He’s wary. I knew he would be. Any time religion gets involved people get nervous. But I’m not trying to approach it from a theology standpoint; I want to approach it as a story that can be told another way.
For instance, what if the three little pigs were actually criminals that tortured the big bad wolf, or the witch in Hansel and Gretel actually meant no harm and they were sadistic children who shoved her in an oven. Okay, so it’s a stretch, but I have a clear vision of the ad, so I start talking faster.
“The commercials can show Eve magically brewing her potion, a caption says, ‘you’ve got the story all wrong’. Lots of fog, lots of sensuality, then she takes her brew to Adam and he drinks it. Eve gets this wicked smile before she kisses him and says, ‘the devil’s in the details’.”
My new boss rocks back in his chair. “So, she’s the seductress, and he’s the seduced, but where’s the devil?”
“Nowhere,” I say, “it’s Eve pulling the strings all along. We can edit in a shot for the magazines with a little fire in her eyes like she’s the devil. She’s the one in power.”
He doesn’t hate it, because he hasn’t kicked me out of his office yet.
“With the way this man hating feminist world is going, we could really work that angle.”
I bite my lip because I want to shout, “Yes!” at the top of my lungs, but he hasn’t congratulated me yet.
“Work on it with Declan, he’s your analyst. You can get some testing groups together in your demographics.”
“Yes, sir,” I say and I turn for the door.
“And Maxwell,” he says before I can leave and I face him, “good work. I want more of this.”
“Of course, sir.”
I walk to my desk, but there is a bounce there that I’ve never had before.
Work.
I never knew how much I could love work.
I search the room and spot Declan. I met him the day before at lunch. Okay, I didn’t meet him exactly because he thinks I’m Indigo, but I sat next to him and that’s as good as it’s going to get right now.
“Declan,” I say as I nearly skip to his desk. “I have some ideas for the Devil’s Harp Ale account I was hoping I could run by you.”
All I know about him is that Indigo thinks he’s a nerd, an attractive nerd, but a boring nerd just the same. Looking at him, I have to wager she’s probably right. He wears suspenders, over his gingham shirt complete with a pocket protector. It’s nerdy, but it’s an adorable ironic nerdy, like the head quarterback dressing up for Halloween. His eyes are blue like mine, but darker, so dark I would wonder if they’re contacts, but he’s wearing black framed glasses. His hair is dark, nearly black, and I can’t help but notice the couple places he’s missed shaving.
“Yeah, okay,” he says. “You don’t normally though.”
“I know,” I drop into the desk chair near his and slide over, “I’m working on being a team player and I’m really excited about this idea.”
His shirt rustles as he pushes the cuff back to check his watch. His cufflinks are silver dogs. Adorable.
“Can it wait until Monday? It’s five-thirty and I’ve got somewhere to be.”
“It’s five?” I ask with far too much excitement and volume.
“Thirty,” he adds because it’s important to him.
The wind is slipping from my sails. “Can I buy you dinner? Talk to you about it tonight?”
Declan’s eyes widen at first, but he shakes his head. “I’m picking up my daughter. I don’t have time tonight.”
“I can buy her dinner too,” I offer. I love kids. That was the only part of marriage that excited me.
“I don’t really think—” I can tell he’s trying to find a nice way of saying he doesn’t want me to meet her.
“Okay, it’ll hold until Monday I guess,” I say to rescue him from his stuttering mess. I smile once before I stand to make an exit with what’s left of my dignity.
“How about lunch tomorrow?” Declan asks before I can leave. “I’ll get the neighbor girl to babysit. You can run everything by me then.”
“Okay,” I agree. “Do you have my number?”
The tiniest quirk of a smile creeps up his cheek. “It’s in the company directory.”
Inside I think, Good, because I don’t know my own number, because I’m not Indigo Maxwell.
But I don’t say that.
“Okay, shoot me a text when you know where you want to meet up.”
“Yeah,” that whisper of a smile is growing, “that sounds great.”
If I wasn’t skipping before, I’m a hop away from it now. My first job and something that resembles a date, even if it’s nothing more than a business date.
You’re on a roll now, Max.
Chapter 9
I’m the second to last one to leave the office, only Mr. Garnet is left behind me. I have to admit I make a bit of a show leaving so he knows I stayed late to get my job done. I walk out the glass doors to the street and want to throw my hands into the air and jump like every cheesy ‘90’s sitcom I’ve ever seen, but instead I join the stream of people headed west. It’s six blocks to Indigo’s apartment. She offered me her car, but I prefer walking. The city breathes with every step I take. The invigorating glow of life lights me up. Every restaurant I pass is another slice of culture—Italian, Japanese, Soul food fusion, whatever that means. I want to try it all. I want to live it all and for nearly two weeks I have the mask to hide behind so that I can.
I pass a park on the way, Washington Square. A bulletin board catches my eye and I allow myself a quick perusal of the flyers there. Dog walker, car for sale, nanny wanted, but what snags my attention is the flyer that reads:
Boot Camp 6 A.M. $5
Under the large oak. MWSat.
And I know what I’m doing in the morning.
Indigo is at the curb outside her apartment when I arrive. She’s leaning as far into the street as she can without actually occupying the space.
“About time,” she snaps when I’m within scolding distance. “You’re lucky my cab is late. I nearly missed you.”
“Sorry, I was working late on a project and—”
“Yeah okay,” she says to shut me up, “look here’s the key. Rent is paid up through the end of the month. I left my debit card on the table so you can pull my paychecks out like I promised. There’s food in the fridge, make yourself at home, yada yada, but don’t screw up. Okay?” Indigo smiles as if that will make everything all better. “I left the number of the hotel, and you can use my cell to keep my life as normal. Don’t answer if my mom calls. She’ll see through all this in an instant. I bought a new cell for the trip so the company can’t trace me.”
“They can trace your phone?” I ask because the thought has never occurred to me.
She’s waving down the cab as it turns the corner. “Of course, they pay for it. Oh, and make sure you make an appearance at the gym. I take yoga four times a week. You’ll need to make a couple of those classes, or at least make an appearance at the smoothie bar, or people will start to suspect.”
These last minute tidbits are making me nervous. Don’t talk to her mother, take yoga, which I’ve never done, be Indigo and all that entails.
“Anything else?” I ask, while simultaneously hoping she can’t think of anything.
“How’d work go?” she asks as an afterthought.
I don’t have the nerve to tell her she was fired and I saved her job.
“Okay, I guess. I’m working with Declan on the Devil’s Harp Ale campaign, which is funny because—”
“Ugh,” she groans, “I hope you don’t die of boredom.”
“He seems nice.” I trail behind her and her bags.
“He’s a dad. That means in by nine on the weekends with no hope of a social life. Plus, he’s so annoying. Hard pass.”
Her bags thump against the base of the car trunk. The top slams down to signify the end of our conversation.
“Thanks for doing thi
s.” She dangles the key in front of me. “I really appreciate it.”
Indigo acts like I’ve offered to watch her cat, not assume her identity like a ghostwriter for her life.
“Yeah.” I feel awkward talking about it and worse taking her key. “I guess it works for both of us.”
She’s halfway in the cab as I’m speaking, hand already waving goodbye. “Yoga tonight, don’t forget.”
The door slams shut and she’s gone. By all appearances, I’m now Indigo Maxwell.
∞ ∞ ∞
Sure, I’ve been in Indigo’s apartment before, but that was as a guest and during a party. This is different. This is my home now. Not a couch in the corner of a tiny apartment like Hazel’s place. This is a high end, fully modern, close to Union Avenue with a view, apartment. From her bedroom, my bedroom, the city skyline, tall towers of glass and steel, magnificent creatures frozen in their stalwart watch of the city, glimmer in the night. It’s such a contrast, the new and the old within the view, so much of the original architecture preserved, while modern pieces show the future. It’s magical, and I don’t care that I sound like a starry-eyed bumpkin when I say it.
Of course, my next stop is her closet. I shift through her walk-in brimming with gorgeous clothing. She’s color coded the whole mess of it and I’m in heaven at the thought. Immediately, I start pulling items to prepare for my sort of lunch date the next day with Declan. Since I’ve been with Reg since freshman year of high school, I’ve never been out on a real date, so anything remotely close to it is exhilarating.
I pull a chicken breast from the freezer to dethaw, note the strawberries with Hazel’s company brand, and can’t help but let the joy slip from me in a string of happy giggles. This is it. I’m on my own for the first time in my life.
Freedom is an amazing drug.
∞ ∞ ∞
I received Declan’s text late that night. Right about the time I’d settled into Indigo’s bed with the thousand count sheets I’d thoroughly missed while sleeping on Hazel’s couch. My mind was fuzzy with sleep but I read, “I’ve got a sitter, I can meet you at Manuel’s at one–Declan.”
I texted back, or at least I hoped I did, I was very sleepy. “Great, see you then.” It might have been more garbled than that because I’m far more tired than I’d ever imagined. But, at 5:30 my feet are on the ground, because I don’t want to miss boot camp at 6.
Workout attire isn’t easy to find, at least not something that would hold up to boot camp. Everything is yoga related, including her oversized “Namaste in bed” hoodie. While I appreciate the sentiment, I’m glad when I finally find some sports bras and compression pants at the bottom of the drawer.
I make it to the park about 5:50. I hover near the fringe of the group that’s gathered near an old tree. My sweaty hands dampen my money crushed in my palm. I adjust the ball cap crammed over my pony tail one more time. My new life is about making choices, and this is something I want.
Fitness. Hard core fitness.
“You ready, people?” A thick man with dark, perfectly smooth skin asks in a booming voice. He’s the impeccable picture of health—white teeth, sparkling eyes, chiseled muscles. If there were ever a hunt for the ideal man, he fit the bill.
“Yeah!” the crowd around me yells.
“What about you?” he asks me. I didn’t say ‘yeah’ with the rest of the crowd and somehow he knows it.
I extend my $5 to him and say, “Yes, I’m ready.”
It’s funny. I don’t know why, but it’s funny, and he’s laughing at me.
“Yes,” he mimics me. To add to the insult, he holds out his pretend skirt to curtsey. Turning to the rest of the crowd he asks, “Is that how we do this at Booty Burners Workouts?”
“No!” they all shout in return.
He snatches the money from my hand and shakes his head. “Won’t make it through the warm up I bet.”
My eyes narrow as he turns away from me. For once, I’d really like for at least one person to not underestimate me.
∞ ∞ ∞
I made it through the warm up, but just barely.
Burpees, I’ve never done so many burpees in my life.
His name is Phil, but we all call him Tank, because Phil doesn’t strike enough fear into my heart. Tank makes sense. I want to give up over and over again, but as he yells in my ear, I find the strength to keep moving.
“Give me five more!” he screams as I’m trying to pound out my set of pushups.
“I can’t,” I say through the burning muscles and whimpers. “I just can’t.”
“Is that your name?” he yells. “Is your name ‘can’t’?”
“No, sir,” I say even as the flecks of his spit land on my cheek.
“Then show me can!”
I get them done even though more than once I fear that I’ve done some sort of irreparable damage. I manage to survive that, and then I manage to half walk, half drag myself the three blocks to the smoothie bar at the base of my office building. A couple people shout, “Hey Indigo!” as I drink my strawberry smoothie, but thankfully none of them want to talk.
I’m only halfway through my smoothie when I decide I could get used to this. Living alone, important career, boot camp, and discount with employee ID smoothies on the weekend. Not a bad life. Large step up from country club committee meetings and fundraisers for some cause no one cares about. Climbing out that window was the best choice I’ve ever made.
Granted, it might have also been the first choice I’d ever made as well.
Chapter 10
Manuel’s is a deli near the embarcadero. I opt to walk after a long shower.
What’s a few hundred more steps in my day?
I change my tune by the time I get there because around six blocks I remember Tank put me through the ringer that morning with the hardest workout of my life. My legs are completely fatigued by the time I walk the next two blocks. I’m not as in shape as I thought I was.
“Hi,” I say to the girl at the counter, “I’m supposed to be meeting someone, has a Declan Thorpe arrived?”
I might as well be speaking Chinese because she’s staring at me as if I’ve lost my mind.
“I don’t know. Do you want a sandwich?”
“Indigo.” I hear my new name behind me and spin to see Declan Thorpe. “I thought that was you.”
His smile is warm as a summer day when my family used to visit Uncle Jerry on the gulf. I want to sink into it and wrap it around me for a season like a bear in hibernation.
“Oh, hi,” I say like an idiot because I don’t know how to talk to attractive men. I’ve never been given the chance. Not to say that Reg isn’t attractive, well, I’ve never been attracted to him. Red hair isn’t my thing and he’s got his father’s big ears. My mother told me that I would realize how alluring power is when he’s got his father’s senate seat, but then, I digress and I’m staring at Declan Thorpe like a fool.
“Did you order yet?” he asks.
“No, should I have?”
He chuckles a little and I’m concerned he’s laughing at me. “What do you want?”
I follow his pointing finger up to a menu board that’s been screwed into the wall. Every sandwich has a silly name like Foxy Lady or Daddy’s Girl, or Hot to Trot. I’m not even sure where to begin.
“You go,” I say, “maybe I’ll know better when you’re done.”
He orders something called Pick My Battles, which has pastrami, ham, and turkey with pepper jack on rye bread and a host of vegetables. I’ve never been in a place like this. He actually builds the sandwich as he works along the counter, right there in front of him.
Oh the choices.
But there’s the problem, I’ve never had the luxury of choices and here I am wondering if I like pastrami, or rye. Declan is staring at me again and there is a line forming behind me.
Freedom can be paralyzing.
“Calm down, Max,” I tell myself under my breath, “it’s a sandwich, not the end of the worl
d.”
I smile at the girl behind the counter and ask, “What’s your favorite sandwich?”
Her eyes widen and she frowns. Apparently, she doesn’t get asked very often. “I don’t know, they’re all good.”
That’s not helpful, so I turn to the man directly behind me who is basically breathing down my neck. “How about you? What’s your favorite?”
“Caught Red Handed, it’s a meatball sandwich with swiss all melted. It’s amazing.”
My nose crinkles because even without my mother here it’s not like I can tune out her scolding in my head over how messy that could be.
“And you?” I say to the next woman behind him carrying a small child, “what do you get?”
“Me?” Her mouth goes slack before she says, “I always get Cold Shoulder. It’s vegetarian.”
I draw my breath in through my teeth because that’s not what I’m looking for. A girl four people back sticks her head out of line and raises her hand like we’re in school. “Get Bring Home the Bacon. It’s a BLT with turkey and avocado. It’s a good beginner choice.”
“Aww thank you,” I can’t help but let a little southern drawl loose.
“So?” the girl behind the counter asks as if she can drag my answer out of me.
“What she said, the bacon one.”
There are at least fourteen more questions as we move down the line and for a girl who barely chose what she wore every morning before this week it feels like an awful lot. Thankfully, my little line is there to help me when I’m not sure. I shove cash out before Declan has a chance, because after all, I offered him lunch and I’m not one to go back on my word. The girl behind the counter hands me a quaint little red basket with my sandwich inside.
“Mmm…smells good. Thanks!” I say it not only to the girl behind the counter, but the entire line that helped me through.
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