by Kayt Miller
That’ll make her laugh. I wait for a response from Veronica but none comes.
Chapter 32: Bill Phillips
I think I’ve got a case of the Tuesday’s. I can’t seem to focus on the task at hand. The financial side of my company P&P Advertising is not my forte. I’m an ad-man. I have always loved thinking up new slogans and inventing new ways to advertise products. In other words, the creative side of the business.
I don’t really enjoy managing people either, but that’s just part of the game. I own the company with my wife, Janice. She’s more of a silent partner, but because of her family money, it was possible for us to get started, she’s the other “P” in P&P Advertising.
Looking through the end of month data on spreadsheets, my phone buzzes. “Mr. Phillips? You have a call on line two.”
“Who is it? Can you take a message?”
“It’s Mr. McCormick of EnerSport.”
“I’ll take it.” I wait until the call is transferred. Time to turn on the charm, “Frank! How are you? Glad you called!”
“Well, not good Bill.”
Uh oh. “Why’s that? The family okay?”
“The family is fine, Bill. Where’s Veronica?”
Veronica? “Oh, you mean Roni?”
“Yeah, where is she?”
“Why? What’s happening? Hasn’t Chris been working closely with your team?” After Roni had walked out without notice, I gave most of her clients to Chris. He seemed eager to take on Roni’s clients.
Frank takes a deep breath on his end of the line. “Listen. Put Veronica back on my account. It’s not working out with Chris.”
What the hell? “Chris is one of my senior market analysts. Tell me what issues you have with him.” Yeah, I’m avoiding telling him about Roni.
“Jesus, where do I start? He’s incompetent. Every time I ask him for data, he has to call me back. It’s like he doesn’t know the answer, so he’s got to look it up. Veronica knew her stuff.”
“Is that the only thing?”
“Hell no, Bill. He doesn't return my calls. Some woman named Trisha makes excuses for him. He made my assistant cry, and my art director has threatened to quit if she has to speak directly to him again. What the hell’s going on over there? I can pull out of this deal, Bill. I want Veronica back on our account today!”
“Well, there’s an issue there. Veronica is no longer with the company.”
I hear him groan on the other end of the line. “What? Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why is she no longer with the company?”
Now it’s my turn to take a deep breath. Frank McCormick and I go way back. We were roommates at Harvard. He was the best man at my wedding. I can drop some of the formalities here and tell him. “There was an incident related to the launch party.”
“Incident? I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. Chris seemed to be able to plan a party…”
“That’s just it. He didn’t plan it. Veronica did all of the work.”
“But, Chris told us he did it.”
“Yeah, he lied.”
“So, she quit over that? That’s not very professional.”
“There’s more to it than that.”
“Tell me, Bill.”
I explained, in detail, the events that occurred after the party ended.
“So, you’re telling me, you punished her for pranking that idiot Chris? Was he punished for his part in all of that?”
I remain silent. I knew I’d made a mistake the second she quit but I’m a proud man, and I couldn’t show weakness in front of my employees.
“Bill, you and I have known each other forever. Hell, we both had internships at that big ad agency in New York our senior year at Yale. I seem to recall a situation with one of the other interns. He claimed your idea as his. Do you remember what you did to him?”
Now I do. “No.”
Frank chuckles. “Sure you do.”
“Yeah, okay. But, you helped me do it, so you’re just as culpable, Frank.”
“Maybe. But de-pantsing him in front of the secretary, he was in love with wasn’t near as bad as what Roni did to Chris.”
“I think it was worse. The poor guy couldn’t buy a date the rest of the summer. Who knew he was so… lacking?”
That makes me chuckle. Ah, memories.
“Let me see what’s happening with Chris. I’ll call you when I get things straightened out, Frank.”
“Like, getting Veronica back? Because, Bill, I’m not going to work with Chris anymore. If he’s the best you’ve got, you’re in trouble.”
Frank hangs up, and I run my fingers through my hair. What’s left of it?
“Gloria, I need to see Barbie, Deb, and Martha in my office in thirty minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
Forty minutes later I regret calling this meeting. I’ve heard “I told you so” one too many times.
“Barbie, you work closely with Chris and Trisha. What’s going on?” She hesitates to answer. “What we say here won’t leave this room. You have my word,” I say looking at all three women.
“I don’t know a lot, but I do know that Chris doesn’t seem to know what he’s doing.”
“How can that be? The man has been here well over a year. He has a degree in marketing from a prestigious university.”
Barbie responds, “Um, I think Roni did a lot of his work. He was always in her office asking questions. Either that or he emailed her with questions. Sometimes he’d tell her he was swamped and needed her to take over some of his workload for him.”
“And she did it?”
The three women look at each other.
Deb speaks first, “Of course she did. She’s great at what she does. Did. She knows her stuff backward and forward.”
“She’s highly organized and methodical about her clients. Or she was,” adds Martha.
“But, Chris, what about Chris?” I ask again.
“Incompetent,” grumbles Deb.
“He upsets people with his rude and unprofessional comments,” says Barbie.
“What is Trisha’s role in all of this?”
Barb speaks first, “I think they’re in a relationship. She spends most of her day in his office. She has a make-shift desk in there now.”
“What? She’s not even his assistant. What does her team leader say about that?”
“Nothing,” snipes Deb. “Chris is his superior so, yeah.”
“Damn it! All right, thank you for coming in. I meant what I said; our conversation is confidential.”
With my office quiet again, I call Gloria in. As my assistant, she’s got an ear to the ground around the office. She’ll know what’s going on.
“You wanted to see me, sir.”
“Gloria, I’ve told you for seven years to call me Bill. Are you ever going to do that?”
“Not likely, sir. What can I do for you?”
“What do you know about Chris and Trisha in marketing?”
She rolls her eyes. Actually, rolls her eyes. I didn’t think she had it in her. “What would you like to know, precisely?”
“I’d like to know what Chris is like to work with and if he’s incompetent.”
Gloria stands with one hand on her hip and the other behind her neck. “So, you really want to know?”
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn't.”
“Okay. You asked for it. Please don’t shoot the messenger.”
I nod. And wait.
“Chris is an asshole who is definitely incompetent, and Trisha’s a bitch.”
“Don’t hold back, Gloria. Tell it like it is,” I chuckle. “Damn it. Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Would you have listened?” she asks with one brow raised.
“Probably not.” I sigh and lean back in my chair. “What about Veronica? What are your thoughts on her and on the issues, um, surrounding her departure?”
“You sure you want to hear this?”
“Jesus, spit it out, woman.�
�
“You screwed the pooch on that one, sir. Roni was da bomb.”
I groan. “Thanks, Gloria. That’s all for now.”
I watch my trusty right-hand assistant make her way back out to her office. “Shit,” I mutter to myself. I’m going to have to do something about Chris Smith and Trisha Kepler, and I’ve got to find a way to get Roni back.
Chapter 33: Mick
It’s been three days and nothing from Roni. Not one text, voicemail or even an email. I’ve counted, and I’ve texted her nine times, left three voice mails, and I’m about to send her a lengthy email outlining my serious irritation with her lack of timely responses.
Shit, I’ve even been to her place––twice––and she’s never home. Either that or she’s playing possum. Could she be avoiding me? I don’t know why she would. What could I have done? I’ve re-hashed the whole thing at her place, and I can’t think of anything that happened that would have made her go complete radio silence on me.
The only place I haven’t tried to catch her is P&P Advertising. So, I decide to surprise her like I did before, right around lunchtime. When I walk up to the same little receptionist, she gives me a shy smile. “What can I do for you?” emphasis on the ‘I.' Yeah, not shy.
“I’m here to see Roni McGonigall.” She blinks at me as if she doesn’t know who I’m talking about, so I repeat. “Veronica? Roni McGonigall?”
“I know who Roni is, sir. It's just…hang on, let me make a call. Can I get your name?”
What the fuck is going on? “Mick. It’s Mick.” I step away from the desk to let the next person in line get the run-around.
I pace around the lobby for ten or fifteen minutes until I finally hear, “Mick?”
I turn thinking I’ll finally see Roni but it’s a different woman. One I met at the big party. “Yes?”
She walks up to me, hand extended. “Hi. I’m Deb. We met at the launch party?”
“I remember. Itis good to see you, Deb. But, I’m here to see Roni.”
“So, you haven’t talked to her lately? In the last couple of weeks?”
“I saw her Saturday night at my Halloween Party.”
She looks surprised by that.
“What? Why?”
“I’m not supposed to say anything. But, Roni doesn’t work here anymore.”
“Excuse me? Since when?”
“The day after the launch party. She quit.”
“She quit? She didn’t say anything. Why?”
“I can’t say. Ask her, I’m sure she’ll tell you.”
None of this makes any sense. Why would she have kept that from me? I look up at Deb, “I can’t find her. She won’t return my calls or texts. Do you know where she is?”
She shakes her head, “No. I haven’t talked to her for a few days. She didn’t mention anything to me.”
Fuck! Looking down at my feet, I know I should say something. “All right. Thanks for your time. I’ll check her apartment. Maybe I’ll catch her at home.”
“That’s a good idea. Good luck, Mick.”
“Thanks,” I barely mutter.
When her apartment yields no results, I head into work. “God, I need time off. I haven’t taken a real break from this place in over a year. Work is what I needed after everything went down with Lauren, but now I’m tired. I need to sleep and clear my head. I want to do nothing; I want to see no one. Except for Roni. I want to see Roni, damn it.
I make one last ditch effort with a text. After that, I’ll leave her alone. That’s obviously what she wants.
Me: Roni. Where are you? I’m worried. No one knows where you are.
I set my phone down and shockingly, it dings.
Roni: I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. Take care.
Take care? What the ever-loving fuck is that supposed to mean?
Me: Take care? What’s that supposed to mean, Veronica?
I stare at the illuminated screen on my phone and wait like Pavlov. Salivating in the hopes, I hear another ding. Yeah, I remember some shit from school. Some being the operative word. I chuckle to myself. That’s it! I’ll send her a joke. It’s our thing.
Me: Here’s a good one… An atheist, a vegan, and a Crossfitter walk into a bar. I only know because they told everyone within the first three minutes. LOL. Good one, right?
Nothing. No reply. What the hell?
The next few days drag on and on and on. As each day passes, I get more and more depressed. I miss her. I guess it’s true what they say… absence makes the heart grow fonder. Or is it distance? All I’ve done, when I’m not slinging drinks, is think about my time spent with Roni.
Our text messages and phone conversations. Babysitting Katie. And the sex. Goddamn, the sex. I have to rub one out daily just to work through those memories. I almost can’t take it anymore. I’ve got to do something. “Where are you, Veronica?”
Chapter 34: Roni
A week at home has done me good. I needed to see my parents and sisters––to recharge. Being away from the drama, literally, helps put things into perspective. Talking everything related to Mick out with my sisters? Not so helpful.
I’m the middle daughter. Growing up, I was the ugly one. The fat one. Still am. I know I’m not ugly; it's just Frankie and Gloria are both gorgeous. They are tall and still slim, even after having kids. Their hair is long and styled perfectly no matter what time of day it is. I could surprise them at two in the morning, and they’d look runway ready. No joke.
Their children are the same. My older sister, Frankie has one girl, Lillian, age six. The baby of the family, Gloria, has two hellions, Polly and Maddy, five and three respectively. I love them all fiercely, but there are times when I don’t really like my sisters. They are so obsessed with appearance, dress size, and weight that I have trouble talking at any length with them before they start to nitpick at my faults.
Maybe it’s because they are both stay-at-home mothers? They spend their days surrounded by other moms and babies all day. They all worry about the same things, and that includes making sure they keep their bodies in check for their husbands. They worry their husbands will leave them if they gain weight.
They spend extra time getting dressed and made up because if they leave home looking less than perfect they may embarrass their men. I don’t get it because my brother-in-laws are no Flynn brothers. Let me tell you. They are average at best. I’d definitely put my sisters into the trophy wife category. It doesn’t matter what I think. My sisters are still going to worry.
The funny thing is, none of that vanity came from my parents. My mom was a real beauty, still is, but she was so busy raising us and working with my dad to keep a roof over our heads she didn’t have time to worry about her hair, her make-up, or the latest fashion.
As a matter of fact, her hair has been short for years. I sort of envy her that. I’m sick of my hair. I’ve threatened to chop it off many times, but my sisters talk me out of it. They tell me, “It’s the one good thing I’ve got going for me.” Ugh.
No matter how annoying my sisters are, though. They’re still my sisters. That’s why we decided to celebrate by going out to the one and only bar in our tiny town, Smitty’s. We wanted to bond since it’s my last night in good ole Goblesville, Indiana. Population 1,928. Well, 1,927 since I left. I don’t think anyone else has fled.
When they picked me up at mom and dads, they were shocked to see the new me. I finally bit the bullet, as they say, and chopped off all my hair. It’s something I’d been thinking about for a while. It’s not that I didn’t like my hair. I just wanted a change. My siblings were so upset by the new look that I think Frankie had tears in her eyes.
While I value their opinions to a certain extent, I’m not going to let their reaction get to me because I really like it. It’s short and easy to style. It only took me twenty minutes to get ready. That includes a shower!
My new cut is really cute. It falls to my chin in a layered, choppy bob with bangs. It’s edgy. At least that’s what Pearl cal
led it, and Pearl knows where it’s at when it comes to hairstyles. You may think Pearl is elderly, but she’s actually my age. Her grandmother, Granny Pearl, left the salon to Pearl Junior in her will. I believe the look suits me. It’s more professional than big, wavy hair. It makes my face look less round, and my eyes look huge.
Once my sisters were over the shock, we head to the bar. I’m not surprised to see it hasn’t changed since the last time I was here. Smitty’s is the most disgusting dive bar in the U.S. No! The world. There are peanut shells on the floor from the Johnson administration. I’m not kidding. It’s one of their claims to fame.
Frankie wanted ‘girl time, ’ and I wanted to get sloshed. Girl time it is. Gloria plops down in the one and only corner booth. I slide in next, then Frankie. Now I’m sandwiched between the two of them so I can’t escape either side without one of them getting out. My ass has found its way into a large crevice in the bench. It’s a section without padding and not much vinyl. I feel thick wires poking into my butt.
One of my old classmates, Chelsea, is our waitress. “What can I get you, girls?” She was always pretty nice. She hasn’t aged well, though. Probably caused by too many cigarettes and too much makeup.
Frankie speaks first, “Gloria and I will have a Cranberry Cosmo. Be sure they use Skinny Girl, please. “Roni. You should try Skinny Girl. It’s delish. The keep it here just for us,” Frankie brags.
“I’ll have an Old… No. I’ll have a Guinness.”
“Guinness?” Gloria gasps. “Do you know how many calories are in dark beer? It’s no wonder…”
I know what she’s saying. It’s no wonder I'm fat. Whatever. Before I can speak, I see Frankie clicking away on her phone. Her gasp clues me into what’s coming next. “210 calories for one pint of Guinness! Roni. That’s too many calories.”
“I’ll be okay. I’ll walk home. Burn it off,” I deadpan.
“You’d better,” chides Gloria. “You do not need to gain any more weight especially now that you’ve got that short hair,” I swear she shivers at that.