The Rooftop Party

by Ellen Meister

  “I’ve never seen him before,” she said.

  As if sensing he was being watched, the guy turned to look at them. But his eyes swept past Dana and landed on Megan in her smoldering red dress.

  Dana elbowed her friend. “I told you.”

  “He’s probably some breast-obsessed creep with arrested development.” But even as she said it, Megan didn’t take her eyes off him.

  Dana shrugged. Her friend had the kind of figure her mother would call top-heavy, making it hard to find clothes that fit properly. But she thought her own lean body, practically pubescent in straightness, was the kind that appealed to the arrested development set.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Dana said.

  They began to move through the crowd, but Dana was waylaid by Sherry Zidel, the Shopping Channel’s supervising producer. Sherry was fierce-eyed and angular, with a sharp chin and a pair of thick glasses she seemed to wear like armor.

  And she was even less fun than she looked. Months earlier, she had discovered that Dana was in breach of contract for moonlighting with her downtown acting troupe—a gig that meant so much to Dana she simply couldn’t give it up. At the same time, Dana learned that Sherry had broken one of HR’s most rigid rules. And so the two had reached an uneasy truce, vowing to keep one another’s secret.

  Sherry gripped Dana’s arm to stop her. Even in a party setting, her hold was viselike, and Dana assumed she was about to be chewed out.

  “I know,” Dana said. “My numbers weren’t that strong today.”

  “It’s not that.”

  Sherry always seemed to be angry with her, and Dana studied her face for clues on her current grievance. Did she find out about the conversation with Eleanor Gratz? That could mean serious trouble.

  “I wanted you to meet Anna,” Sherry said.

  Dana peered up to see a willowy Asian woman at Sherry’s side. She had the look of a former model and wore a pleasant expression along with her silver satin jumpsuit. Sherry had always been intensely private and rarely mentioned her significant other, so Dana was surprised to see Anna at a company event.

  They exchanged introductions, and Dana searched Sherry’s expression for any tenderness now that it was after business hours and the imperious executive had her partner at her side. But Sherry’s jaw was rigid, her eyes tight and blinking as if expecting an assault.

  Dana was stopped by several more people on her way to the bar, including her assistant, Ashlee, who hadn’t been in New York that long and was still stunned and delighted by the sights.

  “That span!” she said pointing. Her Tennessee accent was unmistakable. “It just takes my breath. What do y’all call it?”

  “That’s the George Washington Bridge,” Dana said. “And trust me, it’s a lot less impressive when you’re trying to inch across it in daylight.”

  Dana moved on and was greeted by Charles Honeycutt, the company president. Everyone had assumed he would be promoted to CEO when the last one was ousted, but the board recruited Ivan Dennison from a retail electronics giant, assuring shaky investors he would help the company blaze new trails. Dana didn’t know much about corporate intrigue beyond what she saw in the movies, and wondered why Charles had been passed over. She liked him. He was smart and congenial, and understood the Shopping Channel’s business more than some guy who traded in motherboards and baby monitors. She hoped it wasn’t racism that kept this capable Black man from advancing.

  As they chatted, Dana noticed Felicia and Jo inching toward them, and she knew these girls from the makeup department rarely got a chance to rub elbows with the president. So she signaled them over and they happily complied, clicking forward on their teetering heels. Dana left them cooing over Charles Honeycutt while she made her way to the bar.

  By the time she got there, Megan was deep in conversation with the large-headed man.

  “Dana,” Megan called over the music, “this is Jamie Dennison.”

  “Dennison?” Dana repeated, while she shook his hand. “As in—”

  “Ivan Dennison is my father,” he said. “I hope you don’t hold that against me.”

  Dana smiled. She appreciated the joke, though it was hard to tell if he really disliked his father or was just being glib. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Jamie is a reporter for the Daily Beast,” Megan said, clearly impressed.

  Dana could see her friend’s cynicism dissolving, and gave her a grin. “What are you drinking?”

  “Vodka martini. I ordered you one but I don’t know what happened to it.”

  “I think it got pushed down the bar,” Jamie said, pointing.

  The woman bartender, dressed just like her male counterpart in a black vest, white shirt and yellow bow tie, overheard the conversation and seized the drink. Dana held out her hand for it, but the bartender spilled it out and grabbed a clean glass.

  “I’ll make you another,” she said.

  “Why?” Dana asked, taking a glance at the bartender’s name tag. It said Margaux, and Dana wondered if it was a stage name. It was an easy assumption, because in New York, attractive young people who worked for caterers were usually struggling actors.

  “A woman should never let a drink out of her sight,” Margaux said.

  Dana was about to make a joke until she saw the expression on the woman’s face, which looked as serious as an open wound, and Dana surmised that bartenders were on high alert since the Bill Cosby disgustathon.

  Margaux made the cocktail in a matter of seconds and was on to the next order without missing a beat. Her movements were so precise that Dana changed her mind about the actor thing. Margaux was a dancer. She even wore her hair tied back like a ballerina, held in place by a golden yellow ribbon that matched her bow tie. Her forehead had a pronounced widow’s peak pointing right down the center of her symmetrical face.

  Before returning to the hectic, pulsing noise of the party, Dana took her drink to the north side of the roof, where it was a little quieter. She leaned on the waist-high railing, enjoying the view. The Hudson River looked almost supernatural, like a living black mirror reflecting the lights of the city. A chill wind blew over her, and she took a warming sip of her drink. After a few moments, Dana became aware of a presence next to her, and looked up to see Ivan Dennison.

  “Nice view,” he said. His eyes lingered on her for a moment before he gazed out at the George Washington Bridge. It seemed flirtatious—a far cry from the choirboy innocence he affected during business hours—and Dana thought about Eleanor’s warning.

  “Are you enjoying the party?” she asked.

  “It’s nice seeing everyone let their hair down.”

  “I hope you still feel that way after everyone’s had a few,” she said. “I heard these parties can get a little wild.”

  He nodded, barely listening. “What are you drinking?”

  “Vodka martini. You?”

  “Club soda.” He held it up. “Cheers.”

  Dana tipped her glass toward his, feeling sure her original suspicions were correct—he was a teetotaler with a hard-drinking past.

  “I like those shoes,” he said. “They make a statement.”

  And that statement has nothing to do with you, she thought, and changed the subject to something safer. “Is Mrs. Dennison here?”

  “Couldn’t make it. What about your boyfriend?”

  She folded her arms. “How did you know I have a boyfriend?”

  He looked her up and down so thoroughly she wished she’d worn a parka. Or a yurt. This was no glance—this was a leer. “How could you not?” he said, his eyes lingering on her chest.

  Now there was no denying it. Eleanor Gratz was right. Ivan Dennison—who looked older than her father—was coming on to her. She would have to play this with finesse—friendly and open but with a clear message about her unavailability. It was a fine line to walk
.

  “We’re going to be moving in together.” She made sure the remark sounded pointed.

  “If he likes you, he should have put a ring on it,” Ivan said, grinning with pride, and she supposed he thought he was being cool, quoting a thirteen-year-old Beyoncé song. She noticed that his teeth were as tiny as baby corn kernels.

  “I can take care of myself, Ivan.” She offered a friendly but tight smile.

  “I bet you can.” He took a step closer.

  “Did I mention my boyfriend’s a cop?” She said this as if it were only half a joke.

  “Should I be scared?”

  “Not if you behave yourself.”

  “What fun is that?”

  He advanced, and Dana backed up until she was leaning against the roof railing. He was too close, and a chill of danger swept through her.

  “You know, I think we’ll get along better if we keep it strictly business,” she said, hoping he would step away.

  For a moment, they locked eyes. And they were so close she could even see the outline of his contact lenses in the gleam of the overhead light. He looked menacing, and Dana’s pulse quickened, her fight-or-flight response triggered. She glanced around to see if there was anyone nearby whose attention she could get. The only person close enough to see them was Lorenzo DeSantis, the sound guy she had been involved with when she was first hired. But he was engaged in conversation with Brenda, the executive suite receptionist, and she couldn’t catch his eye. She tried to will him to look her way.

  Ivan touched her neck with the back of his fingers. “You’re irresistible.”

  “I’m unavailable,” she said firmly.

  He leaned in. “Don’t you like powerful men?” he whispered.

  “Back off, Ivan.”

  He waited a beat, as if she might change her mind, and then took a step away. “You take things too seriously,” he said with a laugh, as if the whole thing were a joke, as if he hadn’t meant any of it. As if he hadn’t come within an inch of threatening her. In truth, he probably sensed she was about to call for help.

  “I’m getting a refill,” he added. “Can I get you something?”

  Dana wondered if that meant he would search for another victim—someone more amenable to his advances—or if he’d be coming back for her.

  “I’m fine,” she said, indicating her nearly full glass, but as soon as he left she downed the rest of her drink, and then waited until he cleared the bar before getting herself another. She needed to steady her nerves.

  “I thought you were going to take it easy tonight,” Megan said when she saw Dana sipping her second vodka martini.

  Dana was eager to tell her friend what had happened, but she couldn’t do it with Ivan’s son standing right there. It would have to wait until later.

  “This will be my last one,” she said, because she really did want to stay sober for Ari. It was important to make a good impression on the cops who held his future in their hands. In fact, she wouldn’t stay at this party one minute more than she had to. After the speeches, she’d make a quick and quiet exit.

  Dana nursed the rest of her martini as she chatted with other coworkers, making sure to keep her distance from Ivan. But a short while later, the band stopped playing and everyone gathered in the tent for the speeches. Dana’s glass was empty by then, and she got another martini just so she would have something to hold on to. She told herself she would not take more than a sip, especially since she was already a little light-headed.

  Charles Honeycutt spoke first, thanking everyone for coming. He had been there since the company’s inception, and spoke a bit about the history with great pride. Clearly, he felt he had helped build something worthwhile, and expressed his confidence that such a talented group of people could weather the current difficulties and that they would emerge stronger than ever.

  “We’ve done it before, friends, and we can do it again.” Everyone raised their glass and drank to that.

  He introduced Ivan Dennison with carefully chosen words of praise, restrained yet collegial.

  When Ivan took the mike, he thanked Charles and the entire staff, but in a way that pointed to how magnanimous he was for acknowledging them. Then he proceeded to talk about himself and the success he had leading an electronics chain through some terrible trials to emerge as one of the country’s biggest retailers.

  “I vow to do the same thing for the Shopping Channel,” he said. “But of course, that’s going to necessitate some difficult changes. It will take toughness and grit, and I hope you’re all up for the challenge.”

  A murmur of concern rippled through the party. Did this mean layoffs? Who would be fired? Dana glanced around and could see the worry in everyone’s eyes. Sherry Zidel looked like she was made from poured cement. Her girlfriend gently rubbed her back, but Sherry was unyielding as she stared at Ivan, a glass of champagne in her fist.

  Dana took a sip of her martini and then another. She was getting drunker, but it was okay. She could handle it. She just needed to get through whatever bomb Ivan Dennison was about to drop.

  “Relax,” Ivan said with a forced smile. “At this point, nothing has been decided about changes in personnel. But we will be taking the company in a bold new direction.”

  Dana’s dainty sips gave way to an indelicate gulp. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “As you know,” he continued, “the fashion industry is going through a sea change. Online retailers are gobbling up our business. We’ve tried everything, including bringing aboard great new talent.” He paused to make a subtle gesture in Dana’s direction, and nearly everyone at the party turned to look at her. She couldn’t think of any response beyond taking another sip of her drink. Dana put her other hand on the back of a chair for balance.

  Everyone turned their attention back toward Ivan, and Dana’s eyes swept the room. It seemed that no one knew what was coming—not Eleanor Gratz, who had her hand to her heart as if attempting to keep it inside, not Charles Honeycutt, whose head was down in the intense concentration of someone trying to hold in an explosion, and certainly not Sherry Zidel, still as static as a rooftop gargoyle.

  “So it’s time to look to the future,” Ivan said. “To embrace reality—we live in a technical world. And that’s why the Shopping Channel is going to become a leader in computers and electronics. No more fashion.” He pronounced the word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. “No more...handbags or accessories.” He articulated those words with even more disdain, as if they could only exist within quotation marks because they had so little meaning. “We’ll be selling laptops and desktops, cell phones and tablets, speakers and headphones, smart appliances, drones, things that haven’t even been invented yet!” He reached a crescendo of excitement, so wrapped up in his own drama he had no idea that he had completely lost the room. He thought he was impressive and inspiring, when in fact there wasn’t a person listening who didn’t wish to see him collapse in sudden cardiac arrest.

  “We’ll be on the cutting edge, people. And I am so excited to lead the Shopping Channel into this brilliant future.”

  The room fell silent for several uncomfortable beats before a smattering of polite applause rippled through the crowd.

  Dana downed the rest of her drink, and wanted to bolt. But for the moment, she was too dizzy to move. Suddenly, Felicia and Jo were upon her, asking what she thought it meant. Who would be fired and how soon? Were their jobs safe? Would Dana and Vanessa and the rest of the hosts be able to sell electronics, or would they be bringing in some geeky types?

  Dana had no answers, so she kept repeating, “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

  “Are you okay?” Jo asked.

  “I’m fine. I just need some air.”

  Dana crossed out of the tent and back to the quiet section of the roof, where she steadied herself on the railing as she looked past the Hudson
River and toward the bridge. She lost track of time, but soon became aware that Ivan was back at her side.

  “We have to stop meeting like this,” he said, resting a heavy hand between her shoulder blades.

  She turned to him. Was he really going to come on to her again, after that bombshell? She saw no reason to hold back.

  “You got to be kidding me,” she said, angry.

  “Aw, c’mon,” he said. “It’s not that bad.” He leaned in close to her ear and breathed, “Besides, I like you.”

  She backed away, trying to unpack his implication. His use of the word like seemed loaded with innuendo, as if her job would be safe if only she “liked” him back.

  He held up a martini glass. “Here, I brought you a peace offering.”

  She folded her arms. “No, thanks.”

  “Don’t be like that,” he said, and forced the glass into her hand.

  She looked down at the drink and then pointedly put it aside, resting it on the building’s ledge.

  “Ivan,” she said slowly, trying to regain control of the conversation. After all, she had an agenda of her own. “If you want to talk business, we can be friends. In fact, I have some great ideas that can help turn things around without abandoning our brand.”

  She thought she sounded pretty articulate for someone who was drunk, but he laughed at her.

  “Dana, you’re adorable, but leave the marketing to the executives.”

  You condescending fucker, she thought, but before she could utter a response, Megan was at her side.

  “I was looking all over for you,” she said, casting a glare at Ivan. “Come on. Jamie is waiting for us on the dance floor.” She grabbed Dana’s arm and pulled her away.

  When they were out of Ivan’s earshot, Megan was in business manager mode, though Dana could tell she’d knocked back a few. “Don’t worry about that bastard’s speech,” she said. “You have a contract. They can’t fire you. Understand?”

  “I don’t even know if I want to work for such a pig.”