Della

by Julie Michele Gettys

  While most of the kids had two parents, new or used, she just had her mother, and Lillian didn’t relish having a daughter hanging around, getting in the way of her business. Lillian had told her that her father knew who she was, but wanted nothing to do with her. He was one of many men who’d crossed Lillian’s doorstep. When Lillian conceived Della, he said he was too young, didn’t want to be strapped down with a wife he didn’t love and a kid he couldn’t afford. So, he paid Lillian to abort. Instead, she took a vacation, bought herself a few snappy outfits, then sat back and waited for the birth of her daughter and for the welfare checks to start rolling in.

  Oh, God, why dredge up all these atrocious memories? When Lillian sent her out on her own, she made it perfectly clear she wasn’t going to tell her who her father was. That meant Della had only herself to rely on. Feeling sorry for herself wasn’t the way to get what she wanted most. And she’d never understood why it was so important that she impress Lillian. She needed a psychiatrist to tap into that one.

  “Hey, girl,” she said aloud. “The weather’s perfect. It’s one of those grand Los Angeles days when the smog is hurling its way out to sea, and the humidity is low. You’re alive. Get a life.”

  She rolled down the window, turned on the radio and sang along with Celine Dion, faking the words, and off-key, of course.

  Traffic was light. Up ahead was an out-of-the-way golf course. Since she and Celia hadn’t set any particular time for Della’s arrival, and golf being one of her passions, she decided to squeeze in nine holes.

  Kent, her ex-husband, had warned her if she didn’t learn the game, she’d end up a “grass widow.” She had learned, and learned well. She played such a fine game, other players walked up and told her what a beautiful swing she had. That pissed Kent off royally, particularly if he’d been playing badly.

  Since it was afternoon and the morning players had abandoned the place, she had no trouble getting on. She could play alone.

  As she teed up, the starter announced over the loudspeaker, “Miss Garland, this gentleman would like to join you.” Damn! She didn't want to play with anyone.

  A strikingly good looking man ambled up to her side. “My name's Rick. Mind if I join you?”

  Yes, I do, she thought. You can't. I'm in no mood to play with anyone right now. I came here to be alone. Just because you’re an Adonis with all those muscles rippling under your T-shirt, a gorgeous head of thick black hair, and a set of warm cobalt eyes filled with expectation doesn't mean I'm going to be alone with you in this beautiful sunshine for the next two hours. “Great,” tumbled out of her mouth, “but I hope I don't slow you down.”

  He shot her a devastating grin. “Ladies first.”

  She stood over the ball and trembled.

  “Don't you think you should go up to the ladies's tee?” he said in a superior tone.

  “No, I like to hit from back here.” Why the hell was she so nervous? After all, he was only a man. She concentrated, drew her club back slowly over her shoulder, held perfectly still for a split-second, then threw her whole body into her downswing and sent the ball soaring more than two hundred yards down the center of the narrow fairway.

  “Holy shit,” Rick sputtered. “Excuse the French, but you can’t be more than five-foot-two, and you hit that ball like a man.”

  She looked up at him and smiled demurely. “Haven’t you heard that dynamite comes in small packages?” Della released a long grateful sigh. She would never have recovered if she’d duffed her first shot.

  Before finishing three holes, he carried her bag on one shoulder and his on the other. She felt comfortable with him. He was easy to talk to, and his gentle grin left an indelible impression on her. By the ninth hole, she had decided to take him up on his offer to play the back nine. Newport and Celia, ta-ta.

  The warm afternoon sun, Adonis, and playing a spectacular game helped her shed the weight of the past few days from her shoulders. Momentarily, she felt no pain or remorse.

  At the end of the game, he escorted her into the snack bar and they laughed and talked nonstop through a hot dog and two beers each. She found herself struck with a calamitous case of love at first sight, which she had sworn off the day she left her husband.

  “Would you like to play next week?”

  “Love it. But let's play a more challenging course.”

  “I'll make reservations and call you...if you'll give me your number.”

  Della hesitated. She remembered the day Kent walked into her office to make plane reservations for Las Vegas. She’d felt the same instant attraction, had dated him for four months, and married him. He nearly ruined her life. No seconds for her; at least, not unless she was sure to succeed.

  “Here,” he pulled a card from his wallet, “you call me and tell me where we play.”

  Her feelings for this stranger had struck her so hard, she was stunned. Instead of continuing her journey to Newport, she called her friend, canceled, turned around in a daze and headed home. Why was this happening again? Where was the armor she had placed around her heart? Why now? Why did Rick Courtney make her heart flutter and give her a case of the jelly legs? And why was she thinking of calling him the minute she got home and asking him to her place for dinner? Once again, she dropped her life in her purse like a tube of lipstick, and did not give a rat’s ass about her painstaking plans not to act like her mother.

  Despite the warning signals running rampant in her brain, she felt a new energy, a zest for life. Funny, how a man could have this effect on her. She poured the remaining scotch and gin down the drain, sat at the dining room table and went through the list of travel agencies where she had connections. By God, one of these agencies had a job for her. Next time, if she ran into a wall too high to climb, she’d find another job first, then leave with dignity. You can sit on it, Jack Davis. You’ll regret your hasty action.

  Monday morning burst through the half-closed blinds like a bolt of lightning. Della jumped from her bed, took a cold shower, and dressed in her finest. She decided to take half of her nest egg and shop for clothes. Not ordinary clothes--power clothes. If she must throw herself on the mercy of a new boss, she might as well take some of Jack’s advice and try to look her best. A new ‘do, new clothes, a new attitude, and maybe even a new dude. She quivered at the thought.

  In front of the mirror, she approved her reflection. Della does LaLa Land. She must start over and not look back. No toilets, no burgers, no welfare. After all, she had two years of college, six years’s experience working for Jack in the travel business, and a good head for figures. She could do anything she set her mind to, even if it meant building up her qualifications a little to get a job. Whatever it took!

  In Studio City, The Working Woman, a dress shop she never felt was within her reach, awaited her. She bought herself two new suits, with blouses and accessories to match. These would be her uniforms until she got her first paycheck. Once she had fifteen interchangeable outfits, enough to look different every day for three or four weeks, she might start saving for a new car. Something with pizzazz. Thank you, Jack Davis, and I don’t need any bleeping Barbizon, either.

  Decked out in one of her new outfits, she pounded the pavement, calling on old friends in the business to see if they had anything now, or coming up in the near future. Over the next three days, at each office she visited, it was like a veil had been dropped around her.

  Had Jack blackballed her?

  She shook her head. She wouldn’t put it past him; Jack didn’t like being crossed. But this wasn’t funny. With her new clothes, the rent due, and her cupboards looking emptier every day, she was on the brink of deep doo-doo.

  By Wednesday, she was freaking out. In the back of her mind, she had believed finding a new job would be a snap. She was well-known and respected in this business. Why, even old Gates thought she was great.

  Thank God, she dumped her booze. No more drinks for her–a good motto to remember on the down days when drowning in the stuff felt so good. Th
e chicken way out; Lillian’s way out.

  Finally, her quiet phone rang for the first time since she’d been fired. She thought of all the offices she’d been to over the past few days and wondered if maybe, just maybe, one of those folks out there had come up with her dream job. Before she reached the phone, it stopped ringing. Her heart sank. Damn, her answering machine was off; must have done that in a stupor.

  The time had come to get out of her cocoon and take life seriously--if she wanted to eat and have a roof over her head, that is. The phone didn’t ring again the rest of the day.

  That night, she lay in bed and thought about Rick. She hadn’t made a tee time for this week as she’d promised, nor had she called him. With time to think and her feet planted firmly on the ground, she decided she was in no position to get involved with a man, even Adonis. She had to find a job. The zestful feeling was gone, and so was the fear of falling into the same old mantrap.

  * * *

  Jack Davis sat behind his big oak desk. His office was like a tomb. Without Della flitting about, the place felt like somebody had pulled the plug. But no woman was going to pin him against the wall and tell him what to do. His mother had done enough of that to last him a lifetime. It was she who, after years of making every decision for him, telling him when and where to get on and off, finally made him turn his back on the family travel business and set up shop for himself. In ten years, he was on the move, surpassing his parents’s business.

  Della bursting in, holding him up for the new office when he had already settled on Gary Evans, made him snap. People thought of Jack as wishy-washy, but that was just a facade. Nice guy outside, man of steel inside.

  Over the years, he’d learned to put a lid on his emotions, which to some represented weakness. But he was far from weak. He puffed up his chest. He guarded himself and rarely made snap decisions, like he had with Della. No woman had the right to tell him what to do, especially when it came to his business. And that’s how he handled his personal life, too. Maybe that’s why he’d never held onto a woman. From his perspective, controlling him was all most of them wanted to do.

  Della had a long way to go before she was ready to run one of his offices. She didn’t know how to dress; she was crude in many ways. With her background, it was understandable. She was lucky to have come as far as she had. Too bad he hadn’t drummed up the nerve to talk to her earlier, help her get her act together. Lord knows, he had many opportunities to do so; they had spent countless evenings on bar stools, drinking after work. She’d told him plenty about her past; how angry she was with her father–maybe as angry as Jack was with his mother, and Della didn’t even know the man. God help the poor sucker if she ever found him.

  Granted, Jack had hinted at giving her an office after she snagged the Gates account, but that was a fluke. Gates had gotten Della on the phone because she answered first. She put together a great trip for him and his family. Hell, Gary, Amy, or any of the staff could have done the same thing. So, why sit here and rehash the past?

  Jack remembered the first day at the job fair on the City College campus when Della said she thought the travel business sounded interesting, and didn’t mind starting at the bottom just to learn. In spite of her tacky appearance, he had been impressed with her enthusiasm and hired her on the spot. She reminded him of a young Bette Midler, only prettier. He thought time and a little experience would help her bloom. Well, she bloomed all right. She worked her tail off, handled clients with aplomb, kept the office humming–but running her own office, uh-uh. With another year’s experience and a makeover, maybe. “Della, Della, Della, you little twit. Why couldn’t you have trusted me?”

  His private line rang.

  “Mr. Davis, this is Iris Hartman.”

  “Hi, Iris. To what do I owe the privilege?”

  “Mr. Gates would like to speak with you.”

  Jack hated it when secretaries and assistants placed puffed-up executives’s calls for them. He’d been to parties with Gates, talked with him from time to time. The least he could do was call him directly.

  “Hi, Jack,” came Gates’s booming voice. “I won’t waste your time, but I understand Della Garland has left your employ.”

  Jack was on alert. He stammered. “She turned in her resignation.”

  “What are her plans? Is she moving to another agency?”

  “Wait a minute. Nothing’s final.”

  “We’ll be moving our business to wherever she goes. I thought I’d let you know. Until further notice, we’ll be doing our own travel arrangements. Thank you for past service. You’ll surely miss Della. She was an asset to your firm.”

  “We’re having a cooling-down period,” he lied, then brazenly went on, “We should be making the final decision this week.” God, he prayed Della hadn’t found another job. Fortunately, he put out the word on her.

  He had to get her back.

  Losing the Gates account would delay the opening of his new office. As a matter of fact, without the Gates account, he couldn’t open the new office. Jack didn’t run a tight fiscal company.

  Gates said, “Sorry, old buddy. It was Della I wanted to handle my account.” Wes hung up without a good-bye, which also irritated the hell out of Jack. He thought they only did that in movies.

  Jack slammed down the receiver, then shook for a solid five minutes.

  That bitch had him by the gonads.

  * * *

  The next morning, the phone rang before Della’s coffee had finished dripping. This time, she grabbed the receiver on the second ring.

  “Della,” came Iris’s familiar voice. “I heard the news.”

  “Look, Iris, I feel like a fool. I asked for your advice, then didn’t take it.” She paused. “How’d you find out?”

  “One of the girls from the office told me. I think you did the right thing. I told Wes about it. He asked me to call you to see if you’d like to come in Monday and meet with him.”

  “You’re kidding! He wants to see me personally?”

  “He does, indeed. When I complained about doing the travel again, he said we’ll work it out. So, I guess he has something in mind for you. Are you interested?”

  “Iris, you’re making me the happiest girl in the world!”

  “Be here at ten sharp. Wes is very punctual.”

  She hung up the phone and jumped in the air, her knuckles in her mouth to break the scream in her throat. She grabbed her teddy bear and danced around the room, singing, “We’re in the money, honey.”

  A loud knock came at the door. Della froze. She wasn’t expecting anyone. “Who is it?” she said through the closed door.

  “Your boss, Jack.”

  3

  Della yanked open the door. “Well, as I live and breathe, if it isn’t my old boss, Jack Davis.” Had she forgotten something in her desk he thought important enough to drop off? Sure, as if old Jack would inconvenience himself. Sending a messenger was more his style, just like he’d done a few days ago. She had sobbed as she unpacked her daily planner, her special pens, even those dumb business cards, and a bag containing her set of cosmetics for freshening up at the office, her toothbrush and toothpaste.

  “What’s up?” She pretended to be casual, leaning against the door. He wore his usual spiffy gray suit, the narrow, old-fashioned tie, and a starched white shirt. He shot his cuffs and cleared his throat.

  “I came to apologize.”

  She remembered how callously he slammed that resignation letter on her desk, without even thinking she might be bluffing; he made her turn in her keys, as if she’d sneak in after hours and steal something. Hadn’t she worked for him six years, lived in that office night and day?

  Stepping back, she allowed Jack into the apartment. “Why apologize?”

  “Because I acted as hastily as you did. I want you back. It isn’t the same without you.” He turned around and looked her in the eye. “Ever see a great big tank filled with water, greenery, a filter bubbling away and no fish? It’s pitiful. Tha
t’s the way the office feels.”

  For one brief moment, she forgave him. “Thanks, I needed that.” Then she walked past him to the kitchen, laughing. He followed. “So, you’re one of those men who think of women as fish?”

  He flushed and cleared his throat. “You get the next office.” His right eyebrow arched. She thought of Wes Gates and her Monday appointment. The potential at Gates was far more exciting than returning to her gunmetal desk at Jack’s.

  “Even if I don’t have any class?” She shook her head. “Want anything to drink?”

  “No, thanks.”

  She moved to the living room and sat, trying to get her bearings. Jack joined her on the couch. What a shock. He was the last person she expected at her doorstep. For a moment, she thought it might be Rick Courtney, that he had put out his feelers and found her. How romantic! Here she sat, depressed one minute, and the next feeling as though she were floating on air with two giant businessmen chasing her down, and a sexy man hot for her bod. What was a girl to do with all this attention? As soon as Jack left, she’d call Rick and invite him for an early round of golf and breakfast at her place afterward. She might even try to impress him with her cooking.

  “Jack, you came at a bad time. I can’t decide right away.”

  “You have another job?” Fear crept across his face.

  “No,” she stated flatly, still wondering if Jack had had anything to do with her icy reception from her so-called friends in the travel business.

  “Then, what’s your problem? I’m offering you what you wanted.”