by Ann Simas
Sophie decided to remain with her butt planted firmly on the floor, but she reached up and curled her fingers around the handrail just because it gave her a modicum of security.
When the doors swished open, a group of gawkers (literally, they had their mouths hanging open) stared at her in silence. Sophie explained the situation as she got to a standing position on shaky legs.
Robbie pushed his way through the small crowd. “You okay, Sophie?”
“Sure. Great. Never better. That was quite a ride.” Wobbling on unsteady ankles, she was grateful for small favors. Because her car had been stolen, she’d resorted to walking to-and-from the bus stop wearing flats. In three-inch heels, she would have no doubt been back on her tush in front of all these people.
Robbie scratched his head. “I never even got a chance to call the elevator company.”
“They should still come out and take a look.” She shook her head, half dazed. “The memo we got said the elevators would come back down to the main level in an emergency and that’s exactly what this one did.”
He peered into the compartment even as the others waiting to board it backed away. He stepped inside and inserted a key into the panel that effectively shut down the car. “Sorry, folks, but until the elevator people show up, this ride is closed.”
A few people grumbled, even though it was obvious they had no plans to step foot inside. The adjoining elevator doors slid open. As soon as the passengers exited, the waiting group squeezed in. The doors eased closed and the elevator shot upward.
“I think I’ll take the stairs,” Sophie said.
Robbie gaped. “Up twelve floors?”
Sophie spared a glance at the recalcitrant lift. “I don’t feel like getting on another elevator right now.” She reached out and squeezed his arm. “Thanks for your help.”
“Didn’t do nothin’.”
“Were you able to reach my office?”
“Oh, yeah, I did do that, I guess.”
By the fifth floor landing, Sophie was glad she hadn’t grabbed her laptop that morning. On the eighth floor landing, she sank down on the bottom step, panting, thinking maybe she should join a gym. From the eleventh floor landing, she practically crawled the last flight of stairs. Once she reached the door marked 12, she collapsed against it, struggling for breath.
She eased the door open and peeked out to see if the hall was clear. Once assured that it was, she slid through the opening and tiptoed to the door marked LADIES, hoping no one was inside. Her hopes were dashed, of course, but what choice did she have except to enter? She was soaked with sweat, her heart rate was through the roof, and her feet hurt so bad she was thinking of having them amputated.
Joanie, the receptionist, stared at her in shock. “What happened to you?”
“Got stuck in the elevator. When it finally went back down, I decided to walk up instead.”
“Wow! You look like hell.”
“Gee, thanks,” Sophie said drolly. Then she got a look at herself in the mirror. “Ohmygod!” Her face was beet red. Her hair, confined in a loose knot earlier, was half up, half down, and looked like it hadn’t been brushed in a week. Her mascara, smudged beneath each eye, ran in rivulets down her sweaty cheeks. Her shirt was sweat-damp, like she’d run up twelve flights of stairs. Oh, wait. She hadn’t run up anything.
“You better fix yourself before you go see Jonathan.”
Transfixed by her Halloween appearance, Sophie said, “I don’t remember having an appointment with Jon this morning.” When Joanie’s response didn’t come immediately, Sophie’s gaze slid right.
Joanie’s reflection was wonky. Her eyes darted every which way, her mouth opened and closed like the proverbial fish out of water, and she bounced up and down like some crazed ballerina who couldn’t get lift off.
“What gives?” Sophie asked.
“Umm, I don’t know. Jonathan just said he wanted to see you as soon as you came in.” She glanced at her watch. “Geez, I better get back to my desk.”
Sophie should have been suspicious right then, but Jonathan Heywood was a stern boss, which is why he served as managing partner of Adz, and Sydney Ferris, a woman who actually had a heart, had taken the role of supervising partner. Employees balked at stern; they liked flexibility, security, and kindness.
Sophie had been gifted with a talent for fresh and creative advertising design that had paired well with having Syd for a supervisor. Syd reeled in the clients and Sophie kept them happy with her originality. Another three years on the job and she hoped to make partner. At least that’s what Syd and Jon had promised her.
Maybe they’d shortened the timeline!
She peeled off her shirt and held it in front of the hand dryer, hoping the dark circles under her armpits wouldn’t be too noticeable when they dried. After that, she dampened a paper towel with cold water and attempted to repair the mascara damage. Several minutes later, she examined herself in the mirror and frowned. A human raccoon stared back. What a day to make partner, looking like something out of a horror movie.
Ten minutes later, her hair finger-combed and redone in a less haphazard knot, she deemed herself as presentable as she was going to get without going home to start over. She tossed her purse into her tiny, windowless office and marched on down to Jon’s massive corner suite. The one with windows on two walls.
“Good morning, Irene.” She couldn’t contain a smile, so jittery was she with anticipation.
“’Morning,” Jon’s assistant, mumbled back, sans return smile. She indicated with a wave of her hand to go on in, her eyes downcast.
Sophie’s insides clenched with that something’s-not-right feeling. Her smile faltered. “Good morning, Jon.”
Jonathan Heywood looked up from his work and nodded at her, his expression serious, as always. “Please close the door.”
Sophie did as instructed and promptly went into semi-panic mode. No more smiley face for her.
Closed door. This didn’t have anything to do with making partner. She’d underestimated how pissed he’d be about her tardiness. “I’m sorry about this morning, Jon. We had a power outage and my alarm didn’t go off.”
He waved her into silence and indicated with a quick nod for her to take a chair. “Half the office was late this morning. A tree fell in the windstorm overnight and took out a substation.”
“Oh. Was Mr. Arvakian angry because I missed the conference call?”
“He’s always angry, so who could tell? He fired us, by the way.”
Shock drained the remaining flush from Sophie’s face. Though the possibility had crossed her mind, she hadn’t seriously believed it would happen. “Fired us?”
“Yes, but that’s not why I wanted to see you. I’ve been hoping for some time that jackass would seek representation elsewhere. He’s so demanding, our resources were being stretched beyond limits with no resulting benefit to the company.”
Sophie disagreed, but no one argued with Jon. “So, why did you want to see me, then?”
Jonathan closed the file he was working on and set it aside. He folded his hands together on the desktop. “I’m afraid we have to let you go, Sophie.”
She’d already experienced so many levels of shock that morning, Sophie wasn’t sure she heard him correctly. “I’m sorry?”
“I said, we are terminating your employment.”
“You’re firing me?”
“No, we’re laying you off. These are difficult economic times and we’ve lost a lot of clients over the past year. Too many others have cut back on our services.”
“Not because of me!” Sophie protested. Her clients were all still at the level they’d contracted at initially, and many were higher.
“No, of course not, but we have to cut personnel costs, and in doing so, we look at those who have the highest salaries, the most perks.”
“And that’s me?” Sophie knew for a fact that two of her co-workers had a higher salary and better perks and three others were at her same level.
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br /> “Yes.”
“Who else is getting…laid off?”
“For now, just you.”
“But….” Flummoxed, she, who made her living using words, found herself at a complete loss for even one of the little devils.
Jon picked up an envelope. “We understand that this will create a hardship for you, but we hope you will agree to the severance package we have compiled.”
Compiled, like he was putting together a list for her! Why couldn’t the dipstick talk like normal people? “Severance package?”
“Yes. We’re giving you three month’s salary, three month’s health insurance, pay for all your unused vacation time, and letters of reference from both Syd and me, as well as from the other two senior ad execs.”
Sophie remained silent, trying to process it all.
“Of course, you also have two weeks’ pay coming. We realize you may be a while without another job, so payroll has not deducted anything but the mandatories. You will be responsible for the tax burden when you file next spring.”
Tax burden. The bastard was laying her off—no, he was firing her!—and he had the nerve to talk to her about a tax burden! Who did he think he was, the freaking IRS or something?
He slid the envelope across the desk, along with a one-page document and a pen. “Please sign this separation agreement.”
God, was he an automaton or something? If she reached over and stabbed him with his pen, would he feel it?
Sophie read through the three paragraphs, stupefied. What happened if she didn’t sign? She looked up and met Jon’s blank stare. There wouldn’t be any negotiations and Jon didn’t suffer pleading. Only a masochist would try. She picked up the pen and signed the document. “I’d like a copy of this.”
“Of course.”
She opened the envelope and reviewed the documents inside. They included a check for an amount that would help pad her savings account, but wouldn’t be enough to live on past six months if she couldn’t find a new job. Everyone knew those were in short supply these days. On the up side, if she quit eating, she’d not only save money but probably drop that extra ten pounds she’d been carrying around since college.
“We appreciate your years of service, Sophie. Please clear out your office immediately. Joanie left you a couple of boxes for transporting your personal belongings.”
Transporting? Now he was comparing her to some kind of pack animal? She felt like giving him a good swift kick in the gonads.
Besides, one box would be more than sufficient. Sophie didn’t believe in mixing work with personal life, so she had few personal items in her office. She had won some prestigious awards though. “Can I take my ad—”
“No,” he cut her off, “anything earned on the job stays here.”
All the better to impress your future new clients, she thought bitterly.
“Security will escort you out” —he glanced at his Rolex— “in twenty minutes. Please be in the reception area by ten a.m.”
Sophie stood, wanting to say something, not knowing what that should be. Jon was treating her as if she’d stolen mega millions from the company instead of bringing mega millions into the company. Even for him, this all seemed so…callous, so heartless. So fucking wrong.
“Leave the door open.”
She slammed it open against the wall so hard, it bounced shut.
All the way down to her office, she mentally tossed around parting salvos in her formerly agile and creative brain. No pearls materialized. Not that she was going to go back and confront him about his dirty deed, anyway.
Her PC was shut down. She turned it on, but when she tried to log on so she could send farewell emails to her clients, she discovered her password no longer worked.
By the time she’d gathered her few personal possessions, one box remained empty and the other was only half full. Sophie scanned the walls, indecisive about removing the award certificates, especially since Jon had said not to. In the end, she pulled down the frames and extracted the certificates. She photocopied them, then placed the color copies into the frames. Screw Jon. The awards had her name on them, not his.
The shelf where her Gold Clio Award had sat was bare, but that was because she’d taken it to a woodcrafter to have a special case built for it. If they searched her when she left, which they surely planned to do if security had been called to escort her out, they wouldn’t find it in her possession. She’d heard how vultures flocked to a vacated office and pilfered the desk. Hers would be barren by noon. By the time anyone realized it was missing, maybe they’d assume someone who hadn’t been laid off had lifted it.
Her Design & Art Direction Black Pencil was more problematic. Considered by some to be the most prestigious award in the advertising industry, it had been a really big deal for the firm when she’d won. Sophie had been over the moon about it herself, but she hadn’t yet figured out how to properly display it, so the Pencil remained in her bottom drawer, in its box. Maybe….
She glanced at the wall clock, then remembered it was packed in with her meager belongings. Since she didn’t wear a wristwatch, she pulled out the clock and noted she had sixty seconds to get her butt down to the reception area. She quickly unpacked the box, pulled the Pencil award out of its nesting place and resituated it in the bottom of her box. She piled her other stuff back on top, added her purse, and put the lid on.
Seven years in a box. Not a lot to show for her first and only advertising job, but fortunately, if she ever needed a reminder of her accomplishments in years to come, she had the portfolio and scrapbook she kept at home.
Robbie was waiting for her next to Joanie’s desk. She knew his glower wasn’t for her, but on her behalf. She and Robbie had a father–daughter type of relationship. He’d lost his daughter to leukemia years before and Sophie had lost her father as a child. In a building where most people were too busy to acknowledge each other, let alone the lowly security guy, they had filled a void for each other.
“I’m sorry it came down like this,” he said gruffly, once the elevator doors had closed on Floor 12 and ensured a private conversation.
“I am a little shocked by it all,” Sophie admitted. “Jon said they had to cut personnel costs, but a number of people at Adz make a helluva lot more than I do.”
“None of them have any awards, either. At least not like yours.” He patted her box with a satisfied grin.
As expected, Robbie had been instructed to search her box. Apparently Jon didn’t know about their friendship, or he wouldn’t have assigned him the task. Not that there was anyone else on security, but Jon was not beyond hiring someone from the outside to come in and do it.
Downstairs, Robbie invited her to share a cup of coffee with him in the little office he had behind the greeting counter. Sophie agreed. “You don’t have anything to snack on, do you? I haven’t eaten yet today.”
“No wonder you’re so thin,” he said. “Margy baked me some banana nut bread yesterday. Got the whole darned thing in my office. You can eat as much as you want.”
“I’m not thin,” Sophie argued, secretly pleased. In fact, her jeans were showing a little more resistance at snap time. All those hours sitting at a desk had something to do with it. Besides, Robbie was used to snuggles with his wife Margy, who one could describe as pleasantly plump.
Over coffee and the best and most moist banana nut bread Sophie had ever tasted, they chatted. By the time over an hour had rolled by, she knew she had to hotfoot it to the bus stop, or she’d be SOL for another thirty minutes.
“I know you probably won’t want to come into the building again, but there are people here who will want to keep in touch with you when they find out what happened.”
Sophie couldn’t think who that would be.
“People like Rachel Levy,” Robbie said as if reading her mind. “And by the way, Margy told me just this morning to invite you for dinner this weekend. Can you make it?”
“If I get the car situation straightened out by then.”
He scowled. “Those bastards are still jerking you around?”
“They’re hoping to wear me out.”
Robbie grinned. “They don’t know you then, do they?”
Sophie laughed for the first time all morning. “Not by a long shot!”
They hugged and Robbie walked her out onto the plaza. She could feel his concerned gaze on her back, and she considered calling over her shoulder, It’s okay. I’ll be all right, but kept walking instead.
Once she calmed down and thought about it, losing the job she’d held for seven years wasn’t all that upsetting. No more deadlines, no more stress, no more worrying. No more Jon, which was a big plus. She might not have money for any extras for a while, but the generous severance package Adz had given her to assuage their guilt would keep her off the streets. That is, if she could find another place to live that was reasonably priced and had a landlord who wouldn’t freak because she was temporarily unemployed.
The problem was, Sophie believed in bad things coming in threes. She’d just had her run-of-three bad luck with the car, the apartment, and the washer–dryer pair.
The bad-luck events of the morning had begun a new trio. She had no family, so nothing untoward could come from that quarter. Which just left her.
Great. More bad luck to come.
She readjusted the storage box in her hands, flexing her already strained fingers as she did so. Seven years busting her buns for an ad agency, ten, sometimes twelve hours a day, and when it came time to down-size, the only award-winning senior ad executive, even if she was only twenty-nine, was out the door. With one lousy box of personal possessions. Okay, not so lousy. She still had the D&AD Black Pencil, the Gold Clio, and almost two dozen other award certificates to show for it.
“Go figure,” Sophie murmured as she stepped into the press of suits, shoppers, and other miscellaneous bodies surging in every direction across the plaza to get where they were going.