by Rozsa Gaston
She pulled off her hotel spa robe and draped it on a chaise lounge. If she was lucky, the hot tub would be all hers.
Around the corner, past huge flowering bushes she spotted Mara Cortes in the spa.
“Hey.”
“Hey Farrah. Congratulations on the top three mention at dinner tonight,” Mara said, her voice deferential.
“Thanks, but that was just Barbara’s way of pitting Alison and me against each other for the top spot. Have you seen Barbara, by the way?” The last thing she wanted to do was run into her boss just when she was ready to kick back and relax.
“I saw her at the bar. She’s talking to Alison Keane.”
“Oh.” A twinge of uneasiness ran through her. Silly. Alison was one of her boss’s top salespeople. Of course she would seek her out at the sales conference. “Great. Saves me the trouble of explaining Alison’s seminar talk to her tomorrow.”
“Did you understand it?” Mara asked.
Farrah stared at her. Should she tell her the truth? She hadn’t been able to make heads nor tails of it.
“I—uh—it sounded pretty complicated,” she hedged.
“It didn’t make sense to me.” Mara gestured to a poolside wine chiller next to her. “Doug went in to call his kids. He left half a bottle of Chardonnay. Glass?”
Farrah tried to look hesitant. Only one thing could be more heavenly than sitting in a hot tub under a starry sky: that would be sipping a glass of good Chardonnay while doing so.
“Umm.”
“That’s a yes.” Mara gestured to a passing waiter, who came back within seconds with a glass.
They toasted, and Farrah sank back against the hot tub’s side. Heaven. Jude Farnesworth’s fingers seemed to play on her throat. She wished he could have been there beside her. Will would have liked it, too. But in a flash of anger, she felt the old eagerness to please that came over her when she was with him. That wasn’t the way a top saleswomen should feel. Never mind the way she wanted to be loved by a man.
“So what did you make of Alison’s talk?” Mara again asked.
The wine hit her with the first sip. Suddenly, she was completely relaxed, ready to float away into the starry night.
“I couldn’t understand how she tied up the company for a five-year commitment,” Farrah admitted.
“Me neither,” Mara agreed. “There’s no way they would have gone for it, the way she explained it.”
“But why would she explain exactly how she did it? She’s not going to give away her secrets just like that.”
“She definitely used a secret angle landing that deal.”
Farrah studied her colleague’s face. She knew something Farrah didn’t. Quietly she took another sip of the buttery Chardonnay. The American West had its advantages: good weather and good wines. But Farrah loved the challenge of constant weather changes back home. She had to admit, having it too easy wasn’t her style. With her mother’s death, Farrah’s sense of play had died, too. After that she’d thought of life as tough, full of unexpected turns. The only further emotional chance she’d taken had been years later with Will, but that had been difficult, too. She’d constantly felt judged by him, sometimes measuring up, usually falling short. Although she’d wanted a challenge, she’d wondered after awhile if true love was really supposed to be so hard.
All she could count on was what she could build for herself. And that was a solid career with cold, hard cash in the bank at the end of every year—a career like Alison Keane’s. She needed to find out what Mara Cortes knew.
“So what’s the secret angle?”
Mara looked at her slyly, taking a long sip of her drink, then putting it down slowly.
“Maybe I shouldn’t say.”
“Maybe you should.” It was like being back in junior-high school. Except this was the big, bad business world. Mara was about to toss her a tidbit, and she was ready to catch it. Then she’d make it work for her.
“Maybe something was going on between Alison and that head guy over at Deming’s.
“Which guy?”
“Remember the guy who was in the breakout discussion with us on LASIK post-care at the Spring Lakes conference last fall?”
“You mean the one who does triathlons?” Farrah asked.
“Yeah.”
Max Baumann, right? The one who was telling us all about how he used to be fat then he lost sixty pounds training for his first biathlon?
“Yeah.”
“He was sitting next to Alison at the dinner. He told me he was going to be a father in a few weeks. Is that the one?”
Mara’s face fell. “That’s him.”
“So did they have the baby?”
“His wife had the baby.” Mara seemed downcast for making a birth announcement.
“So that’s great! Why the long face?”
“And Alison didn’t.”
“Alison didn’t?”
Mara shook her head slowly.
“Alison didn’t have the baby? What are you talking about? She’s single.” She thought back to the dinner that night. Alison had talked exclusively to Max the entire evening. The only reason Farrah had learned he was to become a father was because Alison had left the table to take a call, and Farrah had leaned over and asked him about his family.
She stared at Mara’s face, eloquent in its stoniness.
“What are you telling me?”
“Nothing.” Again, her work colleague shook her head.
The truth slowly dawned on her. Fluffy, blonde, distractedly dreamy Alison all over Max at dinner; Max completely engrossed in her, his back to the rest of the table. “Do you mean Alison was, um—she wasn’t like—involved with him was she?”
Mara stared back, maintaining her silence. Slowly, her thick, dark brown eyebrows rose.
“Okay. Just shake your head no if I’m wrong, and do nothing if I’m guessing right,” Farrah instructed her. “Are you saying Alison got pregnant by him just when his wife was having their first child?” She hoped not. That would be terrible. But unfortunately not unthinkable.
Mara’s head remained motionless, her eyes widening in confirmation.
“What did she do? I mean, Alison.”
“Remember when she took time off right after Christmas last year?” Mara broke her silence.
“I just remember her at the Christmas party downtown.”
“Where we were wondering why she looked so puffy.”
Farrah thought back. She remembered only too well. She’d indulged in a brief moment of unkind satisfaction when she’d noticed Alison stuffed like a sausage into her red cocktail dress. She’d seemed out of sorts, less sparkling than her usual 100 percent confident self. Farrah had thought it was strange at the time, considering she’d just been announced by their boss as top salesperson of the year.
“This is all just speculation,” Farrah protested.
Again, Mara shook her head.
“How do you know then?”
“Winter conference. Coral Gables. Same thing we’re doing here.”
“What do you mean?”
“We were out in the hot tub after dinner, drinking wine. She started crying. Then she told me what happened.”
Lord. The secret lives of women, herself included. “So did she tell Max about the baby?”
“Yes.”
“And what did he say?”
Mara looked grim. “He told her he couldn’t leave his wife. So she told him she’d have it anyway. Raise it herself.”
“Good for her. What did he say to that?”
“He said it would ruin her life and his. And most of all, it wouldn’t be fair to the child.”
“So what did she do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, did you ask her?”
“She started crying. I didn’t want to press—”
Farrah couldn’t believe it, except that she could. A twinge of sympathy mixed with horror shot through her as she thought about Alison. Last year hadn’t been easy f
or her colleague. On the surface it had looked fabulous. She had landed the top account of the year for their company. But what a price she’d paid.
“I’M AWARDING YOU both Meredith’s territory until fourth quarter results are in,” Barbara Feretti said. The thick gold bangles on her tanned wrist jangled as she picked up her glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.
“Is she coming back in January?” Farrah asked.
“She’s taking a desk job. At her request,” Farrah’s boss sniffed, looking disgusted. She looked over her tortoise-shell reading glasses at Farrah, evaluating her. Farrah tried to look as if the last thing she’d do would be request a desk job over traveling all the time. Who needed a real life when she enjoyed a top sales job? Here she was in Phoenix, brunching on smoked salmon and fresh-squeezed orange juice, with her glamorous colleague and even more glamorous boss, a former top salesperson herself. Barbara was around forty-five and looked ten years younger. Five years earlier, she’d married an Italian man from Rome, on his second marriage himself, with grown children. She and her husband lived six months of the year at their Park Avenue co-op in Manhattan and spent six months of the year at his villa in Rome. She had no children.
“Then, who’s taking over her territory next year?” Alison asked, smoothing back her fluffy blonde hair, as if it wasn’t already perfectly in place. She was always fussing and fidgeting with something she was wearing—a cape or scarf or some jewelry. In the presence of a male client or prospect, the fidgeting increased exponentially. It was as if she was making an announcement “Look at me, aren’t I artwork?” at every opportunity.
Barbara smiled. “Well ladies, that’s up to you to decide. I’m awarding the Southeast territory permanently to whichever of you brings in the biggest sales volume for the year.”
“That’ll be me,” Alison said, matter-of-factly.
“Uh—that’s not decided yet, is it?” Farrah’s temper flashed. If Alison were a running colleague, she’d offer back some trash-talking. But she was relatively new to sales, so she deferred to her more experienced, more ferocious colleague.
“You have until the end of the year. December 31,” Barbara continued. “If I were you, I’d take some time in the next few weeks to visit every one of Meredith’s accounts in the Southeast region. Once the holidays hit, Thanksgiving and on, you won’t be able to get in to see anyone, so now’s your moment. I asked Mara to e-mail you both the contact list about twenty minutes ago,” she said, looking at her gold, bracelet watch. “Good luck.” Their boss sat back, staring at each of them in turn, a sly smile on her perfectly made-up face.
“I’ve got to run, then. Thanks for the opportunity, Barbara.” Alison stood up reaching for her phone as if ready to start making calls that second.
Farrah didn’t have a minute to lose. Jumping up from the table, she thanked her boss then ran up to her room. She guessed Alison would go over the list and instantly pick the largest prospects to call first. She decided to do the same, only starting from bottom to top. Opening her laptop she brought up the list, then quickly selected the top five prospects, reversing their order. She picked up her phone. Ignoring the message that had come through while she’d been meeting with her boss, she began calling.
Forty-five minutes later, she had two appointments for later that week. She’d fly back, go to the track workout then get on a plane again Wednesday. Otherwise, Alison Keane would clean her clock if she let her. She wanted to get the top salesperson award this year. The bonus would be nice. She put the expanded territory with increased travel time to the back of her mind.
Jude had called Saturday afternoon and left a message thanking her for their Friday evening date. Why hadn’t he asked her out again? Suddenly, she remembered she hadn’t returned his call. When she’d gotten home Saturday evening she’d been too shook up over Will to check her messages. Then on the plane to Phoenix Sunday afternoon she’d realized she’d left her phone charger at home. By the time she’d gotten her hands on a compatible one from the hotel’s concierge desk, it had been Monday morning and she’d been swept up in the conference.
She pulled out her phone to call Jude, but was interrupted by another call coming in from one of Meredith’s clients. The second she got off, she called Meredith to get the skinny on that particular account. Briefly, she asked about the baby and congratulated her on her new position.
“I’ll be able to get home every day by six,” Meredith replied, the joy in her voice clear. “And maybe earlier on Fridays.”
“What about your commissions?” Farrah asked. Commissions were at least 70 percent of salespeople’s yearly income.
“I’m switching to a salaried position. I’ll be supporting the sales staff now. And advising.” She laughed. “Need any advice?”
Yes, Farrah thought. Should I open myself to the future or give the past another chance? And should I prioritize my job or my life? Because if I’m good at the first, I may not find time for the second at all. That had been fine for the past two years while she’d been nursing her heartbreak. But now she was ready for something more.
“Uh—how worried should I be about Alison getting to all your clients before I do?
Meredith’s laugh boomed through the other end of the line. “Very. She’s probably already sent them all a blind copy personal e-mail telling them how eager she is to work with them personally and please don’t respond to anyone else contacting them from her company. Listen, I’ve got to nurse the baby now. Gotta go.”
Farrah got off the phone, impressed. She’d never have thought of that. When the next call came in from someone she’d left a message with, she asked if anyone else from her firm had contacted them. Turns out, they had received an e-mail from Alison that morning. They were already set to meet with her, thanks so much.
Instantly she felt the familiar urge to go head to head with Alison. Then the sad awareness of how her colleague had won her biggest account came over her. Maybe there were other things more important to do than beating out her work colleague. She’d call back Jude to let him know she would love to see him this weekend.
As she reached for her phone, Barbara Feretti walked by, smiling at Farrah as their eyes met.
“How many appointments have you set up?” she asked, getting straight to the point.
“Uh—two so far. Waiting to hear back from the others.”
Barbara held up five fingers, waving each one separately, the diamonds on her rings sparkling in bluish tones. “I just left Alison out on the terrace. She’s lined up five already. Just to let you know.”
Was her boss rooting for her? Or was this another strategy to whip her toward enhancing the end-of-the-year bottom line, which would make their entire division look good, her boss as the head of it taking credit and raking in whatever bonus she was hoping for?
“Come on. Hop a ride with me to the airport. My car’s waiting.”
It was a command, not a suggestion. She’d get in touch with Jude later, at home. Sighing, she followed Barbara out to the hotel front driveway, wondering why she felt so sick at heart. She would forge ahead with the amazing opportunity her boss had just handed her, but all she really wanted to do was get back to Riverdale and reconnect with her track club as soon as possible.
She closed her eyes, but images of home and her track club family failed to come to mind. Instead, a man with dark blue eyes gazed straight at her, willing her to call.
SIX
“Hey, what’s on your mind? You ran past me twice already,” Tom greeted Jude with a slap of his gym towel.
“Dude—didn’t see you. What’s up?”
“Not a hell of a lot. What’s up with you? You looked lost in thought.”
“Uh—just some instant replay.” He wasn’t sure where he was going with this, but his running buddy was a happily married man who knew something about making plans. It was Tuesday morning already, and Farrah still hadn’t gotten back to him. Maybe Tom could give him some pointers.
“Which game?” You mea
n the Cubs last night?”
“Not a game.”
“Ohhh—” His friend fell into stride alongside him, taking the outermost lane of the track. “Anytime you care to talk,” he said, a minute later as his breathing regularized.
Jude sped up, then crossed into Tom’s lane. He didn’t want his friend to read his face.
His long-limbed buddy switched to Jude’s previous lane and easily caught up with him.
“So it’s a woman, huh?’ Tom asked.
“What are you talking about?”
“Seen some action recently?”
“If I have, I’m not telling you about it.”
“Someone you want to see again?”
Jude gave his friend a sidelong look. Maybe this was a good time to drop the pose. He could use some advice.
“As a matter of fact, yes. That’s why I’m not giving you any details.”
“A good policy. If I’d talked about Posey before we were married, I’d have regretted it.” Tom sped up as if his wife was chasing him.
“Yup.” Jude increased his speed, pulling up beside him.
“So tell me what you can and leave out whatever you can’t live with leaking to me if she ends up being the one.”
“How do you know when it’s the one?”
“Hmm. There’s a short answer and a long one. Which do you want?”
“Both.”
“The short answer is ‘comfort.’”
“What do you mean?”
“The comfort factor.”
“Huh.” He knew exactly what his friend meant. He’d felt it from the moment he’d started talking with Farrah at the bar at Ryan’s on Friday evening. He didn’t know if it began when she’d smiled as she walked toward him or when she’d told him she grew up in Queens. But soon on he’d felt as if he didn’t need to hide anything or pretend he was someone he wasn’t. It had been completely unlike the interactions he had with women in Greenwich. “What’s the long answer?” he asked.