Just One Week (Just One Song)

by Stacey Lynn

  “What is this?” I ask, slowly putting my hand on the file as it moves across the desk towards me. Whatever is in this file, I don’t want to see it. I know it.

  “Your severance package.”

  The nerves that were tingling just a few minutes ago explode into a ball of flames and I feel my entire body get so hot I actually think I may be on fire. Time completely stops as I repeat the words that were just thrown down over and over in my head until I’m sure I must have misheard her. Severance. Severance Package. There has to be another meaning that I’m not understanding as I stare at the blue file my fingers have frozen over.

  They’re just hovering over the file, shaking like I’ve had two dozen too many cups of coffee over my lunch hour. My fingers are also bright red, which solidifies my theory of my body being on fire. But bodies can’t just burst into flames in the middle of the day unless you’re a vampire. And since I’m most definitely not a blood sucker, I must be dreaming.

  It’s the only logical explanation I can think of when I finally stop staring at the file on her desk and back into Devan’s eyes.

  She doesn’t say a single word as she looks at me. One eyebrow raises a little bit and I instantly feel the urge to lunge across the desk and smack the living shit out of her. But she still doesn’t move and I think maybe my dream has frozen. Maybe I’m a witch and have learned to freeze time. Maybe Marcia really did work some weird voodoo magic at lunch with her imaginary crystal ball and this is all just one big crazy joke to play on me before I leave for vacation.

  I furrow my eyebrows and cock my head to the left, still certain this isn’t happening. I left my entire life and family in Minneapolis for this job. It’s my dream job and I gave up everything for this opportunity. It’s not being ripped away from me without any notice or warning at all. It can’t be.

  I finally realize that my mouth has just been hanging as if it was broken and I’m missing the joint to close it, so I snap it shut before I start drooling.

  “Pardon?” I ask, my voice suddenly dry and raw and all sorts of scratchy.

  “You were given six week’s severance, which is highly unusual and very generous.”

  “You can’t be serious,” I respond to her. The reality of the fact that I have just lost my job starts pressing down on me.

  Devan doesn’t move at all while she begins speaking. She’s like a marble statue, unmoving and cold as stone. Her face is void of any expression. I always knew she was a bitch, but I’ve worked hard ever since I arrived in New York to earn her respect.

  “The market isn’t bouncing back as quickly as we’d like it to. We’ve simply had to make some cuts and you were one of the last people hired.”

  Oh my god. I’ve just lost my job. She’s still talking, but I don’t hear anything. I have my apartment, my bills … my health insurance. Shit. I have enough savings to last awhile, but holy hell, this is not about the money.

  I just lost my dream job. And Devan is correct in regards to the economy and the fashion industry. It’s been hit hard over the last couple of years and it’s difficult to find a job anywhere right now.

  “… Besides,” Devan’s voice rings through the foggy haze in my brain and I realize she’s still talking. “You’re leaving us at the busiest time of year. Clearly your career isn’t as important to you as you originally led us to believe.”

  My jaw drops open again in shock, but I quickly snap it close. “You’re firing me because I’m taking a vacation for the first time in almost two years?”

  This time she shrugs. One shoulder shrug is all I get as she ignores my question. “Human Resources has delivered a box to your office. You may clear your stuff out by the end of the business day. Enjoy your vacation.”

  My hands tighten into fists as I realize this conversation is completely over. She’s done with me. I have never wanted to hit anyone more in my entire life than I do right now.

  Without another word, I stand up and finally take the blue file into my hands. I almost expect my body to burst into flames as I pick it up. She has to be the devil. I leave her office, closing the door quietly, although it takes every ounce of self-control I have to not slam it so hard the glass shatters into a million jagged pieces all over the plush carpeting.

  Marcia is sitting in my desk chair when I walk into my office, staring at the empty cardboard box in the middle of my desk.

  Her eyes are red and I know she’s been crying. She was probably in here when HR dropped of the box that would have surely let her know what my meeting with Devan was really about.

  I don’t bother closing my door when I walk in. I simply walk to the windows of my office and stare out over the city trying to figure out what in the hell has just happened.

  “I’m sorry.” Marcia’s a good friend, but her words bring me no comfort. I don’t respond. I can’t think.

  We sit in silence for several minutes. The only sound I hear is the occasional sniffing coming from Marcia’s direction. I squeeze my eyes shut as tight as possible to prevent my own from bubbling up and spilling over.

  I will not give Devan, or anyone in this office, the satisfaction of seeing me broken.

  Finally, I turn back to my desk and force the world’s most pathetic attempt at a smile toward Marcia.

  “It’s fine,” I say and begin throwing picture frames from my desk and the shelf behind it into the box. I don’t notice if the glass breaks as I start throwing everything in, and I’m not sure I care.

  “It’s not fine,” Marcia says and slowly begins adding more personal items into my box. “I had no idea this was going to happen, but I can’t believe she just did this to you. This place is going to suck without you.”

  We’re quiet for several more minutes until I’ve gone through every drawer in my desk and shelves and removed anything I can think of that’s mine. For a second, I hold the stapler in my hand, thinking of Milton from the Office Space. Excuse me, I believe you have my stapler.

  I click it once and watch the perfectly folded staple fall to my desk. It feels good in a strange way, like one of those stress balls people use when they get upset. The weight of the stapler in my hand and the pressure from closing and opening it feels oddly comforting. I click it again, and then again. Before I know it, the only sound in the room is me clicking away on the stupid stapler, mis-firing folded staples all over the room. They bounce off my desk and onto the floor, pinging off my metal pen holder cup and off my phone.

  A laugh pours out of me before I can stop it. It’s not the friendly laugh you share with a good friend. It’s a psycho sounding laughter, probably from the adrenaline rushing through my veins and the fact that Devan just crushed my dreams under her Louboutin high-heeled shoe like I’m an insignificant ant on the street.

  I’m losing my mind. It has to be the only option as I stand in my office with Marcia staring at me and all I can think about is Office Space quotes while I hold my own red Streamline stapler in my hands.

  Screw them. I toss the stapler into my box and then feel Marcia’s hand on my forearm.

  She just looks at me, while my eyes are wide and I’m still crackling. It’s not even a laugh anymore. I think I sound more like a hyena hunting down prey as I stand in my office just … going completely insane.

  Seeing the concern etched all over her face finally sobers me. I close my mouth and we just look at each other. Me wondering if she’s going to say anything; her probably wondering if I’m going to set the building on fire.

  I slowly take a deep breath in, blowing it out loudly and slowly. “I’m okay.”

  Marcia gives me a look. I’m pretty sure she’s thinking, ‘Are you sure, because you were just acting like a complete lunatic.’

  “Is there anything I can do?” she finally asks.

  Shaking my head, I look at the window behind her, avoiding her direct gaze in favor of hundreds of cold, glass buildings so I don’t have another panic attack.

  “No.” I reach to pick up my box. There’s no point in sticki
ng around here any longer than I have to.

  Marcia walks me out of the office. We both stare straight ahead as we walk down our floor, heading toward the elevator. I almost want to look around and see why it’s so quiet, but I can vaguely see people watching us out of the corner of my eye. The office isn’t quiet because everyone is gone.

  The office is dead silent because every single person who works here has congregated on our floor and are watching me, mouths wide open, carry my stupid brown box. If they didn’t know I was fired by the sounds of my maniacal laughter several minutes ago, they certainly do now.

  And they’ve all come to watch me go.

  Fantastic.

  I refuse to look at any of them as Marcia and I wait silently by the elevators, step in, descend the thirty floors to the street, and walk through the building’s lobby.

  “I’ll make some phone calls while you’re gone to see if I can find any jobs you’d be interested in,” she says, finally breaking our silence.

  I nod, but I don’t look at her. My adrenaline is crashing and I’m beginning to have the urge to cry. If I look at Marcia, I’ll lose it completely.

  Her hand is warm and comforting on my shoulder. She doesn’t hug me or make any move to say anything else as we stand on the corner. Her free hand raises to hail a cab. I know this is something I’m completely capable of doing myself, but somehow, I’m completely frozen.

  Dozens of people rush by us on the sidewalk. Traffic flies by, horns honking, cabbies screaming out the window, and people chattering on their cell phones. Businessmen, models, tourists with their cameras hanging around their necks. They all walk by us, moving on with their day with their own agendas and their own thoughts; no one noticing that my life is simply crashing down around me.

  I exhale loudly once a cab pulls over to the curb and watch Marcia open the door for me.

  She smiles at me sadly as I push my box into the backseat of the cab and then turn back to her.

  “Thank you.” It sounds pathetic. I sound pathetic, and I hate it.

  Without warning, she pulls me into a tight, motherly embrace. All I can do is breathe her in and hug her back. I love this woman and I hate that I’m not going to be working with her anymore.

  “I’ll let you know if I hear anything.” She pulls away from me with a sad smile. “Take the next few weeks and try to have some fun. Get drunk and forget about Devan and all this bullshit. You’ll find something else soon.”

  I want to believe her promise, so I nod and play along like this isn’t the worst absolute news I could possibly hear. I look back at her once I’m sitting in the cab. The window is rolled down, probably airing the car out from the previous passenger, allowing me a second to lean my arms on the side of the door and give one last sad smile and wave to Marcia before we take off.

  “Go have hot sex with the drummer boy and have him make you forget all this shit.” She winks at me and flashes me a large, genuine smile. “Take care of some of my fantasies for me.”

  I laugh once. Sort of. It’s a cross between the sound a cat makes when it’s coughing up a hairball and a genuine laugh. The cab driver gives me a strange look.

  By the time the cab pulls up to my apartment building twenty minutes later, I feel robotic.

  The tears I fought when I first sat down in the cab have dried up. I don’t think I feel anything as I pay the cab driver, stumble out of the car, and use my key ring to enter my secured building, juggling my box of personal items.

  When I step off the elevator down the hall from my apartment, I feel completely drained. All I want to do is take a bath, have a glass – or four – of wine, and not even think of packing for my trip to Los Angeles.

  I don’t live in the best building in New York. It’s halfway between Central Park and the Garment District, and I leased it for the location alone. It’s definitely not pretty by any means and it lacks what a lot of higher scale places have, like a doorman, but it’s safe enough and my neighbors are quiet. It works for me though. Today, I notice that the hall is dark, the brick is crumbling, there’s a stale smell of some Asian food wafting through the door … and there’s a man sitting in the hallway outside my apartment.

  Very few men in my life can overwhelm a crowded hallway like this man can. He’s sitting with his back up against my door, one leg straight out and the other bent. He stretches across almost the entire hallway and he’s bobbing his head to music, I assume, based on how his fingers are tapping out a beat on his bent knee and straight thigh.

  The man is just magnificent. He’s sexy as hell and my heart instantly starts racing. Why is he here?

  Chase doesn’t notice me until my shadow falls over him. Slowly, he looks up and the back of his head rests against my door as his eyes slowly trail up the length of my body. Normally this move would make me feel all sorts of wonderful, but I’ve had a really shitty day and I’ve been avoiding Chase for months.

  He flashes me his easy-going, slightly crooked smile. He has a thick head of short, light brown hair.

  “You have hair.” I close my eyes and realize it’s about the dumbest thing I could possibly say. He’s always had it shaved completely off, his bald head slick and smooth to my touch.

  “You okay? You look like shit.”

  Six months ago, I would have laughed at Chase for criticizing my appearance. Mostly because I would have known he was joking. Today, I can imagine what he sees. Lime green heels that don’t exactly match my outfit, but they were the only extra pair I had in my desk drawer. My skirt and silk shirt are both wrinkled, my hair is probably wild and stringy from me nervously running my fingers through it in the cab ride home, and I’m sure my nose is red and my mascara is smeared from the tears I finally allowed to fall once I was safely seated in the taxi cab.

  “Nice to see you, too. What are you doing here?” I juggle my box and rest it on my hip.

  He blinks and his smile disappears. I figure he sees the scowl on my face and realizes I’m not exactly in the mood to play today.

  “If you let me in, I’ll tell you.” He asks, but as he’s doing it, his muscular frame uncurls from the floor and he quickly stands up next to me. With outstretched hands, he silently asks to take my box from me.

  I frown for a split second before handing it over. Since he’s here he might as well make himself useful. I pause before putting my key in the lock to my apartment and watch him, wondering if he’s going to ask me why I haven’t returned any of his calls over the last six months. Or why I ignored the fact that he sent me flowers on my birthday a month ago. But he stays just as still as me, a strange, blank look on his face.

  Finally, when I realize he isn’t going to say anything, I wave him, and the box I can’t wait to trash, inside my apartment.

  “What is this?” Chase’s dark gray eyes drop to the contents of my uncovered box from hell and then he looks at me, wide-eyed and angry. “You lost your job?”

  I nod and close the door once he’s inside, setting my five locks firmly into place.

  “It’s been a pretty shitty day,” I admit, and he follows me into the kitchen. “Just set it over on the table, please.”

  I offer a glass of wine to Chase and he shoots me a look that essentially says no man as manly as him would ever drink a glass of pink wine. Lucky for him, I have beer too, so I pop the top off a Heineken and slide it his way.

  “Thanks,” he says after taking his first drink and settles up against the bar in my kitchen, elbows resting on the counter. “Wanna tell me what happened?”

  I scan every surface in my apartment, looking everywhere except directly at Chase. My robotic feeling has left, and I’m fighting hard to keep the emotions of the day far away from me. I do not want to break down over this. I do not want to cry over losing a job.

  “I don’t really know, to be honest,” I begin and take a sip of my wine. It’s more like a gulp. Chase shoots me a funny look when he watches me guzzle the wine and then re-fill my glass. “Devan called me into her office this aft
ernoon, gave me some song and dance about the economy not recovering, and then said something about me not being committed since I was taking time off over the next few weeks.”

  “Well that sucks. Got any idea what you’re going to do?”

  “No Chase,” I snap at him and look down at the clock on my phone. “I got fired about an hour ago. I have no idea what I’m going to do now.”

  He shakes his head, knowing he’s pissed me off but smart enough not to say anything about it.

  “Why are you really here?” I ask before he can say anything else. Chase throws me off sometimes. He can say things with a look and I know exactly what he means, but sometimes he just watches me, like he’s doing now, and there’s a whole story book inside his thoughts that he’s not voicing even though it may be on the tip of his tongue. It’s one of the reasons we stopped talking – because he kept watching.

  “Because I missed you?” He says it with a smirk and wink and I know that whatever was just going on in his mind is gone now. He’s teasing me and it makes me feel like we’re back to our friendly normal banter, even if it is just for the moment. I’ll take it tonight.

  I simply roll my eyes with a smile, perhaps the first genuine one since my lunch with Marcia. “I thought you were in L.A.”

  “I was. Have you been around Zack and Nic lately? It’s like watching porn all day long. I came back earlier this week to get away.” He takes a drink and acts annoyed, but he doesn’t really care. Hell, he probably likes watching them make out.

  “So why are you here?”

  “Thought I’d stop by and figure out why you haven’t returned my calls.”

  I set my glass down on the counter and my palms flat down on the cold laminate countertop so he doesn’t see that they’re trembling slightly. What am I supposed to say that doesn’t make me sound like a bitch or a slut? I just wanted you for sex and you started turning it into something more? I shrug my shoulders and turn my back to him, ignoring his question, and dig through my fridge to pull out some cheese and grapes.