by J. J. R.
She goes on to order pear, pecorino and squash salads and East Coast oysters. Our food arrives in a dramatic display of gourmet dining and my breath catches at the presentation.
“Gorgeous, right?” She raises one eyebrow. “So tell me, Melanie. Is Allure everything you hoped for?” She slips a small sliver of lettuce into her perfect teeth and chews daintily.
“And more.” I nod, mocking her bites without even realizing it. Equal pear to lettuce to squash ratio. “I mean, my team is amazing. They are so dedicated and brilliant. I couldn’t ask for a better group. They have graciously begun introducing me to all of the current projects. And Puppet Master is the best. She gave me the full tour, introduced me to everyone, and even mentioned office decorations?”
“Ah yes, I swear that gal should have been an interior designer. She somehow managed to convince me to the major, millions of dollar makeover that is Allure today. She pitched a pretty grand case for needing our workspace to reflect who Allure really is.”
“And it’s stunning. When she told me that, I thought she was joking.”
“That’s what she told me,” she said with a smirk.
It never occurred to me that Queen Bee and Puppet Master might be having conversations about me. It never crossed my mind that I may be important enough to come across their lips. What else did they discuss? I suddenly felt like one of them. Like they were figuring out ways to bring me into their inner circle. I relax my shoulders as if a fairy sprinkled glittery dust along the top of my head. To be in the discussion was to be in the group. I mean, look at me! Having lunch with the Queen Bee herself. Sipping cocktails like old girlfriends. I am so lucky.
“She also mentioned you inquired about your salary? So sorry about that, Mel. That was my bad. I went and took a look at the former offerings to your predecessor and compared to industry average. We already surpassed industry, but I wanted to give a little something extra to our new favorite Marketing Director.”
I lean forward in anticipation, trying desperately to keep my nonverbals in check. After all, I need her to think I am worth every penny.
“What were you making at LEP?” she wonders, leaving her fork against her lip momentarily. “Say, a hundred and twenty?”
“Yes, almost exactly. That is amazing.”
“This isn’t my first rodeo. But tsk, tsk on them.” She throws her head back in her staple cackle. “They knew you were worth more, but didn’t give you the time of day. No wonder you came to paradise.”
She’s really building this up. I feel exactly as I did on the first day. Like I might pop in anticipation.
“Normally, we negotiate upfront, darling. However, I wanted to hear from my team how you were doing. If you settled, if it’s the right fit. You understand?” She narrows her eyes a bit, her extensions almost swallowing up her cat eye-lined, piercing blue eyes.
Oh shit! Is she letting me go? Her team reported back that I’m indeed not the right fit. She gave it a week to even see if my pay was worth paying? I am going to vomit.
“Darling! Don’t look so nervous. You are worth more than I anticipated. Everyone thinks so. I’m prepared to offer you one point one to stay on with the winning team.” She leans back and crosses her legs, watching my face go from anguish to elation.
“Million?” I finally croak out, and she immediately bursts into a cackle.
“If it were my own money? I’d pay you two, but we think you need something to strive for. We all have to have goals after all.”
I blink, very aware that my jaw has fallen so far, it is now almost sweeping across the table.
“So, you accept?” She places her hand with the mini skating rink upon mine.
“I’ve never meant yes more in my life.”
* * * *
Once she’s delivered me back to my office in a whirlwind of shock, I sink down into my chair. I watch the screensaver bounce around my desktop for what feels like an eternity. Blinking. Swallowing. That’s all I can manage. One point one million dollars. That’s the kind of money Manhattan is made of, but I never thought in my wildest of dreams that I would have a shot in hell at earning anything near that. I’m a simple mid-westerner, just playing the part of corporate executive. Finn often tells me I’m worth more here in this city of cold cash, but I have always thought I was well paid. What did anyone need that much money for anyways?
Finn. I have to see Finn. I glance at the clock and it’s nearly five. Our little lunch getaway turned into two additional cocktails, a cappuccino for dessert, and for the cherry on top? A pit stop into Prada for my first bonus in the form of a twenty-five hundred dollar bag. I absolutely resisted. She absolutely insisted.
“Pick one! Consider it my personal thank you for accepting this role. We have to celebrate life’s little occasions. Pink? Purple? Ooo, look at the cream one.” She wrapped her arms around the satchels like they were precious children. “If you don’t pick one, I’ll be forced to pick one for you! All of my girls got a bag upon joining and the gentlemen get a top of the line suit. It’s customary.”
I finally gave in and clung to the cherry red bag, knowing it isn’t my style at all, but I’m a new woman. A woman with a one point one million dollar paycheck.
Finn is going to die.
Allure 101
Bitch Problem:
A clique. What’s worse than one bully? Five.
The look on his face. Ghost white. Eyes bulging. Mouth open.
“Babe? Can you say something?” I say with a teasing poke. It’s as if I just told him we won the lottery. Oh wait, we did.
“You are full of shit,” he finally manages.
I sit back and sip my margarita, enjoying this moment entirely too much. “Not shit. Money.” I offer a wink. I am loving wealthy Melanie! So confident and fabulous.
“Is there a condition? I mean did she offer you a contract? Make you hit some outrageous goal to earn this salary? There is no way you are just going to start getting regular paychecks of like twenty-five thousand dollars every two weeks. Oh my God.” He has officially stopped blinking.
“Don’t you worry, Mr. I-already-did-the-math-and-consider-my-mind-blown.” I study his face. His beautiful lips slowly close to swallow and then crack into the widest grin I’ve ever seen.
“I can’t believe it. You’re sure?” he says through his gorgeous grin.
“Cross my heart.” I sigh and slide toward him to kiss his neck.
He lets out a loud holler and the bar pauses in time to stare.
“Hush,” I say and laugh. “People are going to think we’re insane.”
“I can’t fucking believe it. We’re loaded! Like, book the cruise then buy the cruise and the country you land on kind of rich! Yeah!” He has now slid out of the bench and is presently doing the funky chicken in the middle of the pub.
I cover my eyes in mock embarrassment. “Stop acting a fool. You are so new money. Get over here and give me a smooch.” I laugh.
“You bet your ass I will, sugar mama.” He leans my head back and kisses me with a vigor that makes everything stir in the right places.
* * * *
Our weekend is filled with wedding plans. I sort of wish I had taken Assistant up on her offer to come along because I could really use someone other than Finn right now. For starters, we are registering. Finn thinks it is ridiculous, that we should be buying our guests gifts because we are presently loaded. As of noon, he has already spent over two thousand dollars on a suit he needed, but will never wear, a new watch, some flowers from a street vendor, the most incredibly expensive brunch I’ve ever tasted, and is now browsing the cufflinks department.
I pull him away, begging him to stop charging things. The money isn’t in our account; it is barely available in credit on our cards. We can’t possibly spend money that we don’t have. He is so seductive though with those sexy sunglasses, then new shoes and a cashmere sweater he insists is necessary for Thanksgiving. After all, he wondered? How could he believe I wasn’t lying about the mon
ey unless he proactively spends it?
So, I let him go and take my handy little scanner to the bedding department. The white down comforter, sparkly heart-shaped pillows and gazillion thread count sheets will be perfect for our marital bliss.
“Excuse me, miss?” I ask an attendant.
“Yes?” She turns my way.
“How much for this therapeutic mattress? The adjustable one that elevates and adjusts to my body temperature automatically?” I run my hands along the plush cushion.
“Only six thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine.” She smiles sweetly.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Can you deliver tomorrow?” I grin sheepishly before spotting Finn running by, laden with bags, toward the kitchenware.
* * * *
All together we spend—gasp—ten thousand, four hundred and five dollars in a six hour period.
“Eh.” Finn laughs, fastening his new silk necktie in the mirror over a t-shirt and boxers. “So what, it’s less than one of your paychecks. We’ll pay it back in like a week.”
* * * *
Our Diner’s Club has been rescheduled to this evening and I’ve made Finn swear not to say a peep about our new wealth. Although, he is currently strutting in about two thousand dollars’ worth of clothing through Chirping Chicken off Amsterdam Ave. Hey, I didn’t say we went to the fanciest of restaurants. Our Club’s requirement is simply good food and somewhere none of us have ever been before.
“My, my, my aren’t we spiffy?” Jade gives Finn the once over. “You do know they serve on paper plates right?”
“Hush, hush. I can eat a rack of ribs in cashmere.” He sniffs the air in approval.
“I believe you mean, fried chicken?” Jade’s boyfriend, Trevor points toward an older gentleman in the corner wearing sweatpants and currently power housing a stack of greasy chicken.
“Mmm…mmm…mmm, bring it!” He rolls up his sleeves and steps up to order.
Believe me, I want to order fried chicken, mac and cheese, maybe some potato salad, but I settle for the chicken Greek salad. I shouldn’t say settle because it is scrumptious, but damn it, it isn’t mac and cheese. I’d punch Finn in the face for some noodles right about now. I only pick on Finn because he just shoved the largest bite of ooey, gooey, cheesy goodness into his face.
“So how’s the new job? Do you love it?” Jade snaps me back from my personal culinary pain.
“Go ahead babe, tell them!” Finn offers a greasy wink.
“Tell us what?” Kate pipes in, munching on a French fry.
“Nothing, he’s just being silly. He was pretty excited about my paycheck, that’s all.” I could kill him! I told him not to say anything. Jade is massively underpaid and Kate is always calling her mom in Jersey to help her with the rent.
“Oh yea? Big city girl makin’ big bucks?” Kate raises her eyebrows up and down.
“I mean it’s a little bit more…” I say and take a bite of plain, tragic lettuce.
“A little?” Finn coughs on his chicken.
I nudge him hard in the side. He groans.
“Anyway, I really love it. Everyone is so nice. Way nicer than you would expect from a company of that size. And my team? They are so smart and eager to learn. I love them.”
“What about the one girl? Puppet Master? Is she all that you thought she’d be or has she cracked under her perfection yet?” Jade teases, but I can see it in her eyes. She wants me to hate it. She wishes I were back with her at LEP. The good ole’ days filled with coffee breaks and morning chats in her office.
“She’s alright,” I offer, trying hard not to seem too excited. “Still nice.”
“Nice?” Finn bursts. “She is taking you out on the town Monday night and then she’s taking her office decorating shopping. I mean who gets an office decorating budget? Our Mel’s in the big leagues now.”
I shoot him a warning look. He ignores and scrapes the bottom of his mac and cheese cup. I’m honestly tempted to slap him first and then kiss him for a hint of that cheesy heaven.
“Good for you, Mel. You deserve it.” Jade smiles weakly and just about breaks my heart into a thousand pieces.
“I miss you though,” I whisper across the table, making her smile a little.
We spend the next hour recalling memories of Diner’s Club outings gone wrong. Tonight? A smashing success. However, it hasn’t always been the case.
There is the time the cheese was so greasy on the pizza it slid off into Trevor’s lap and left a triangle shaped stain around his crotch. Or the time, Kate thought she ordered an alcoholic free strawberry limeade, drank six, because they tasted so good and well, she can consume that many calories without it touching her pants line. The rest of us were stone cold sober and she was flailing around the restaurant after all kinds of men. Married. Gay. Single. It didn’t matter. She was crooning over their hair line, eye color, and in some cases, outfits. We thought she was just being Kate until we heard the shock of the crowd gasp as Kate hit the floor.
Married. A wife socked her in the face.
My absolute favorite Diner’s Club gone wrong had to have been the time we all erroneously trusted a small, hole in the wall Mexican restaurant just outside of Times Square. And by favorite, I mean, catastrophic. It was near countless other tourist destinations and it didn’t seem too fishy, if you don’t consider down fifty-flights into the basement of an old mill to be fishy. The reviews considered it “unique” and “surprising”. We learned that lesson the hard way.
About twenty minutes into our meal, I heard the low, drawn out growl of Jade’s stomach.
“Was that thunder?” I teased over the mariachi band. Yes, I heard it over the mariachi band.
“Shut up, I don’t feel very good.” She bowed her head and tried to breathe.
“Too much queso for one gal to handle?” Finn asked and stuffed a huge nacho smothered in guacamole and ground beef into his mouth.
Jade pulled her hand over her mouth. “Don’t say that word!”
“Jade?” I asked, suddenly realizing how seriously pale she was.
“What, queso?” Trevor asked before he and Finn broke out in bro high fives.
Jade leapt from her chair and dashed to the bathroom, of which according to her, she barely made it into the stall before heaving everything she had eaten that week into the toilet.
Everyone laughed, except for me. I rolled my eyes, touting them insensitive assholes. Especially you, Kate. I’ve held her hair many a times. She should be more empathetic.
I entered the bathroom to find a profusely sweating Jade hunched over the toilet begging for mercy.
“Oh Jade,” I said and lifted her long dark curls from around her sticky cheeks. She had a sweat line inching all along her spine. Poor girl.
I let her throw up until nothing was left and then dabbed her head with a wet paper towel.
“You must have the flu,” I say, sigh and wipe little chunks from her mouth.
She sat back against the stall door and closed her eyes.
“I mean, what on earth?” I asked.
“Must be the flu if you guys don’t feel this way,” she mumbled precisely at the moment I leapt to the toilet and hurled.
This went on for about an hour and a half. One by one, each of our mocking friends dashed to the bathroom to retch nachos, pico de gallo, margaritas, guacamole, ground beef, sour cream. Every single treat found its way into the hands of the parceling gods, leaving us a staggering, trembling, sweaty mess up the street toward my loft, where everyone stayed the night. They couldn’t possibly think about hailing a cab or walking an inch further for fear of passing out.
The Mexican restaurant was kind enough to relieve us our bill.
Ah, memories.
Those are the best times, I think as I watch my friends around the table, laughing and carrying on. I am so lucky. I might, just maybe, actually have it all.
* * * *
By the time Monday rolls around, I am rested and ready to roll. Before I’m
off the elevator, I’ve had a coffee, on my second, and may or may not have slammed a 5-hour ENERGY. I am questioning if it were a mistake as my hand shakes violently clutching the extra coffee I have brought in to Puppet Master as a thank you.
When I reach her office, she is on her phone but waves me in with an eager smile. I don’t mean to listen in but can’t help myself.
“It was as if she didn’t even read the email! Well, what are you going to do? Right. Yeah, we can’t save them all. Haha. You are bad. Okay, you too.” She hangs up the phone and squeals, “You shouldn’t have! You doll!” She reaches for the warm, festive mug. “Please tell me it’s low on cals?”
“Of course! Like I would drink anything above a hundred. Splenda all the way. Yours is a black coffee with skim milk and mock sugar,” I say, hoping my splash of hazelnut and pumpkin spice don’t drift her way.
“Good girl.” She ushers me into the seat in front of her desk. “Where should we go tonight? And do you care if Pawn and Jock join us? They are dying to get to know you.”
“I’d like that. Anywhere you guys want. Honestly, not picky. And I do have a meeting with them at eleven, so it will be nice to get to know them there,” I say.
“Not that kind of get to know! Ha! You are so sweet. I’m talking like the really get to know you convo. The one where you confess embarrassing stories and tell me why you really left LEP!”
I laugh awkwardly. “I...uh…” I mumble.
“Kidding!” She cracks herself up. “We know you are a good egg. But still, don’t be prepared to talk work. That’s the last thing we do at our happy hours. See you at four?”
I rise from my chair and take a sip from my nine hundred calorie latte. “Perfect.” I say.
* * * *
My eleven o’clock meeting is the beginning of my strategic plan. I am dedicated to meet with key players, groups and executives to get their take on the current marketing strategy. I want them to feel comfortable with me to voice concerns or share ideas. This is a great opportunity to build my relationships and gain trust through their feedback. I plan to listen with my eyes as well as my ears. Make them feel important. And to learn above all else.