While I wait for the coffee to percolate, I empty out my handbag.
I hold up the photo of me and Corey in Mexico to show her. “Look. We seemed so happy. Who knew if he was fantasizing about the cabana boy the whole time?”
“Stop tormenting yourself. Now come on, I don’t want to hear any more of this self-pity nonsense.”
I stare at the kitchen counter until the coffee is ready. After a moment, I pour some into a mug and spoon in three teaspoons of sugar and lots of cream. I’m giving myself permission to be indulgent, even if it is just with my coffee.
“Do you want me to make yours?” I ask half-heartedly.
“No. Maybe you should go lie down or something. Read a book or watch some TV.”
“I don’t feel like it.”
“You have to do something to take your mind off things.”
She then seems to notice my cut hand, which still has the crumpled up Kleenex stuck to it. “What’s wrong with your hand?”
“Nothing. I cut it accidentally. And before you ask, no, I wasn’t trying to injure myself.”
“I wasn’t even thinking that, but you’ve mentioned not being suicidal twice now. Do I need to be worried?”
“No! Okay, I think I will go and lie down.”
I carry my coffee into my room and put it on the bedside table. I then throw myself backwards into the center of the bed and spread out like a starfish.
I feel empty. My brain is overloaded and I’m now experiencing the human equivalent of the blue screen of death.
I’m not sure how long I stay there staring at the ceiling, but at some point Penny knocks on the door and opens it a crack. “Chrissie? You have a phone call. Do you want to take it?”
“Who is it?”
“Kahlua.”
I wrinkle my brow. “I don’t know.”
She holds out the phone and mouths the words “you should”.
I take it from her. “Hello?”
Penny backs out quietly.
“Hey, Chrissie! Is this a bad time?”
Despite my mood, Kahlua’s trademark squeaky voice lifts my spirits a tiny bit. “Um, sort of. I’m actually on leave, so I think my boss will probably assign someone else to look after you until I return.”
“Oh no. Is everything okay? You’re not still sick, are you?”
I can’t even remember what she’s talking about. And then it clicks.
“You mean the stomach ache? No, no that’s all good now.”
“I’m glad. So how long are you going to be away?”
“I’m not sure,” I say honestly. “I’m sorry Kahlua. I’ve had some personal stuff happen and I’m not coping very well.”
“You poor thing. All right, well I’ll call the office directly and see what they suggest. You take care, okay?”
“I will. Thanks, Kahlua. I hope to talk to you again soon.”
I hang up and wonder if I really will talk to her again soon. I quite like Kahlua, and she deserves someone more focused than me right now. I am too messed up to even leave my room.
I crawl under the covers and close my eyes.
Maybe I’ll just stay here for a few days.
***
I actually do stay in my apartment for close to a week without seeing anyone apart from Penny. She makes sure I shower and eat, and she even calls the office to tell them I’m sick, but that I’m slowly getting better. However, I’m not sure I am making any progress. Most of the time I lie in bed or on the couch, staring at nothing. Sometimes I cry, but mostly I feel blank.
Corey doesn’t try to contact me, so I suppose our original agreement to only process for a couple of days was voided once I trashed his computer. And to be honest, I don’t even know what I would say to him. I think the best thing for us to do is give each other some space.
Six days after I turned into a hermit, someone knocks at the door. Penny has gone home to get more clothes, so I’m left wondering whether I have the energy to answer it or not. But after so much isolation, part of me is craving human contact aside from my sister.
I stumble to the door in my PJs and fling it open.
It’s a FedEx guy. With a package for me! I never get packages! Wow! What if someone has found out I’m a bit down in the dumps and has sent chocolates to make me feel better? This could be the universe’s way of saying “don’t worry, everything’s going to be okay”.
I rip open the padded bag and stare at its contents in confusion. It’s a circular music box containing a dancing ballerina and a very elaborate invitation written in calligraphy on a scroll. It takes a minute for its words to penetrate my brain.
Please join us in honoring Jennifer Fletcher for her baby shower, given with joy by Carmen Fletcher…blah blah blah…
I can’t read anymore.
“Are you kidding me?” I yell at the FedEx guy, who is still nearby.
He gives me a funny look and then hurries away.
I look at the scroll again in disbelief. Could the timing be any worse?
But then of course Jen would have no idea what’s going on. She was my best friend in high school and we lost touch when we went to college and she moved to LA. We recently reconnected on Facebook, but we haven’t met up in person for years – although I did know she was pregnant. She’s on her second marriage and already has a fifteen year old son from a previous relationship.
The shower isn’t until the end of September, but I can’t see myself making much headway in the disaster that is my life before then.
I think I’ll decline.
I put the invite in a drawer and then contemplate what to do with my day. I worry if I stay in bed for much longer, I’ll start developing bedsores, but the whole baby shower thing hasn’t exactly put me in a good mood.
I know! I’ll read the tabloids. They always cheer me up. I usually check them out as a kind of research. I keep an eye on Perry Tyler’s clients and then secretly delight in any belonging to our rivals when they do something stupid.
Like puking in the gutter out the front of a nightclub when there are cameras nearby.
Why did I have to remember that now?
I open up my phone and start browsing through the TMZ site. Ugh, boring. A rapper got arrested. The Kardashians are fighting. A sitcom star is promoting some fad diet.
And then I see something that catches my eye. It’s about Jack Dean and his newest girlfriend. Jack has done an interview where he talks about how in love he is with his new squeeze. Apparently he’s never felt like this before.
Ouch. How could he say something like that? Poor Kahlua. I wonder if she’s seen it yet.
Would it be inappropriate to call her? Maybe not if I phoned under the pretense of making sure her project was being handled properly.
I quickly call her number and wait. She answers on the second ring.
“This is Kahlua!”
“Oh, hi! It’s Chrissie from Perry Tyler. I just wanted to check in and see how everything was going. Is the team taking care of you?”
“Chrissie! It’s so lovely to hear from you. Yeah, everything is fine. But to be honest, I’d much rather deal with you. I really liked your approach, and…I don’t know…I just felt like we understood each other or something.”
I beam. It’s nice to feel appreciated.
“Who’s looking after you?”
“A woman called Quinn.”
“Oh, right. Quinn’s really good at what she does,” I assure her. She also has zero sense of humor.
“Do you know when you’re coming back? I hate to sound selfish, but if there is any way you can get reassigned to me, I would be really grateful.”
“I’ll call the office now and talk to them, okay?”
“Perfect! Yay! Keep me posted!”
I hang up, feeling a bit more positive. It’s probably time I went back to work soon anyway. My mortgage isn’t going to pay for itself.
I phone Linda’s line, but she doesn’t answer. I leave a message, asking her to call me as soon as pos
sible, and let her know I can even return tomorrow if necessary. I would rather wait until Monday, but I need to look like I’m making an effort.
I then realize I forgot to ask Kahlua about Jack. She sounded happy enough, so either she hasn’t seen the article yet, or she doesn’t care. I hope it’s the latter. And if so, I aspire to be as cool as Kahlua.
***
The email arrives that afternoon. The timestamp says 4.59p.m. so I’m guessing Linda waited until the office was about to close so I wouldn’t be able to storm in and make another scene.
Dear Chrissie,
It is with deep regret that we are terminating your position within the company, effective immediately. We appreciate your years of service at Perry Tyler, but feel that in recent times your dedication to maintaining a professional standard of conduct has fallen below acceptable standards.
Taking into consideration the length of time you were with us, we would be happy to provide a reference for future employers.
If you wish to appeal your termination, please contact the human resources department at your convenience.
Good luck, and we wish you all the best.
Linda Noble.
The news catches me off guard, even though a tiny part of me must have known it was a possibility. Not many people get sent on leave after making a scene the way I did and get to return without consequences. I might consider an appeal on the grounds of temporary insanity, but in all my time at Perry Tyler, I never once saw anyone successfully return after being fired. I’m also not sure I could face everyone again after my little scene.
I reread the email another five times just to torture myself. I was there for fourteen years. It’s the only PR firm I’ve ever worked in, but because I’m still so overwhelmed from everything that happened with Corey, being let go doesn’t make me feel any worse than I already do. Although, that’s probably because it really isn’t possible to sink any lower.
I’m sitting on the couch with my phone in my lap. After a moment, I toss it onto the carpet and close my eyes.
I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
SIX
Kahlua texts me at 11a.m. the next day.
Can you meet me at Starbucks on Spear St at 2?
I text back. Sorry, I’m not at Perry Tyler anymore. Quinn will look after you.
The next message arrives almost immediately.
I know you left Perry Tyler, but I want to talk to you about something. Please meet me?
Sure. See you there.
I wonder what could be so urgent. Maybe I did something stupid that affected Kahlua and she wants to reprimand me in person.
I’m really hoping it’s not that, but my life is so crappy at the moment, I can’t see what else it could possibly be.
At 1p.m. I dress as if I’m still going to the office, putting on a fresh pencil skirt and shirt. I can at least act like I have it all together on the outside, even if I’m a mess on the inside. Which is what I should have done the day I had my meltdown.
I get there a few minutes early and wait for Kahlua in a seat facing the door. She soon arrives, making a grand entrance in a tiny miniskirt, skyscraper heels, and hair and makeup done like she’s about to head off to a photo-shoot. Which might be the case, for all I know.
Everyone turns to look at her. She has an air about her that just screams “famous”, yet it’s not forced. I love how down to earth and self-aware she really is.
“Hey sweetie, thanks for meeting me here. Have you ordered a drink?”
“No, I was waiting for you. I’ll get them. What are you having?”
“Don’t be silly. You’re my guest, so I’ll buy. I’m just going to have a chamomile tea. Would you like coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
She goes up to the counter and I watch as the barista almost falls over with shock at serving the legendary Kahlua. She returns a few moments later, holding the two drinks.
“On the house. Isn’t he a darling?”
I laugh. “That’s great.”
“So…I guess I should explain why I wanted to see you.”
“No hurry. I’m just going to enjoy this for a moment.” I wave my hand around at all the attention being directed at us. Well, at Kahlua.
“Oh yeah. It is fun to be recognized sometimes. The paparazzi can be a bit mean, though. They try to take photos of my kids, even when I ask them not to. Do you know Jack got into a fight with a photographer one time and he almost went to jail, even though the photographer was right in his face and cursing at him? It’s just not right.” She shakes her head at the memory. “Anyway, I just want to say how disappointed I was to hear you’re no longer working at Perry Tyler. Quinn said something about you choosing to pursue other projects? Why do I get the feeling she wasn’t giving me the full story?”
I sigh. I might as well tell her the truth. I don’t have anything else left to lose.
“I should probably start at the beginning. You know the day of our meeting and how I went home early? Well, I found out my husband might be gay.”
“Oh my God. You poor thing!”
I nod grimly. “So naturally, I went out for a big night with my sister to drown my sorrows, but I drank too much and somehow ended up being filmed by one of Perry Tyler’s directors as I was throwing up. The video got spread around the office, and while they tried to deny it, I’m pretty sure they were lying. So after making a big scene, I left. And then yesterday, they fired me.”
“Holy cow, Chrissie! You’ve had some bad luck. If it helps at all, I can kind of relate, going through trauma so publicly.”
“Actually, I was thinking how inspirational you were to come through all of what you experienced and still be optimistic. I saw that article about Jack on the TMZ site…”
“Pfft. TMZ is so stupid. I don’t pay attention to anything they write. But even if they were telling the truth, I don’t care. Jack is long gone and I won’t let him hurt me anymore.”
“See, this is why I like you. You’re so upbeat.”
She grins. “Like they say, the only way is up. Okay, so I have something to ask you and I want you to say yes. And don’t think for a second I’m doing this out of pity.”
I raise a questioning eyebrow. “All right…”
“Will you be my new publicist?”
I stare at her. “But what about Billy?”
“I got rid of him. He was suggesting sillier and sillier things for me to do, and he wouldn’t take me seriously whenever I wanted to talk to him about the baby food.”
“And you want me to take over? I’m a complete emotional wreck!”
“You’re allowed to be a wreck for a little while. I’m assuming you can separate your work and personal life when necessary?”
“Usually, yes. But…” I feel like it shouldn’t be that straightforward, only I can’t think of any reason why this wouldn’t be ideal.
“Don’t analyze it too much,” she advises. “Take your own advice and just go with your first instinct.”
“I would love to be your publicist!” My brain whirs into gear. “Okay, so we probably need to tee up a meeting with Quinn…”
“Actually, I was hoping we could avoid Quinn. In fact, I would like to discontinue dealing with Perry Tyler altogether. Quinn was way too serious for my liking, and she kept treating me like I was stupid. Plus, if everyone was passing around a tape of you for entertainment when you were at your lowest, I don’t want to give them another cent of my money.”
“But I don’t know that for sure. That can’t be the main reason you stop dealing with them. Also, I’m not sure if I could get into trouble for effectively stealing you away…”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll sort out any legal stuff if and when it arises.”
“All right.” I think about how to proceed from this point. “I guess I can call the design agency we were working with and ask if they mind dealing with us directly…and then we can start discussing that image strategy we were talking about…
”
Kahlua laughs. “I love that you’re already thinking ahead! Now, here’s my credit card. Feel free to use it for any expenses you need to cover.” She opens up her purse and hands me a shiny Amex.
“Um, are you sure you want to trust me with this?”
“Of course. I like to think I’m a good judge of character. Where business relationships are concerned anyway. And as long as I’m not dealing with anyone with the name Billy.” She laughs at her own expense. “I know you won’t let me down.”
I have to stop myself from bursting into happy tears. “Okay then. Thank you. But I’ll be sure to run everything by you before I charge anything.”
“Whatever you feel is best.” She claps her hands together. “I’m so glad you said yes!”
“I can’t believe you thought I might say no!” I lean over the table to give her a hug. “I am so grateful for this opportunity. I’m going to be the best publicist ever!”
She laughs. “I hope so.”
We sit there, grinning like idiots.
Life might not be so bad after all.
***
For the next week, I find myself wildly fluctuating between energetic bursts of productivity, and periods of melancholy where I can barely drag myself out of bed. Thankfully Penny is still staying with me, so she makes sure that the evenings – when I’m at my lowest – are filled with girly TV marathons and long elaborate dinners.
I’ve always been good at burying myself in work when I’ve wanted to escape reality, but it’s impossible to keep up the act 24/7 – especially as Corey’s absence is so obvious.
He finally calls me on a Thursday afternoon, more than two weeks after what I now refer to as D-Day, or Drag Day. I have a feeling that from now on, events in my personal history will be remembered as either before drag (BD) or after drag (AD).
We agree to meet at Americano, because it’s a place we’re both familiar with, but it’s not somewhere we ever celebrated any anniversaries or milestones. I think the décor makes it a good choice, with it’s muted colors and natural timber furnishings.
Corey is already waiting out the front when I get there. He looks nervous. I’m sure he’s wondering whether I’m going to turn violent again.
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