’s coming back. Gotta dash.

  O

  xxxxx

  P.S. Delete this NOW.

  “Well, that went well,” said Ivy, as she and Orianna returned to their desks later that afternoon. “Shall we celebrate?”

  “Er … I was going to meet Dan.”

  “Ooh, ever the doting couple. C’mon, Orianna. You’re getting dull in your old age. Get him to join us later. That client’s so hard to please—we deserve a reward.”

  “Oh … OK.” Orianna chewed her lip. She hated knowing something Ivy didn’t already. It was bad enough having been secretive about seeing Dan, the last thing she wanted was to be professionally underhanded too. She’d badly wanted to talk to Dan about how best to play it but …

  To hell with it, she thought. I’m a big girl. If I’m going to be creative director, I should be able to deal with this on my own. Perhaps I should tell Ivy now. Who knows, she might not take it so badly. She’s never been as openly ambitious as me—she’s always so scathing about senior management. If don’t put it off Ivy can’t accuse me of keeping it from her, and where better to do it than over a drink, with her in a good mood? I’ll let her choose the venue too.

  “Where shall we go?” she said.

  “Cassio’s.” Ivy didn’t hesitate. “Let’s get out of here as soon as we can.”

  While Orianna was in the ladies’ room repairing her makeup, Ivy e-mailed Russell.

  Off for drink with O. Will cab it to you after—have some vino breathing for me. Expect me around eight.

  8. I am worth no worse a place

  Minutes later Ivy and Orianna were perched on chocolate-colored leather chairs on either side of a low table in the window of Cassio’s bar, sipping a gin and diet tonic and dry white respectively. Ivy liked coming here—the clean, spacious design was exactly the decor she loved, and a stylish clientele made it a good place to people-watch. All around them strangers chatted, and the lack of music meant they didn’t have to shout.

  “That was a great bit of spontaneous presenting,” she congratulated.

  “Thanks.”

  Orianna looked embarrassed, but Ivy was used to her modesty. Occasionally she found it irritating, right now she was feeling magnanimous. “They’re not the easiest client in the world.”

  “Mm.” Orianna frowned. There was no doubt her manner was subdued.

  “Hey…” Ivy leaned over the table toward her friend. “Is something up?”

  “No, no,” said Orianna, a touch too fast.

  “Is it Dan?”

  “No!”

  “I don’t want to see you hurt again. Are you sure you two are OK?”

  “I promise, we’re fine,” said Orianna. Though she sighed, and Ivy remained concerned. Orianna’s behavior had been strange all afternoon. As if her mind were elsewhere, when normally she was so focused.

  Ivy didn’t find intimate gestures easy, but appreciated one was called for. She squeezed Orianna’s hand. “Whatever happens, you’ll always have me.”

  “Will I?” Orianna’s big brown eyes were wide with worry.

  Ivy was genuinely touched. To think I was afraid she wouldn’t need me anymore. “Of course.”

  “That’s a relief.” Orianna sighed again.

  “Come on,” coaxed Ivy. “You can tell me.”

  Orianna removed her hand and took a huge sip of wine. And another. “I don’t know how to say this … But I know you were pissed off when I didn’t tell you about Dan, so I don’t want to keep this from you too.”

  Then it clicked. It was inevitable. Some might think Dan quite a catch, and Orianna was thirty-three, impatient to get on with her life … She must be anxious about admitting they were taking the next step so soon. Ivy cut to it. “Are you getting married?”

  “Goodness, no!”

  “Oh.” Must be something else. Ivy paused, assessing. Orianna hadn’t seemed off her food, but perhaps not even morning sickness would accomplish that. “Pregnant?”

  “No!”

  Ivy was mystified.

  “I promise, it’s nothing to do with Dan.”

  Oh my God; worse. “You’re not leaving Green, are you?”

  “No.” Another sip of wine.

  Although almost all of Ivy’s drink remained, Orianna was nearly at the bottom of her glass. Ivy had to get this out of her before another trip to the bar was needed. She tried to disguise her impatience. “What is it then?”

  Orianna looked away, glanced at Ivy nervously, and eventually said, “I’ve been promoted.”

  It was as if she’d been punched. Ivy sat back in her chair, head spinning. “What do you mean…” she said slowly, “… you’ve been promoted?”

  “I mean just that. I’ve been promoted. To CD.”

  Ivy started to shake. “When did you find this out?”

  “At lunchtime.” Orianna’s voice had dropped to a whis
per.

  Ivy spoke with spiked precision: “While I was at the gym?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see…” Ivy struggled to control her mounting fury.

  “They want me to take over once Neil has gone—”

  “They want you to take over? Let me be clear. Just you?”

  “Yes.”

  “How nice.” Ivy spat. “And where precisely does that leave me?”

  “As group head…”

  “Like I am now, in other words? But without you?”

  “Er … yes. Well, we can get you a new art director, obviously. But the board thought it would be better to have just one CD.”

  “Without a copywriter?”

  Orianna looked down. She was purple with embarrassment. “Mm, at least in terms of an official title, yes. They … um … I think they only want one member of the department on the board.”

  “I bet they do!”

  “Ivy—” This time Orianna tried to squeeze her hand, but Ivy snatched it away.

  Ivy was beyond hurt; she felt utterly betrayed. All those years as a duo apparently counted for nothing. “Didn’t you tell them where to shove their bloody job without me?”

  “I tried, honestly … But they wouldn’t hear any of it.”

  “The hell you did. I know what you’re like. So fucking wet sometimes.” Ivy shook her head in disbelief. “I’m appalled. Absolutely appalled. So you’re going to take the job then?”

  “Er … yes … I have,” said Orianna softly, then added, “I hoped you’d understand.”

  “Pah!”

  “I thought you didn’t want to be CD. You’ve always said the role stinks; that it involves all the worst, most boring and adminny aspects of our jobs and none of the fun.”

  “Ri-ight…”

  “And I’ll make sure you get to work with me on things; I’ll still need a copywriter some of the time.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Ivy looked down at her glass, and ran her fingers around the edge. Compared to Orianna’s, it was still full. There was only one thing for it. For a split second she didn’t give a flying fuck that they were in the window, in full view of everyone at the crowded bar and numerous passersby. And Orianna was just sitting there in her sweet little summer dress, her hair so flipping perfect, her girly-girly makeup so recently reapplied.

  Instantly, before she had time to reconsider or regain her composure, Ivy picked up her G&T. Then she slung it, with the most fantastic accuracy, ice, lime, and all, over her partner.

  And as Orianna sat in shock, her dark locks dripping, makeup running, designer dress clinging to her ample curves like a wet T-shirt in a sordid competition, the lime slice wedged in her cleavage, Ivy picked up her bag and stormed out of the bar.

  * * *

  Rob was on his way to meet a friend at the far end of Dean Street, having finished at the gym, when he saw Ivy several yards ahead of him, exiting Cassio’s at breakneck speed. He was about to say hello, but she crossed the road and headed in the opposite direction, not noticing him at all.

  Hmm, he thought, I wonder if anyone else from Green is in there? He peered through the floor-to-ceiling window. Good God! Sitting just a few feet away was Orianna. She was completely drenched, as was the table before her. A waiter was struggling to soak up the mess with paper napkins, but Rob could see it was going to take far more than that, so a combination of nosiness and gallantry propelled him up the steps and into the bar.

  “Orianna?”

  She looked up, distress undisguised. “Oh! Er … Rob! Hi.”

  “What happened?” He unzipped his bag and handed her his sports towel. “Here. It’s a bit damp, but…”

  “Thanks.” Orianna seemed mortified to be seen in such a state, and Rob didn’t blame her. Cassio’s was not a place to show oneself up. After she’d mopped the worst, she said, “I’ll go to the ladies’ room and sort myself out.”

  “I’ll wait here,” said Rob, curiosity increasing.

  As Orianna edged through the crowd, people turned to stare. She’ll feel worse when she sees herself in the mirror, thought Rob, his heart going out to her. I’d better check she’s OK. While he stood waiting, he phoned the private members’ club and asked the girl in reception to explain to his friend he’d been delayed. Then he went to order a Diet Coke.

  “Wow,” said the bartender. “That was fun.”

  “What happened?”

  “Her friend threw a drink at her.”

  “Really?”

  “That’s what it looked like.”

  “Any idea why?”

  “Couldn’t hear the conversation, but they seemed to be chatting like normal, then suddenly, wham! This foxy redhead slings her entire drink at your friend.”

  “Was it deliberate?” Rob knew he should be horrified, but he so loved drama.

  “Didn’t look like an accident to me.”

  “Blimey.” Rob flinched, imagining. “I wonder what brought that on?”

  The bartender jerked his head. “You’re about to find out.”

  Rob turned to see Orianna. Her hair and clothing were still damp, but she’d made herself look reasonably presentable.

  “Thanks.” She handed him back the towel.

  “That’s OK.” Rob couldn’t contain himself. “What happened?”

  Orianna glanced at the bartender, obviously realized he must have witnessed it all, and said, “Ivy threw her drink at me.”

  “Heavens!” Rob feigned surprise. “Why?”

  Orianna bit her lip. “I told her I got promoted.” She appeared to be expecting further censure.

  Rob was perplexed. “Shouldn’t she be pleased for you?”

  “Perhaps.” Orianna nodded. “But I guess Ivy felt she should have been promoted with me.”

  “Ah, I get it.” He remembered Ivy explaining they worked as a team. So now Orianna would be Ivy’s boss. Ivy was not someone he’d want to cross; the prospect was scary. “Ouch.”

  “I thought I ought to tell her. I hate keeping secrets from her and you saw how upset she was about me and Dan. I should have known she’d take this badly.”

  “Not necessarily,” Rob sympathized. “Did she really expect you to turn down the job?” Ivy was his client so he knew his loyalty should be to her, especially as Orianna was dating a man he still fancied. Yet once again he warmed to Orianna’s manner. Maybe her desire to be liked echoed his own; certainly he identified with her difficulty in keeping important news to herself. He was sure she’d not meant any malice. And there was no doubt she was the victim of horrible public humiliation—and in these circumstances Rob was cast in his role: he was her knight in shining armor. He gulped down his Diet Coke.

  “Look, I’m going to meet a friend at Blacks, so I’d better go, in case she’s waiting. But if you fancy joining us you’d be welcome.”

  Orianna looked around the bar. A number of people quickly turned away, ashamed they’d been caught gawping. “It’d be good to get away.” She smiled gratefully. “I’m supposed to be going to dinner with Dan later, but I guess I can call him and say to meet me there. If you’re sure?”

  “Of course,” said Rob, secretly gleeful. Now he’d not only be able to find out the full story, he’d get to see Dan again socially too.

  * * *

  Screw the taxi.

  Ivy’s Z4 was in the Poland Street parking garage—she’d been planning on leaving it overnight—but now a relaxing drink was the last thing on her mind. She needed to let off steam, big-time, and at least her sleek silver sports car wouldn’t let her down. She flew down Wardour Street as fast as her stiletto mules would allow. Even impractical heels could not hamper her, such was her fury. She whisked up the concrete stairs of the multistory building—tippy tappy—and, before her BMW was even within sight, aimed her key to flick off the alarm. Biddle-up, biddle-up, it beeped, and she was in. She sat down with a boof of air escaping leather, threw her bag on the adjacent seat, and snap! snap! unclicked the catches to lower the roof. In with a CD, up with
the volume. Blast anyone who might object.

  “How much?!” Ivy hurled the fee at the poor guy in the kiosk and with a cop-show screech of tires was on her way.

  If the horn got used once en route, it got used a dozen times. As for red lights—it was lucky there were no police around to pull her over. The traffic through Soho was maddeningly slow—all those irresponsible couriers, irritating pedestrians, and, worst, imbecilic tourists—but once she was on Park Lane she could vent some spleen outstripping any boy-racer who dared take her on.

  How could she? How could she? HOW COULD SHE? Ivy was so consumed by rage she hadn’t the energy to be upset; doubtless that would come in due course, but then she’d keep it to herself. Being seen as vulnerable was something she loathed; tears made her cringe. Yet if there was one person who Ivy had allowed to get close, it was Orianna. Over the years coming up with ideas, Ivy had opened up bit by tiny bit. The result was that Orianna had become more than a colleague or friend; she was in many ways Ivy’s surrogate partner in life.

  For if Ivy were honest with herself (which she preferred not to be), her relationships with men left much to be desired. She couldn’t face the implications, so hadn’t discussed things with her husband, but for several years her marriage had not been great. Aside from Orianna—to whom she’d moaned occasionally—no one had any inkling how she felt, but although things had been good briefly, now she and Ed tended to go their separate ways.

  And as for her lover, Russell was Russell; good for two things—sex and Ivy’s ego. She liked sleeping with him—it made her feel attractive and desirable, and the secrecy was thrilling at times. She relished having a powerful, good-looking man in her thrall, someone who’d do his utmost to keep on her right side. Or so she’d believed until now …

  Her mind raced. My husband wusses out on me—I’ve long gotten used to that. But my best friend betraying me? My lover selling me down the river? It shows no one’s worth trusting. No one!

  Twelve minutes later, Ivy was there. She turned off the engine and reversed the actions of the Poland Street parking garage: roof shut, stereo off, bag picked up, alarm on. Then tippy tappy up the stairs—she couldn’t be bothered to wait for the elevator—and pring! on the doorbell.