Let Me Go

by L. L. Akers

  Gabby straightened her suit, took a deep breath, and walked through the front door. She found herself standing in a foyer looking directly upon an L-shaped desk set back against the wall. The person at this desk had a view directly to the doors and beyond. It must be nice to be able to look outside while stuck inside for eight hours a day, she thought. I can’t wait to see if my office has a window. She didn’t see anybody so she just stood there waiting. It was only a moment before Mr. Hort came from right around the corner. Uh-oh, she thought, he’s wearing khakis. No suit. A button-up shirt without a tie? Is this office business-casual? Maybe this is a special casual day?

  “Hi, Gabby! So glad to have you here,” he said while shaking her hand. Mr. Hort—Danny—looked to be in his late twenties, with an easygoing smile. He was extremely friendly and made her feel at ease instantly. “Let me show you to your desk.”

  They walked directly to the desk in front of them. Crap... Gabby thought. She’d really been dreaming of an office. Now she felt like she needed to take herself down a peg or two, but at least she hadn’t asked Danny where her “office” was. This seemed more like a receptionist desk than an executive secretaries, but it would do. At least it had a view outside, not surrounded by dirty cubicle walls isolating her from any and everything else.

  “My office is just right there,” he said as he pointed to the first office across and to the right of her. Gabby could see his desk, which meant he could see her at her desk. That might be awkward all day long. Hopefully as the assistant controller, he would be too busy to worry about what she was doing. “I’ll let you get comfortable and I’ll be back in a half hour to give you the tour and go over your duties.”

  “Thanks, Danny,” Gabby said as he walked away smiling. She took a look around and her heart nearly froze. Directly to her right, about twenty feet away, was the start of a row of three more L-shaped desks, all directly facing her work area and all containing middle-aged, mean-looking women staring right at her. She gave a wave. No reaction. Okaay... wonder if I’m replacing someone they must have liked? Oh well, we’ll just have to work past that, Gabby thought to herself. She walked directly up to the first desk and introduced herself. “Hi, I’m Gabby.”

  “I’m Susan,” the first lady answered, standing up to walk around the desk and shake Gabby’s hand. Upon seeing the way Susan was dressed, Gabby thought she understood the problem. The next two ladies got up and walked over and introduced themselves as Eileen and Joanie. All three ladies were wearing what appeared to be very worn clothing: sloppy slacks, baggy shirts, and cheap sandals. Gabby was overdressed and couldn’t have looked more out of place if she tried.

  “So what do you ladies do?” Gabby asked, trying to look as if she didn’t notice their choice of fashion.

  “We do everything,” Eileen said smugly. “We run this place—taking orders, processing picking lists, and sending it to the back to get picked. Then we check it when it gets boxed up, process the packing list, reconcile the inventory, cut an invoice, tape it, and send it out the door.”

  “Oh,” Gabby said. “What do you... umm... pick and pack?”

  “Seriously? You just walked in for your first day on the job and you don’t even know what we sell here?” Susan asked, surprised but not nearly as spiteful as Eileen had sounded.

  “Well... at the interview it didn’t come up. I... I think I’m going to be handling—”

  “Ladies, I see you’re welcoming our new girl, Gabby. Gabby will be the executive secretary, handling anything Tom, myself, or Danny might need,” Mr. Arnaud said as he walked out of an office facing what Gabby would later hear referred to as the bullpen: the area where these nice ladies sat.

  The looks that passed between the three ladies were contemptuous to put it mildly, but Mr. Arnaud gently steered Gabby away and back to her desk. “Never mind them,” he said. “They will warm up to you. You’ve outclassed them with your lovely suit.”

  “Mr. Arnaud, I apologize. I assumed this was appropriate attire. I didn’t mean to make anyone else feel bad,” Gabby said with a desperate tone in her voice. She was afraid he was going to tell her she wasn’t the right fit for the job within the first five minutes of her first day and send her home, but she couldn’t help but notice he was dressed very similar to what he had worn to her interview, much nicer than she herself was dressed.

  “I wore clothes like theirs at my last job. I still have all of them... It’s no problem at all. Tomorrow I can be here in business casual.” She wanted to fit in. Besides, all her other new things still had the tags; she could take them back.

  Mr. Arnaud looked Gabby up and down and smiled. “That won’t be necessary, Gabby. Your attire is perfect for your new position. I expect you to set a standard that maybe they will eventually reach for. You look very nice.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Gabby said, getting that same weird feeling she had during the interview. Maybe she just wasn’t used to getting compliments from men who seemed twice her age and not her husband. She could feel the blush creeping up her neck.

  “I’ve arranged for Danny, my assistant, to give you the tour of the place and go over your assigned duties. He should be with you in just a few moments. Help yourself to some coffee if you like and make yourself comfortable,” Mr. Arnaud said while gesturing to a small nook containing a table with chairs and a recessed wall housing a refrigerator, sink, and cabinets. A full coffee pot sat brewing on the counter.

  “Thank you again, sir, but I don’t drink coffee, and I’ve already had my tea this morning,” Gabby answered.

  “Hmm... tea? How interesting. Well, if there’s anything you need, I think you saw where my office is. But Danny should be able to answer all your questions.”

  Mr. Arnaud walked back to his office, while Gabby sat down in her chair. There appeared to be three offices going straight down the hall, all facing out toward the bullpen where Susan, Eileen, and Joanie sat. Two of the offices belonged to Mr. Arnaud and Danny, so the third must be the president of the company, which Gabby had not met yet. His was on the end.

  Gabby focused on arranging the few items she’d brought for her desk until Danny returned to take her on a tour of the business, both front office and stockroom, explaining they sold parts for textile equipment. Good. At least now Gabby knew what they did here and was prepared for Eileen’s next catty attack. As the executive secretary, Gabby was assigned with taking care of the president, Mr. Hinson—taking his calls, handling his correspondence, mail, calendar, traveling arrangements, and such. Gabby was also to provide administrative assistance to Mr. Arnaud and Danny as needed, after her duties to Mr. Hinson had been completed. Oh crap, Gabby thought. Travel arrangements? She’d never even been on a plane and certainly didn’t know the first thing about arranging for travel. She’d also never used a word-processing system in her job in accounting. She was in over her head! This was going to be far different from accounts payable. Oh well, fake it ‘til you make it. She’d figure it out as she went along.

  Part II

  Don’t hesitate, dragonfly—fly...

  CHAPTER 21

  “Let’s go, Olivia,” Billy said tersely, with a mean look in his eyes, walking straight past her with his bag over his shoulder, leading the way, not breaking his stride.

  She apologized to her friend, one of the other player’s wives, who she’d been chatting with during the game and while waiting for the team to come off the field. Billy had rudely interrupted her friend in the middle of a sentence with his abrupt order to leave, but she knew she’d better not linger. She said her good-byes in one wave to all the ladies and followed Billy.

  Olivia could see he was mad; that was obvious in his rigid, red face and the way he was walking: long, strong, fast steps... bobbing and weaving around the other players and their families huddled around, talking details about the game—or details for the next game—cooling down with a drink from the cooler, some sitting down to eat a snack their wives had brought for them.

  “Hey, Billy!
Next game maybe we’ll just let Olivia bat for you,” his buddy Chad yelled out, starting a round of laughter with the guys—their way of playing off a loss or someone’s bad game by throwing insults at each other, acting as if it didn’t matter. To some, it really didn’t. But to Billy it did.

  Billy had struck out. Not once, but twice. He let the jibe go unanswered as he continued his march away from the bleachers and out of the park with Olivia quickly following behind, dragging the heavy ice chest and trying to keep up.

  They reached their car and Billy popped the trunk, throwing his bag in and leaving it open for Olivia to drop in the cooler. He got in before she’d made it to the car. She hurried the last few steps so as not to make him wait, slung in the cooler, slammed the lid shut, and rounded the corner too quick in her rush to get to the door, ungracefully smacking her hipbone against the side of the car.

  She got in holding her hand against the ache and settled into the seat, breathing hard from the half-run, carrying the cooler, to keep up with him.

  “What the hell was that?”

  “What?” Olivia asked.

  “That damn noise, Olivia,” he answered angrily.

  “Oh, I just bumped my hip on the car. I’m fine.”

  “Better not have put a mark on my car.”

  Olivia didn’t answer. She knew better. But in her head she thought about all the marks he’d put on her and wondered how a car could be so much more important than your wife. She could see a storm coming and hoped they could make it home first—or completely avoid it—by not antagonizing him with any sort of answer.

  A few moments of silence passed and Billy glanced to Olivia, ready to try again.

  “I guess you don’t need to come to any more games, Olivia,” Billy snapped out at her.

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t bring you to watch all the other players. I saw you watching the game but looking away when I was up to bat. I saw that shit. Every time I left home plate you were chatting away to your friend. But when someone else was up to bat, you only had eyes for them,” Billy answered.

  “Billy, I wasn’t watching them... I was watching the game. I watched you almost the entire time,” Olivia insisted, although she had looked away when he struck out because she knew he’d be looking at her to see if she saw. She was trying to save him from being embarrassed.

  “That’s bullshit,” he screamed, slamming his hand on the steering wheel.

  Olivia flinched, but did not answer or try to deny it again. She knew from experience if his rage spiked she’d be lucky to make it out of the car alive. It was like being on a roller coaster, not knowing where the big dip was until you were already at the top looking down.

  “Well, I guess if you were watching, you saw me strike out, then?” he asked, trying to find a point to stick her on.

  “I saw it, Billy. I felt bad for you so I looked away. But you weren’t the only one to strike out and you played better ball than almost everyone out there today,” Olivia said, trying to defuse his mood.

  “Yeah, Olivia. And if I hadn’t been so distracted by my wife wearing shorts, trying to catch the eye of every guy out there, I wouldn’t have struck out,” he accused.

  “Billy. I’ve worn shorts to every game; all the ladies do. It’s hot on those bleachers in the direct sun,” Olivia answered hesitantly. She didn’t want to argue with him, but she sure didn’t want this turning into a jealousy fight. Those were the worst. Better he be mad about the game or something else.

  “You can just keep your ass at home from now on. I’ll play better without you there to worry about,” he spat out hatefully.

  Olivia wouldn’t argue, but she hoped he didn’t mean it. She loved watching softball, not just for the game, but because it was one of the few things they did together, and he usually treated her better in front of other people. It was a welcome respite from how things were at home.

  She was also happy to engage in some female conversation, which was rare. Billy blew a fuse if she talked to one of her sisters or her mom, so she had avoided their calls and rarely called one of them. That would just encourage them to call her and she didn’t want to tell them not to. She was ashamed and embarrassed that things didn’t work out like she thought they were going to and she didn’t want them to know everything.

  They pulled into their drive and Billy was the first to get out, slamming his door and stomping through the front door, leaving it hanging open for Olivia.

  Only a few seconds passed before he yelled out, “Hurry up and shut the damn door, Olivia. The a/c is running!”

  Olivia sighed and got out as fast as she could with her hip still hurting. She fished the cooler out of the trunk, taking it in to unload it and dump the ice. Billy would be mad if she left it there or didn’t have it wiped out and dry when he was ready for his next game.

  While he lay on the couch, glaring at the TV, she flittered around their kitchen, trying to prepare supper in a hurry. Billy was hot, tired, and grouchy and that made her even more nervous in trying to choose what to put together. She wished she’d planned earlier so she would have been better prepared for this mood.

  She heard him get up and walk into the kitchen. He stood right behind her, looking over her shoulder at the stove. She could feel his breath move her hair and it sent a chill down her spine.

  “What are you making?” he asked loudly, much too loudly for this small kitchen.

  Olivia jumped. She couldn’t help it and hoped he wouldn’t make a big deal of it.

  “I’m making you a hamburger steak with grilled onions and some fries. Is that good with you?” she answered cheerfully, hiding the fear in her voice. Billy loved hamburger steak with onions, so thanks be to all that was holy, she already had burger defrosted.

  “Hell no, that’s not good with me!” His voice thundered through the kitchen. “I just finished playing ball in the hot sun for hours, Olivia! Do you think I want something hot and heavy on my stomach now?”

  “I’m sorry! I didn’t think... Okay... I’ll put this up for tomorrow night. I’ll make... um... something else. Let me look,” Olivia stammered while opening the refrigerator to look for something else he would like.

  “How about a salad? That would cool you off. I could fry some chicken strips to put on top,” she asked timidly.

  “Cool me off!? I haven’t said a damn thing since I walked in and you’re naggin’ at me already. I need to cool off?” he screamed as he roughly shoved her against the kitchen wall, his hand around her throat.

  “No, Billy! I meant cool you off from the heat. You said you were too hot for hamburger steak, didn’t you?” she answered uncertainly. Isn’t that what he said?

  “You’re a friggin’ idiot, Olivia,” he said, taking his hand off her throat. “Just finish the hamburger steak. I’ll eat it.”

  Olivia held still against the wall where he’d left her—like a statue—while he opened the refrigerator, nearly hitting her with the door, and grabbed a cold drink. He stomped back to the couch where he continued to watch his TV.

  She let out a deep breath and walked back to the stove, where she stood for a moment with her eyes closed, thankful he’d gone away and hoping his hamburger steak came out perfect. God help her if it was undercooked or burnt on the edges...

  CHAPTER 22

  “Emma, are you up?” Mom yelled through the door after knocking loudly. “Open up. I got something to tell you.”

  Emma slowly made it to the door, feeling the hangover from the night before wanting to drag her back to bed now that she’d just put some greasy bacon in her stomach.

  She’d been on her own now going on two years and thought being free from Mark—and responsibility and supervision—would finally allow her to be happy. She was wrong.

  Her nights quickly lost the comforting security of Daniel’s arms—not because he wasn’t there—he was—but so was Mark. He came to her in her dreams and turned them into nightmares—every incident, every game, every touch. She’d wake up dre
nched in sweat, hating herself—hating her own skin and wishing for death.

  Emma longed to tell her mom, to get the guilt and shame and anger off her chest. But the fear that had been sown so deep in her psyche by Mark had continued to grow and grow until it loomed over all else. She couldn’t lose her mom. After Olivia and Gabby started their own lives, she only had her mom and dad, and her mom was her best friend. How could she tell her the truth that would shatter her into a million little pieces?

  Emma couldn’t risk it. Mom had been through so much already and finally seemed really and truly happy with her new boyfriend. He hadn’t so much as touched a hair on her head in a threatening way, and he treated Mom like gold. She deserved this after everything she’d gone through.

  And what if Mark was right? What if he could weave a different story in which her mom and dad believed she wasn’t the victim, but was willing? Emma would rather carry her burden of truth all alone than lose her mom or have her dad listen to the lies and garbage Mark would spew if he had to defend himself against such charges.

  The fantasy of her new “free” life had quickly dissolved into reality, and the only way she could maintain the illusion of freedom and happiness was to escape from the memories temporarily with the help of a few... maybe more... drinks.

  Every day when Emma woke up and before she went to sleep—if she was sober enough to remember—she reminded herself she was okay and no one was touching her now. She just had to find a way to forget and let it go.