by Kyra Davis
When the doors opened I quickly strode out into the cold, late-morning air. I tried to focus on the Gothic architecture as I walked, or the street vendors, or anything outside of myself. It’s going to be fine, I silently chanted over and over again. But at the same time another nagging voice kept reminding me, He’s barely touched you since you got off the plane, barely looked at you. I stuck the nail of my pinkie finger between my teeth and then yanked it out before I could damage my Egyptian-Bronze polish. The trick here was to take everything at face value. He said the problem was jet lag, so I was going to believe him. I just never realized that being jet-lagged could have such a major effect on a person’s personality. But it was temporary.
I stopped at the outside of El Museu Picasso. The one mental escape I could always count on was art. The paintings were exhibited in three medieval mansions, which I found odd, considering Picasso’s fierce modernism, but the juxtaposition was an appropriate reflection of the overall city. I eagerly handed over my euro dollars to the admissions clerk. There was nothing as awe inspiring as viewing the works of a master in person. Their essence simply couldn’t be conveyed in a photograph no matter how high the quality of print. I moved slowly through Picasso’s pieces from his young-adult years; so much simpler than his later works, but that was predictable. Everything always got more complicated with age. And yet Picasso also became bolder, even stronger.
After spending a good hour admiring the paintings from his Rose and Blue Periods I approached some of his more avant-garde paintings. There was one in particular that caught my attention. It was of a woman whose features were cracked apart with a few daring strokes of the paintbrush. I found myself staring into her misplaced eye. I felt my teeth break the flesh of my chapped lips. If Picasso were painting Tad’s portrait, how would the famous artist have put together the pieces of Tad?
Hours later I went back to the hotel. Tad was sitting at the edge of the bed staring at the wall. His eyes moved slowly in my direction as I let the door close behind me. There was no sign of recognition, no silent or spoken greeting, nothing. He just moved his eyes back to the empty space in front of him.
“Tad?” I whispered. “Tad, what is it? What’s wrong?”
“I’m jet-lagged.”
I hesitated before inching closer and letting my fingertips rest on his shoulder. “What’s going on with you? Please, tell me.”
He rose to his feet without acknowledgment and then robotically walked past me to the bathroom and closed the door. I stood in the empty room, unable to take my eyes from the spot he had just vacated. It’s going to be fine, it’s going to be fine. But the other voice was overpowering my mental mantra. This is so not fine! I had to get a grip. We needed to talk. Communication is the key to all successful relationships, right?
“Tad?” I called out without moving. “Tad, I…” Say something poignant, make it clear that you’re reaching out to him. “I…I think I’m going out again…I really want to see Gaudi’s cathedral.” Or I could go the opposite route and flee. There was no answer from the bathroom. I left the room, putting as much distance between me and Tad as I could in a flat minute.
The next day things were better—sort of. I never again caught Tad staring at a blank wall nor was he locking himself in the bathroom or even in the hotel room. He stayed by my side as I toured such sights as the Casa Museu Gaudi and Palau de la Música Catalana. We skipped the trip to the countryside but he allowed me to take him to some of the city’s bars and restaurants. I never took him to the nightclubs. At no point during our trip was the mood ever appropriate for celebratory activities. I never even felt as if he was really with me—he was just a stranger by my side indulging me out of obligation. The highlight of our trip was the plane ride home.
I buckled my seat belt and pretended to listen to the flight attendant as she went over the complicated instructions of using a plastic oxygen mask. Tad was reading another book—his fourth that week. So he didn’t travel well, no biggie. It didn’t mean anything. Of course, Caleb would violently disagree with that. I tried in vain not to flash back to that conversation.
“You’ve never taken a trip together?” Caleb had dropped his sandwich onto his plate on the break table and scooted his plastic chair an inch forward. “Have you completely forgotten the cardinal rule of dating?”
“The cardinal rule of dating, let’s see…always shave your legs within eight hours of having sex?”
“The other one, never commit to anyone you haven’t vacationed with. April, everyone knows that if you don’t travel well together the relationship is doomed to failure!”
I remember giving him a patronizing smile and finishing the rest of my Diet Coke. “I’m a little dyslexic, so I had to reverse the process to suit my unique learning style. Now that I know the relationship’s a success I can count on having a rocking time on our vacations.”
The plane started its slow journey to the runway. I popped in a stick of gum and wordlessly offered another piece to Tad. He politely declined. I could see that he wasn’t angry with me, nor did he seem worried or stressed. With so many emotions that I could rule out, why was it I couldn’t put my finger on any of the emotions he was actually feeling? The plane paused and then I felt the vibration of the engine and the fast momentum as we raced forward and lifted into the air. I reached into my purse and pulled out my own novel. Everything’s going to be fine. After all, there was no alternative.
Two flights later we landed at the San Francisco airport. Allie met us at the gate with a bottle of single-malt scotch wrapped in a big purple bow. “Welcome home!” She threw her arms around me, then Tad. “Was it awesome?”
Tad nodded absently. “Yeah, it was great.”
“Yeah?” Allie linked her arm with mine and led us toward the baggage claim. “Did you ever leave the hotel room?”
Every chance I got. “There’s a lot to see in Barcelona,” I said vaguely.
“Right, like all those dark handsome Spanish men. I hope you kept her well satiated, Tad, ’cause I know there was some heavy competition.”
I knew she felt her ribbing was harmless since in her mind we had just spent the last eight days gazing into each other’s eyes. Tad didn’t seem bothered by it. He simply dismissed it the same way he had been dismissing me. I made myself smile and tried to absorb some of her enthusiasm. I wasn’t going to tell her the truth. The baffling disappointment of the last few days was going to stay locked inside me.
We reached the baggage carousal and watched the various pieces of luggage slide into sight. Allie elbowed me as Tad stepped forward to retrieve our bags. “You must have worked that man over day and night with all that good lovin’. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so spent.”
“Mmm.” I couldn’t meet her eyes.
“Just don’t expect it to continue this way. The honeymoon period never lasts.”
Thank God.
TEN
And to think I had worried about going back to work so soon after my return. Who the hell cared how sleep deprived I was as long as I had something to distract me from the recent changes in my husband. My husband. I leaned against the wall as I waited for the employee elevator. I had expected those words to be so soothing. I had assumed marrying Tad was going to provide me with the sense of security that came along with being part of a normal family. But we weren’t normal. Every day, I was becoming increasingly aware that Tad wasn’t normal at all.
Although the night of our return had been somewhat less than horrible. After checking his e-mail Tad informed me that a major manufacturer he hoped to represent was one step closer to signing with SMB. That was the most forthcoming he had been since the wedding. We ordered Chinese food and he had eaten his share while reviewing files on the computer. I hadn’t been feeling well lately so I let most of my food sit. Most people came back from their honeymoons with a tan. I came back with stomach upset.
The elevator at Dawson’s finally arrived and when I got to my floor I found Gigi folding some t
winsets into the shelves on the back wall. “Ohmygawd, you’re back!” She flipped her hair out of her eyes before pulling me in for a quick hug. “Wow, you look so great! Was it wonderful? Tell me everything so I can be green with envy.”
“What can I say? It was…it was unbelievable. And of course Barcelona was gorgeous.”
“No way! The Custo designers are from Barcelona! But I thought you went to Spain.”
I laughed. “Right, well, at the last minute we decided to go to Barcelona instead.” It wasn’t until I saw the blank look on Gigi’s face that I realized she wasn’t joking. “Barcelona’s in Spain, Gigi.”
“Oh, it is? I just figured you’d go to Madrid. You know, a lot of fashion comes out of Madrid, too.”
“You don’t say.” I managed a tight smile. “What are you doing here so early? You know we don’t have to be here until eight.”
“Early bird catches the promotion,” she sang. “We didn’t get any new merchandise today—weird, huh? Our shipments lately have been totally light. I asked Marilyn if we could get a doublesize run of Juicy Couture next time and she seemed into it…”
I nodded and made mmm, hmm and uh-huh noises while Gigi launched into a monologue designed to demonstrate that she hadn’t let a single thing fall between the cracks during the eleven days of my absence.
“Well, Gigi, I must admit I’m impressed,” I said as soon as she paused for a breath. “You’ve obviously been running a tight ship.”
“I am, like, so glad you think so. I am totally excited to be part of your team and—”
“And my team and I are happy to have you,” I interjected quickly. I needed to stop her before she started making me nostalgic for Tad’s silent treatment. My eyes wandered toward my office door. “Tell you what, why don’t you finish setting the floor while I try to catch up on a little paperwork. I was supposed to do the schedule for the second half of February before I took my vacation days and I didn’t so—”
“Don’t even sweat February’s schedule. I already did it and handed it in.”
My head snapped back in her direction. “You did the schedule? Gigi, only managers are allowed to do the schedule.”
“I’m totally with you. That’s why I put your name on it. It’s been approved by both Liz and HR, and I gave it to the girls yesterday, so we’re good to go.”
“No, no, we’re not.” I shook my head furiously. “Gigi, I need to be the one doing the schedule. I use it to keep track of selling costs and figures and…and everything. It’s not something I can delegate and it’s certainly not something that you can do for me without asking!”
Gigi lowered her head slightly and peered at me through her long lashes. It was a look that had undoubtedly inspired forgiveness and leniency in countless numbers of straight men and quite a few lesbians, but it did nothing for me. “Where’s the schedule?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“On your desk. I’m so over-the-top sorry, April. I totally thought I was doing you a favor.”
I sighed and looked down at my shoes. Maybe I was overreacting due to the stress that I had been under. If Liz and HR had approved the schedule it had to be fairly decent and I could always tweak it here and there in order to accommodate selling costs. And if Gigi had wanted to undermine me, she wouldn’t have put my name on it. Gigi was now giving me her “I’m-a-sad-little-sex-kitten” look. I sighed again. “It’s all right. Just don’t do it again, okay?”
Gigi’s pout turned into a toothy grin. “Gotcha, the schedule is totally your deal.”
Out of the corner of my eye I could see Dorita and Sally approaching the sales floor and I took the opportunity to walk away from Gigi to greet them. The four of us set the floor as Gigi babbled about this year’s “totally awesome new neckline.” By the time the doors opened I was ready to smack her. “You should go home,” I suggested. “God knows you’ve earned the break.”
“I really don’t mind staying. On your first day back I imagine you’re going to need a lot of time off the floor to play catch-up.”
“Well, thanks to you there’s nothing to ‘catch up’ on.”
Gigi shook her head. “I did, okay, yesterday but, like, for the most part I’ve been so busy learning the ropes that my sales have suffered a little and I totally want to make up for that today.”
“If you’re sure…” Gigi was definitely strange. A Dawson’s assistant manager refusing a day off was kind of like a state penitentiary inmate refusing a weekend pass.
I watched as Gigi buzzed from fixture to fixture dusting the silver bars until they sparkled like fine jewelry. I motioned to Dorita to follow me into the back room.
“You know that of all my staff I trust you the most,” I said as the door to my office swung closed behind us. “So you’re the one who gets to fill me in on the dirt. How is the staff adjusting to Gigi?”
Dorita tucked her perfect curls behind her ears. “She’s kind of…um…”
“Annoying?”
“I was going to say hyper, but annoying will work.” Dorita smiled. “But she knows her stuff and no one’s been able to get anything by her. You know how Sally will pretend to call personal customers while she’s really calling her boyfriend?”
“She does that?”
Dorita blushed. “Not that often, not at all anymore, I bet. Gigi caught on right away and set her straight.”
“Huh.” I sat down in my chair and motioned for Dorita to take a seat, as well. I had been working with Sally for eight months and never caught on to the personal phone call trick. Gigi had been working with her for three weeks. “How is she with the rest of the staff?”
“Okay, I guess.” Dorita swiveled her chair back and forth. “She can be a little sharky at times but then there are times when she’ll go out of her way to help us build and close sales, so I guess it balances out—and I’m sure you saw our numbers for the last week.”
I nodded and absently tapped my fingernails against my desk. The numbers had been great. I had picked a winner. Why did that make me nervous? “How are the big shots reacting to her?”
“Liz loves her.”
“And Marilyn?”
“Loves her.”
“How about Blakely?”
“Blakely tolerates her.”
I started to laugh just as the door to the office swung open, banging against the wall as it did so. “You’re back!” Liz exclaimed as if she had been under the impression that I had been in Spain applying for citizenship. She looked over at Dorita, who had shrunken away from Liz’s self-perceived brilliance. “Am I interrupting a one-on-one?”
“No, no. Dorita was just filling me in on the requests from her customers.” I waved a hand at Dorita, signaling that this was her moment to escape. Dorita quickly got to her feet and left me with Liz.
“So good to see you. I am so excited about Gigi. You really have an eye for talent, don’t you?”
“I’m glad you—”
Gigi pushed into the room and glowed at Liz, who reached out and playfully punched her in the arm. “Hey girl, I heard about that seven-thousand-dollar sale you had yesterday! Way to go!”
Hey girl? Liz had never called me anything other than April. Well, that wasn’t entirely true; for the first few months we worked together she called me June.
“I’m glad I caught both of you,” Liz said. “I want to go over next month’s promo. First off, kudos to you, April, for coming up with such a fantabulous idea!”
“Thank you,” I said. “You know I’ve always thought that a wardrobing seminar during cruise season would be…”
“Predictable and stale?” Liz offered helpfully. “I absolutely agree, which is why I was so excited when Gigi came in with your alternative action plan. Timing-wise we’re cutting it close, but I know if we put our heads together we girls can pull it off.”
I sat in my seat, dumbstruck. I had no alternative action plan. The wardrobing seminar had been it. I looked at Gigi but she was now giving Liz one hundred percent of her attention.
>
“I’ve arranged for televisions to be brought in from several of the other northern Cal stores, plus we’ll be renting a few so there will be a screen in every department involved, and of course we’ll have the sports bar where most of the activities will take place.”
Now I was completely lost. Was I going to be on television? Did Dawson’s have a sports bar? Or was she referring to our wine bar in which the San Francisco Junior League members traditionally gathered to watch the Olympic gymnastics competition?
“I’ve talked to Shoes, and Accessories, and they’re all set,” Liz continued. “Oh, and Cosmetics, of course—Caleb is completely on board. PR will have the postcards sent out by the fifth of the month. Now, on your end, have you been spreading the word amongst your customers?”
Gigi went to the little table that constituted her desk and pulled out a sheet of paper with a long list of names on it. “I’ve been making the girls give me the names of the customers they’ve pitched the promotion to.” She handed the list to Liz, still avoiding eye contact with me. “I also had them make a brief note about the feedback they’ve been getting. As you can see, everyone is totally stoked on the idea.”
“Of course they are, it’s genius!” Liz gave me an approving wink. I tried to look flattered.
“So from this survey it appears that the stars who have the most coveted looks are Halle Berry, Kiera Knightly, Reese Witherspoon and, of course, right on the top of the list is Charlize Theron—Why am I not surprised?” She turned to me. “You know, you would be a good one to help give women that Halle Berry style. You kind of look like her.”
I flashed a fake smile. I looked nothing like Halle but we were both biracial, so I’m sure in Liz’s eyes we were twins.