Goodbye, Orchid

by Carol Van Den Hende

  “How is your aunt?” her uncle asked about her other side of the family, no blood relation to him, as if paused at the same spot on the reel of her memory.

  “She’s retired. She travels between Florida and a place she owns on one of the islands, I always forget which one.” Orchid sliced a bulgur stuffed pepper, sliding pale seeds to one side of her plate.

  “And how about you? Zach says you’re not married?” Esty asked.

  Orchid noted her un-ringed left hand gripping the tablecloth, not wanting to think about Phoenix in this place where she had a new chance to be accepted. “Nope, I’m single.”

  “You’re still young. You know, we started dating when I was thirty-three and Zach was thirty-seven, so you never know when you’ll meet your guy.”

  Air whistled between Orchid’s teeth.

  Zach raised his fork. “You still down about that guy?”

  “Yup, he’s engaged to his ex.”

  Esty broke in. “You’re a beaut. That guy must be crazy.”

  “Yup, or I am for holdin’ onto a pipedream.”

  “There’re a lot of nice-looking men in California.”

  “Three thousand miles is a bit far for dating,” she tossed out, experimenting with baring her teeth to the newly wakened little boy, extracting squeals from him with each face she made.

  Esty looked at Zach. “Are we ready for Orchid’s surprise?”

  Was surprise a euphemism for something bad?

  Zach stood with his Dad-like grin. He waved over the table. “Leave it,” he said to his wife. “Let’s go.”

  They packed into Esty’s Prius, Orchid squeezed next to a backwards-facing Quentin. They continued their non-verbal flirtation. Pink tongue. Squeal. Bottom teeth. Squeal.

  “I refuse to ride in that gas-guzzling monster,” Esty explained, peeling past the Jaguar and taking local roads through Santa Monica.

  They parked on a downtown street with brick sidewalks in front of a sage green awning. Zach popped out with swagger, swinging Orchid’s door wide while Esty scooped up Quentin. He nodded towards the café tables, surrounded by people inside and out.

  “Let’s go in,” he said.

  A bakery? Sure gets these guys excited. Her sweet tooth didn’t mind.

  As they crossed the threshold, the smell of yeasted bliss mixed with roasted coffee beans and babble of conversation relaxed Orchid. Home. Then, the trio burst into celebrity.

  “Zach!”

  “Esty!”

  “Quentin got so big!”

  The name etched in the plate glass window suddenly penetrated her mind. Sweet Paige at a Time: Organic Bakery was their shop. Of course.

  They navigated customers and staff to guide Orchid to the back kitchen.

  “Sit,” Esty said, pulling out a chair for each of them at the wooden table as Zach arrived with a plate of oatmeal cookies, whole wheat scones and mini apple tarts.

  “What a great place,” Orchid complimented, taking in the gleaming ovens and crumb-free floor. She bent a cookie in half and slid it into her mouth. Crisp oats on the surface blended with the moist interior, both still warm. Yum.

  “Everything here’s sweetened with agave or stevia,” Zach said proudly, swiping the remaining half of Orchid’s cookie.

  “Is this the only organic bakery in the area?”

  “Unfortunately, no. There’s another place, all upscale and fancy.” Esty wielded a rounded knife to crumble the scone into bite-size chunks.

  “What does page at a time mean?”

  “I had some vague idea that literary types would hang out at cafés like this and write, so I thought we could organize readings and stuff. But I never did anything with the idea,” Zach admitted.

  “Do you have a business plan?” Orchid asked, straightening with excitement over the potential of the place. They chatted into the afternoon, her business schooling kicking into gear.

  By the time Orchid packed to leave the next day, she’d typed them a PowerPoint presentation.

  “Check out all these great ideas you guys have.” She angled her laptop screen for them.

  “I love the name change,” said Esty of the title page for Sweet Paige: Organic Café.

  “It keeps your essence while broadening the appeal across day-parts,” Orchid agreed. “Your financials are solid and you have a good start on your point of difference. There are a couple of avenues you could take: either build your physical presence in neighborhoods where this kind of place will appeal, or invest in a delivered business that leverages your profitable sweet lines. And you definitely need to play up that literary angle,” Orchid summarized, paging through to the end of the document.

  Zach put an arm around his niece. “You are a marketing genius,” he said.

  Esty hugged Orchid, sans baby for a change, as Quentin napped in his pack-and-play. “Sorry I can’t come to the airport. Never wake a sleeping baby!”

  “Thanks for everything. You two are great together.”

  “Well, we can’t wait for you to come again.”

  Zach directed them to the Jaguar. The silver cat now seemed to leap with confidence, not recklessness.

  On the freeway, Zach tapped the steering wheel in syncopation with a guitar ballad. Their age difference just twelve years, he was more like a cool older brother.

  “I wish you weren’t going,” he said.

  Orchid slumped to let the sun warm her turned face and absorb the goodbyes in the undulating palm fronds. “Yeah, me too.”

  “Esty and I talked. You know, we missed all those years together. We can’t get that back but, hell, why don’t you move out here?”

  “What?” Orchid sat up to stare skepticism at him. Maybe irrational ran through their genes.

  “Hear me out. LA is great, you’d love it here. In the beginning, maybe it wouldn’t pay as much as Estée Lauder, but we’d love for you to start up the new line, run the marketing and strategy of the whole place. Who knows, it could be more lucrative in the long run.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Come work for Sweet Paige. Like you said, we could take it national. It’d be a real family business then.”

  The idea of family was foreign enough, never mind family business. And now, an invitation to live in a new place, to be near family she didn’t realize she’d missed like an essential part of her.

  She glanced at her bare left ring finger through teary vision. “That’s really generous of you. Guess there’s nothing I couldn’t leave behind in New York. Let me think about it.” She bent an arm to bring her phone closer, not seeing the time. “We’d better get to the airport.”

  CHAPTER 41

  GIRL, YOU HAVE NO FAITH IN MEDICINE

  Orchid

  THURSDAY MARCH 14

  “I already network,” Orchid said to her boss, Joan, whose Botoxed forehead indicated the pressure of working in the beauty industry after the age of retirement.

  “Yes, you’re networking internally. I’d like to see you build your contacts outside of Estée Lauder.” She placed one short leg over the other, and rested against her desk chair, lips stretching while nothing else moved. “Because, you need to keep this hush-hush for now, but Lauder China is planning to offer you an international assignment in Beijing.”

  “No way.”

  “Congratulations. Three to five years, full expat package. I don’t have to tell you how rare an offer it is to work in the fastest growing market. Human Resources will call you with the details.”

  “Thank you so much.” Orchid’s imagination unfurled with excitement. A pang reminded her there was nothing keeping her here in New York.

  “Great,” her boss said, clapping her heavily ringed hands together. “You have no meetings this afternoon, right?”

  “No meetings,” Orchid said, staring at her boss’s tailored pants suit, chains of
gold and diamond earrings so heavy they strained her earlobes. She should’ve noticed before. That was a day-to-evening outfit. Crap.

  “So, we’re leaving here at four for an agency anniversary party,” Joan said.

  Orchid sighed, looking down at her hip-chic leggings and boots under a layered skirt and white summer mini. Mixing and matching pieces from her closet this morning, she pulled together an ensemble that pleased her with its uniqueness. Perhaps feeling Phoenix’s absence more than she wanted to admit, she’d assembled the outfit around the dress she’d worn when they first met at the agency presentation nine months ago.

  “Network in New York while you still can. No excuses,” Joan said.

  Orchid stood to gather her papers. “Okay,” she said, tugging down her mini and slipping out of her boss’ office. Lots to think about.

  At four, Orchid closed her laptop and shoved it into an oversize patent leather bag bound with burnished hardware and grommets as if the contents would have to ninja fight their way out to escape the Fort Knox of purses.

  They picked their way through melting piles of snow to walk south along familiar streets. Orchid continued their earlier conversation.

  “So, tell me about this assignment.”

  “I don’t want to spoil all of HR’s news, but it’s a marketing director role, reporting to Lauder China’s marketing head. You know him, right?”

  She nodded, flabbergasted at her good fortune.

  “You’d have regional responsibility with a cross-functional team from Singapore, Japan and China.”

  “I’m pinching myself.”

  “Now don’t make me break my promise of silence. We can talk more after HR calls.”

  ”Okay,” Orchid said, respecting her boss’ wishes by changing the subject. She brushed lint off her dark coat. “Whose anniversary party are we going to?”

  “counterAgency. You met them at a pitch presentation last summer.”

  A thump sounded so loudly in her ears that she thought a baby grand had fallen on the sidewalk beside them. Looking up from the snow-covered ground—no piano—Orchid stared at her boss, disbelieving.

  “You know, the agency I’d worked with before?” her boss continued.

  Orchid snapped her jaw shut and nodded. Was she ready to see Phoenix during a work function? He’d never returned her messages and once she realized he was engaged—engaged—she respectfully left him alone. Knowing Joan had worked with counterAgency, Orchid kept her crush a secret. Now didn’t seem like the right time to bring up some schoolgirl fantasy. No doubt, he’d be professional. She’d do the same and get out of there as soon as she could.

  They stepped into the warm building. Joan signed them in and led the way to the elevator. “Five years is a pretty good milestone for a boutique agency,” she said.

  Arriving at counterAgency’s floor, a pumping bass line reached them through the enclosed elevator. The doors slid aside to a refreshingly open space, at once warm with the buzz of people chattering, and cool with modern architecture. Sheets of glass contrasted with exposed piping and white-painted brick.

  The receptionist greeted them. She tottered on five-inch heels, vibrantly red from underneath, to check a preordained list. “Estée Lauder? Okay, gotcha!” She took their coats.

  Orchid peered around the clean white surroundings splashed with pockets of neon blues and greens. Memories swirled with reminders of his personal décor. She didn’t spot the person she both wanted to and was apprehensive seeing. I have it bad.

  “Would you like caw-fee? A drink?” the receptionist offered.

  “White wine,” the women replied, Orchid automatically choosing the less enamel staining variety. Perhaps her boss employed the same logic.

  Dex ambled over, touching cheeks with her boss. “Joan, how are you? Lovely to see you as always. You look smashing,” he said, his eyes nearly closing as his cheeks spread to express pleasure. A tall woman hurried over from another group and hugged Joan with excitement.

  As Joan conversed with her acquaintance, Dex leaned over to Orchid. He touched one chubby cheek to hers, his beard bristly against her skin.

  “Hello, Orchid, need another?” he asked, pointing to her empty glass. She was pleased to see a friendly soul in a place that held the potential to flatten her.

  “I must’ve been parched,” she said, following him past a buffet laden with food to the temporary bar set up on the other side of the expansive area at the center of the agency. Corridors of offices fronted with clear glass walls lined three sides of the space. Soaring rock ballads crooned over the hubbub of wine-fueled conversation. The music swirled with the minimalist design, creating a cool atmosphere that seemed to be able to materialize creativity from anything, ordinary or extraordinary. The imprint of Phoenix.

  “So, how’ve you been?” Dex asked, his bulk taking a spot in the snaking line of thirsty guests.

  “Pretty busy with work. How are you? And Fiona?” She looked up at him, intuitively trusting the burly fellow whom Phoenix had always spoken of with the highest respect. He donned a decidedly unfashionable red sweater vest over a checkered blue and white shirt in the pattern of one of her dishtowels, paired with baggy jeans. Topped off with a bow tie in casual twill, he pulled off the look with the panache of an executive creative director.

  “We’re good. Too bad we haven’t seen you much.”

  “Much? As in nine months since the Effies?”

  “Yeah, we thought we’d see you more often after that,” he said, inching up towards the guy taking orders at the bar.

  “Me, too.”

  He looked at her funny, but they didn’t have time to explore the reason. It was their turn. “Another white wine?”

  “Vodka, double, rocks, splash of something, anything,” she said, needing liquid help to forget her unrequited obsession, who was engaged to be married in weeks.

  Dex handed her a tumbler, and led them to a spot by an aggressively green ficus to talk above the din.

  “Cheers,” he said, touching his glass to hers.

  “Cheers. To Phoenix’s wedding.” She downed half the drink, waiting for the near-instant numbing she was sure to experience on an empty stomach.

  “Wedding? What wedding?” he asked, his bushy brows pulling his normally drooping eyes up with them.

  “To Tish?” she pronounced, glancing at him askance. “In April? At Cipriani’s?”

  Dex’s face twisted, like a schoolboy trying to untangle a complex math equation. “April? Cipriani’s? He’s not getting married.”

  “He’s not?” She saw them. Arms wrapped around each other. Phoenix’s eyes filled with tenderness and desire.

  Before they could delve into this surprising revelation, Joan bounded over, striding as easily on four-inch heels as if she’d been barefoot on new-mown grass.

  “I’ve come to say goodbye to my favorite creative genius. But you’re not going to let me go without saying hello to your hotshot founder, are you?” she teased.

  “Ha, of course not. Let’s see if he’s done with his call,” Dex said, leading them down a corridor opening up to a series of offices featuring floor to ceiling plate-glass windows. The walls along the corridor were also clear glass, leaving unobstructed views of Midtown under late afternoon sun.

  Orchid tipped the glass up to her mouth for the last few icy drops of courage and, leaving the tumbler on a tray, followed them.

  The end of the corridor opened to a large, glass-walled conference room. Inside, Phoenix leaned back in a cream-colored leather chair, face tilted up, talking at a conference phone on the elongated table. He commanded the space, the room, the whole agency. Liv perched at the edge of her seat nearer the door, bent over an iPad, partially blocking Orchid’s view of Phoenix.

  Noticing the trio, Phoenix put up two fingers. Catching her boss’ action, Liv turned towards the glass wall. Her gla
nce traveled from Dex to Joan, and then settled onto Orchid. Behind half-moon spectacles, her eyes narrowed.

  The call ended. He stood straight and strong and strode to meet them just as Dex ushered the women into the conference room. They nodded their hellos. Phoenix’s shirt sleeves were pushed up to his elbows. Orchid stared at him, not comprehending.

  Oh no! His eyes affixed on hers. Then he met the group just inside the door and greeted Joan. Orchid could make no sense of their conversation, as every word was muffled under the weight of another revelation, one that annihilated news of the non-wedding or move to China.

  Her stomach twisted as she squeezed her eyes. She swallowed to mitigate the shock. Feelings swayed. Poor Phoenix.

  “Bye, Joan,” he said.

  Oh God, he was standing so close. His voice reverberated through her. She forced herself to look at him. She met his eyes and she read her own transparency in his expression. His mouth turned down in dismay, his nostrils flared and quivered for a whisper of a second, his gaze cast upon hers and hardened as he took in her demeanor.

  Stop. Phoenix is alive. He pulsed with life, energy in every wink of the eye and animated gesture. He was more than okay. His presence filled the room, dwarfing them all.

  Phoenix whom she’d fallen for. Phoenix who’d abandoned her. In between, he’d been broken.

  Joan turned to go. “Are you coming?” she asked.

  Orchid faced her boss. “Not yet, you go ahead,” she said.

  Dex escorted Joan out.

  Slipping her Fort Knox bag off her shoulder and onto the ground by her feet, Orchid stepped towards Phoenix. Liv took a position in front of him, blocking her access. Move, wench. Liv’s lips pressed into a tight line as if she could read Orchid’s thoughts.

  “How’d you enjoy the show?” Phoenix asked, his speaking to her like honey to her ears.

  She tumbled head first into his deep blue gaze. “Show?” she asked, still addled.

  “Dolce?” he reminded her, his voice cool.

  “I wasn’t feeling well. I had to leave early,” she said, truthfully, remembering her roiling stomach over the thought that Phoenix would soon be married. “How’s Tish?”