“I don’t know any,” Bernadine says.
“I know one and her name is Nickida,” Gloria says.
They’ve all gotten the lowdown and were equally shocked.
“I hope Tarik puts her out to pasture and leaves her there. Some things you just don’t do,” Bernadine says.
“I have never cheated on a boyfriend, let alone my husband,” Savannah says. “Have any of you?”
They shake their heads no.
“Are they going to get divorced?” Robin asks. “That’s probably a dumb question.”
“He filed a few days ago.”
“What about the kids?” Bernadine asks.
“The court’ll decide if she’s fit to share custody. I’m praying she only gets supervised visits.”
“I wouldn’t trust her with my dogs,” Robin says.
“I’m sure it wasn’t the first time she’d done the nasty with her ex, and Lord only knows who else,” Bernadine says.
“Something like this could cost Tarik his job,” Savannah says.
“Well, I might be going to rehab,” Bernadine says.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Savannah reaches over and hugs her. Robin and Gloria charge down the steps and do the same.
“Is this the only way you know how to tell us important stuff, Bernie? Just dropping it out of nowhere like this?” Gloria asks.
“Sometimes I’m too scared.”
“I hear you, girl. And I’m sorry for saying it like that. You don’t have to explain a thing,” Gloria says.
“You certainly don’t,” Robin says. “We’ve just been waiting for you to do something about this.”
“Then why didn’t anybody say anything?”
“We’ve tried,” Robin says.
“You didn’t hear us,” Savannah says. “We figured when you got tired you’d hold up that white flag. We weren’t about to let anything happen to you, that much we can say, right?”
Robin and Gloria nod their heads.
“So, how long and when and where do you think you might be going?” Savannah asks.
“I’ve been looking at some places online. There’s a good one in Tucson but it’s really expensive and they don’t accept insurance. There are a lot of reputable ones in California that do.”
“Have you talked to anybody yet?” Robin asks.
“I’ve called and hung up. I’m not sure what to say.”
“Try telling them the truth, Bernie,” Gloria says.
“I don’t know what that is.”
“Do you really think you’re addicted?” Robin asks.
Bernadine nods. “I don’t take a lot of them but I’ve been taking them too long.”
“Have you ever tried just stopping?” Robin asks.
Before Bernadine can answer, Gloria says, “She could get really messed trying to quit cold turkey. It’s better to do it under the care of a doctor or people who can help her get through the detoxing stage. That’s the hardest part.”
“How do you know so much about this?” Savannah asks her.
“Girl, I have heard and seen some of everything down at Oasis. Joline even told me how she kicked a sixty-pill-a-day Vicodin habit.”
“Sixty?” Robin says. “How could you swallow that many pills in one day?”
“You’d be surprised,” Gloria says. “They’ve done specials on every kind of drug you can think of. Haven’t you guys ever seen them? Especially you, Savannah.”
“I’ve seen some on alcohol, crystal meth and that Oxycontin stuff, but not tranquilizers.”
“And an occasional sleeping pill,” Bernadine throws in.
“Do whatever you have to do, Bernie. And whatever you need us to do, we’ll do it. We’re very proud of you, girl,” Savannah says and sits straight up. “Since we’re confessing. I’m going somewhere too. Paris.”
“Where?” Bernadine asks. She turns to look at Savannah as if she doesn’t know who she is.
“Did you just say Paris?” Robin asks.
“Yes, I said Paris.”
“When? How? And when did you decide to do this? I know you’re not going by yourself,” Robin says.
“I most certainly am.”
“Can I go with you?”
“Robin, shut up,” Bernadine says. “You could certainly use a vacation, Savannah.”
“We all could. And Robin? No, you cannot go with me. Maybe next time.”
“Why not? Don’t you need somebody to keep you company?”
Savannah shakes her head. “I’m going for two weeks. For the same reason Bernie’s going to rehab. To find my center. I need a break from everything. So I can accept the reality that I’m a fifty-one-year-old single woman. Which means I need to launch a whole new program to help me live like this is a new beginning instead of an ending.”
“Well, when did you decide all this? Without telling anybody?” Robin is pissed.
Gloria shakes her head at Robin, then looks at Savannah and says, “You go on, girl, and go.”
“I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret, Robin. I just wanted to put it in motion before I talked myself out of it.”
“Smart move,” Bernadine says. “Very smart.”
“Anyway, my boss has a gorgeous apartment over there and she’s letting me stay in it for free.”
“I think it’s wonderful and exciting, and one day I’d like to do something like this,” Gloria says.
“I know you’d let me come with you, huh, Glo?”
Gloria rolls her eyes at Robin, then smiles. “I pray you find a husband soon, so you can drive him crazy everywhere you go.”
“Hey,” Savannah says. “We can go anywhere we feel like going. All we have to do is whip out a credit card and buy the damn ticket and go.”
“Won’t you be scared, going by yourself?” Robin asks.
“Scared of what?”
“Strangers.”
“You deal with strangers every single day online. Are you scared?”
“I closed all six of my accounts. I’m finished with all of that.”
“Hallelujah!” Gloria says.
“You were on six different sites? You should’ve had four or five husbands by now,” Savannah says.
“What happened to Hark Angel?” Bernadine asks.
“Dark Angel. Don’t even mention him. He’s history. If I do anything else, it’ll be speed dating.”
No one wants to respond to this.
“Anyway,” Savannah says. “A change of scenery is good for the soul. As the saying goes, sometimes you have to step outside of yourself in order to see yourself. So I’m going to Paris to rejuvenate.” She lets out a huge sigh. “And to shop.”
Bernadine presses PLAY, then tosses the remote onto a patch of grass. They all curl up. And watch the movie. Finally.
I’d Rather Work at Walmart
When I walk into the office, something isn’t right. My department head isn’t in his glass cage like he’s been for the past two hundred years. It’s lit up, so that means nothing has happened to him. Thank God. His name is Horace Mann. For years I got his name confused with Thomas Mann, the guy who wrote Death in Venice. I paid attention in high school, of course, but I’m now an official member of the C.R.S.—Can’t Remember Shit—club, along with every other woman pushing fifty. I wonder where he could be. He’s like a voyeur. Watches everybody come and go. He also lives on his computer.
I don’t see Lucille either, which is weird. She’s usually the first one here and the last to leave. Lucille is a VP—same as me and Norman. She’s rather bitchy, with a headmistress demeanor. For the past twelve years she’s worn a number of stingy black wigs with tight curls, and black-rimmed glasses that push the hair out and away from her ears. It adds ten years to her fifty-three. Lucille also dresses like she’s going to a funeral, which makes her unattractive. She’s divorced, and it’s no wonder. She’s all work and no play. Word around the office is Lucille hasn’t had sex in a decade. It certainly shows. She rarely smiles. But I still like he
r.
Her office, which is right before you get to mine, is always spotless. This morning it looks even more like an ad in the Office Depot catalog. I don’t see Norman. This is about the time he goes downstairs to get the paper and his Earl Grey tea. Fernando is sitting in his little cubicle, pretending to be engrossed in his work. He is such a bullshitter. He’s a smart one. If only he could step up to the plate more often, he’d have a bright future with this company.
“Robin,” I hear Horace say before I reach my office.
“Good morning, Horace.” I turn to face him. He’s six-five and shaped like an egg. “Is there a meeting or something going on that I wasn’t told about?”
“Well, yes and no. However, would you mind meeting me in the conference room?”
“Sure, just let me put my things in my office. Do I have time to run downstairs to get a latte?”
“No. This won’t take long. In fact, it’d be best if you could join us now.”
“Okay.” I follow him. I’m wondering if this is about that merger. It probably is. I’m feeling suspicious, especially since Lucille isn’t around to tell me what the hell is going on. “Has anybody heard from Lucille? It’s not like her to be late. I hope she’s not sick.”
“I’m not sure,” he says.
When we get to the conference room, there’s a redheaded fellow with a tan who I know works in Human Resources. He’s sitting at the conference table closest to the window. This morning, the mountains, which I normally don’t pay much attention to, seem bigger, closer, much more imposing than their normal postcard backdrop.
“Good morning, Ms. Stokes. I’m Daniel Merrick, from Human Resources. Would you mind having a seat?”
“If this won’t take long, I’d prefer to stand, if you don’t mind.”
I’m wondering what’s in that manila envelope, although I think I already know. I still want to hear it. Mr. Mann is standing at the far end of the table. He looks pasty. His jawbone is jumping. The sweat on his freshly shaved skin is glistening. “What’s this about?” I ask the HR guy before either of them has a chance to speak. I’m not stupid. I’ve heard about how these things go down. Nevertheless, I want freckle-face here to tell me in his very own hit-the-road language.
“As you know, Ms. Stokes, the company has been undergoing some tough times over the past few years. Profits are down and losses are up. This is one of the reasons for our impending merger.”
I feel my hips rock. My weight shifts to one leg. I know this is tacky and ghetto, but sometimes my body has its own brain. I feel like I’m rolling my eyes at him but I will them to stop. I also want to cross my arms. I don’t do this either. Instead, I stand there like a slave about to be sold—all for their live entertainment. I’m just waiting for those magic words to roll off his tongue.
He clears his throat. “As a result of this shift, we’re being forced to make some adjustments in personnel—namely a reduction.” He opens that large manila envelope, pulls out the company’s white one and hands it to me. What a fucked-up job he has. “We have truly valued your contribution to the company over the past eighteen years, and you’ll see evidence of this outlined in the severance package we’re offering you.”
I reach down and pick up the envelope. “Am I supposed to open this right now?”
“Yes.”
“I’d rather take it to my office and read it.”
“We’d appreciate it if you would take a look at the terms and conditions now. Someone will then escort you out of the building.”
“Escort me out of the building?”
“Yes, Ms. Stokes. Your office has already been packed up and all of your personal belongings are in those boxes over there.”
I look down and see all the stuff I’ve accumulated over the years. This office was my second home. I can’t believe these bastards had the nerve to go through my cabinets and drawers and apparently even the closet. This feels exactly the same as when my apartment got robbed right after college. It is such a violation. Such an invasion of my fucking privacy. In those boxes are everything from my feminine hygiene products and makeup to workout clothes along with soiled socks stuck inside a pair of running shoes. Panty hose. I even see my snacks and perishable food they took out of the little fridge behind my desk. These bastards. Two of my favorite umbrellas and my black patent-leather raincoat. It’s balled up. These bastards. Worst of all, on top of one box in a double frame are two pictures of my mom and dad: when they were married in I942, and on their fiftieth wedding anniversary. These bastards. Beside them is a picture of Romeo and Juliet dressed in red and white, sitting on Santa’s lap with Sparrow, who looks bored. Then there are my yellow tulips in two glass vases sitting in water. Everybody thinks they’re real. I am not, however, like them: dead in the water. Not even close.
I rip open the envelope. There is a check inside I don’t bother to look at because no matter what the amount, it couldn’t possibly be enough to compensate me for all the fucking years I’ve given this fucking company. I don’t feel like reading the letter. I fold the papers and shove them back inside the envelope. “What about what’s on my computer?”
“It’s company property.”
“But I’ve got personal as well as private information on that computer!”
“It’s company property, Ms. Stokes. We’re also going to need your parking pass and your BlackBerry, as well as the security card that lets you into the building.”
“Anything else?” I ask while whipping all of this stuff out of my purse and tossing it on the table. Some of it slides right in front of Mr. HR.
“We would like you to know you are eligible for rehire should things change. We’ve paid you for all sick and vacation days, and you have the option of continuing your health insurance through COBRA. To show our appreciation for your contribution to the company, we’ve given you two weeks’ severance pay for each year of service. We hope you’ll find this agreeable.”
“I can’t thank you enough.” I turn to leave.
“Oh, one last thing, Ms. Stokes. The terms of your termination must be kept confidential insofar as other employees are concerned.”
“So you’re saying I’m not allowed to tell anybody who works here why or how you fired me?”
“We’re not firing you.”
“Well, thanks for the advance notice. But you want to know something?”
Mr. Mann looks fearful and Mr. HR looks like he’s prepared to call security, which I will learn when I walk out of here is standing right outside the door. I guess this is why people go postal, but they have no idea what a favor they’ve done for me, which is why I look at them and say, “I’d like to thank you both for giving me the opportunity to work here for the past eighteen years, but now I think I’d rather work at Walmart.”
I’m so pissed off I’m shaking. I pick up one of my boxes and push the other one with my foot. The security guard offers to help and I tell him no thank you. I can manage. When I glance around the corner to see if Lucille is here—and of course she’s not—I hope she realizes now how coming in early all these years didn’t pay off. As I press the elevator button and get on, I see Norman. He doesn’t see me yet. His instincts were right this time. Norman’s a quiet yet friendly guy, widowed forever and with no children. He’s shown us photos of property he bought in Costa Rica because he was planning to build on it when he retired in four years. Mr. Mann is leading him toward the conference room, too. Poor Norman. I push the boxes over to the side and pretend to be searching for something in my purse. I want to look as frazzled as I usually do when I’m on my way to a meeting. I don’t bother to look up until after the doors squish shut. We are all just a fucking number is what I’m thinking when the doors pop open to the parking garage.
The boxes barely fit in my car. I put one on the backseat and the other on the passenger seat. I get behind the wheel and sit for what feels like hours. Eventually I put the key in the ignition. I’m wondering if what just happened really happened. If I really and t
ruly no longer have a job. I suddenly feel scared as hell and yet relieved at the same time. It is not a good feeling, because I don’t know which one I should trust. I turn the key hard. I gun the engine. It sounds loud down here. Not loud enough. I gun it again and again and again, until I see the exhaust coming from the tailpipe.
When I come to my senses, I look around to see if anyone has noticed, and there, standing a few feet away, is Norman. He has no boxes, just an outdated attaché case and a plaque he got ten years ago for doing something none of us who went into his office ever paid any attention to. Right now, those spider veins on his face look like a map. That brown plaid jacket he has worn on a weekly basis no matter what the temperature is drooping off his shoulders. Norman looks like he’s lost weight. Our eyes meet. Mine say, “What are you going to do now, Norman?” His say, “I don’t know.”
He waves. I try to smile as I wave back, and then I back out of my parking space. I have no idea what a person is supposed to do when they don’t have a job anymore. What on earth do you do when you have nothing but free time?
I decide to go to one of my favorite outlets. I float in and out of one store after another, trying on expensive clothes I wouldn’t ordinarily look at twice. Almost all of them are orange. I’m waiting for that thrill I usually get. I don’t feel it. It doesn’t stop me from trying. After three hours, the only thing I remember buying is a pair of snakeskin cowboy boots (I don’t even like cowboy boots); sexy lingerie from Victoria’s Secret that I’ll probably never wear; a neon blue Nano for Sparrow and a silver one for me. I get new outfits for Romeo and Juliet, one of which they already have.
I buy so much stuff I have to make four trips to the parking lot because I can’t carry it all. I shove so many bags into my Porsche I have no idea how they all fit. The sound of each bag rubbing against another is so pronounced I feel like throwing them all out the window.
I’m hoping Sparrow is still at practice. However, the first thing I see when I hit the garage door opener is her hybrid. I can’t tell where that hole was she made in the wall. The damage to my Porsche wasn’t as bad as she thought. I leave everything I bought in the car. I’ll get it when I get it. The kids jump and bounce and bark when they seem me. It doesn’t seem cute today.
Getting to Happy Page 27