On the Verge

by Ariella Papa

  “Lorraine,” I say hesitating, “what’s going on?”

  “Well,” she says, sniffling, but in some kind of haze, “I’m fired. They want to make some administrative changes. Don’t ask me who is going to be the coordinator. Maybe you’ll get a promotion.”

  “No.” I shake my head, not really understanding. “No! Lorraine, it’s not fair.” She smiles at me. It’s probably the most ridiculous thing anyone has said to her today.

  “It’s okay, Eve.” She says this like she’s talking to a small child, which I can’t help but feeling like. I’m an asshole. “I might be better off. I hated the commute anyway. It’ll be okay. I’ll call you.”

  I nod as she kisses my cheek and rubs my shoulder. She is comforting me, when I’m not the one who got fired. I’m just the one who was stupid enough to believe them. She leaves the floor with the guards. Guards? God, I can’t believe this. Like Lorraine was going to fight them or something. I wonder who fired her.

  Suddenly I realize who ultimately must have known about it, who ultimately sat there and let it happen. I hurry down to the lobby and then back up in the other elevator bank (why can’t anything be simple?).

  Sherman tries to stop me, but it’s now or never. I fling open the door and he is sitting at his desk with a guy. They are speaking very seriously.

  “What? Are you firing him, too?”

  “Eve, what’s going on? Calm down.” Then, he looks at his watch and nods his head.

  “What? You knew what time it was going to happen? I can’t believe this.”

  “Frank, can you give us a moment?” Frank had already stood up, uncomfortably.

  “Yeah, Frank, just be happy you’re leaving with your job.” When Frank’s gone, Rob motions for me to sit. I stand.

  “C’mon, Eve, don’t get carried away. Do you have any idea who that was?”

  “Carried away? What the fuck, Rob?”

  “Eve, what do you want me to say? You’re acting like a child.”

  “I just can’t believe you could do this.”

  “Eve, I didn’t do it. I don’t know who you think I am or what you think I could have stopped. Will you just sit down? Please.”

  “I prefer to stand.” I can’t believe I date this guy.

  “Look, I assess situations, that’s all.”

  “On paper! You assess them on paper! You don’t know about the people!”

  “Theoretically, you’re right, that’s the way it’s done.”

  “It’s people, people and their jobs, their life, Rob!”

  “Okay, everything is not as black and white as you want it to be, Eve. I’m sorry. This is business. Someday, you’ll understand.”

  “How did Lorraine impede the business process? Why did you say no one was getting fired? Are there more?” Rob swallows and stares at me. When he speaks to me again, his voice is quiet.

  “Eve, I don’t want to fight with you. I don’t like this whole situation. C’mon, will you just sit, please?” I shrug and sit down. “Now, I agree it was wrong for them to say that no one was getting terminated. I make recommendations, Eve, and that wasn’t one of my recommendations. Firing Lorraine was somebody else’s call. They needed to find a job for someone Lev wanted to bring over.”

  “That’s ridiculous, she could sue.”

  “Well, only if you spread it around, which I wish you wouldn’t. I’ve spoken to you in confidence. These things happen in business. It wasn’t my call, but, Eve, even if I had made that decision that wouldn’t make me a bad guy. You’re infuriated with me and I don’t think that’s fair. It’s been an issue with us from the beginning. Maybe it’s time to…”

  “What? Now are you going to break up with me?”

  “Eve, you react to everything I do, like it’s some testament to how I feel about you. It isn’t all about you, you know. I really shouldn’t be involved with you. For a lot of reasons, but mostly because you don’t get the business part of this. You think these things make people awful and they are unfortunate, but it’s business, it happens.”

  “Then Mabel gets sent in for spin control. Maybe she can put a better spin on our split. Maybe she can transition me out of this. Make me a beacon for solitude.”

  “Damn! Stop being so bitter. Half the time, I don’t even know where you are.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Look, one issue at a time please. What is upsetting you so much?”

  “I don’t know, it just doesn’t seem fair. I know it makes me sound like a child. I hate this. I actually believed for five minutes today that the company wasn’t bad. I believed in the brand.”

  “Oh, that’s right, you had your meeting with Mabel today.”

  “Yeah, that woman is unbelievable.” We smile at each other, it’s nice for a second. I (of course) can’t let it last. “You see, it bugs me that you know that stuff, when I had my meeting, when Lorraine got fired. It’s hard to deal with.”

  “You could forget about it, pretend I’m unemployed.” He cocks an eyebrow.

  “How would you explain all the late dinners and the nice apartment?” I can’t believe we’re talking calmly for a moment. It’s probably just a trick to disarm me that he learned from Mabel. Sherman buzzes him about a meeting. Rob looks disappointed that he has to go.

  “You see why we can never pretend you’re unemployed?” I’m trying to make light of the situation. Rob stands up and looks upset.

  “God, Eve, it’s so hard to argue with you. Half of me wants to tell you to just grow up and the other half thinks you should feel this way, that you shouldn’t accept any less. My advice to you is to try and work for yourself somehow.” He stands up and gets his papers together. I start to move away from the door, but he shakes his head a little and grabs some of my hair between his fingertips. If only he wasn’t so cute. “Eve, I know you think I’m evil now, but I don’t know how to make sense out of this. I think you need someone else.”

  “Oh, sure, make this all about me.” He shakes his head.

  “You always have to make a joke. I can’t even tell if it really bothers you. I can’t tell what really upsets you.”

  “Lots of things. Lots.”

  “If you want to talk, all you have to do is call.”

  “By the time Sherman transferred me to you I might lose my nerve.”

  “Yeah.” He lets my hair go and leaves. He is always leaving me alone in his office with only the temptation to do bad things. I guess we’re broken up now.

  I call Tabitha right away and tell her I need a drink. She suggests this new spot on 9th Avenue with lots of theater types. She’s working late, but there is no way I’m staying in the office a nanosecond longer, so I tell her I’ll meet her there. I spit outside Helena’s restaurant when I pass it.

  The place seems a lot like a dive to me, but I take advantage of the happy hour special while I wait. When Tabitha arrives, she is a bundle of energy. She is all decked out in pale pink (I’ll never figure out how she pulls these colors off). She’s giving me the New York Euro Kiss (both cheeks) and recognizing my alcohol zeal. “Starting it out right, Eve, I see. Garçon, cosmopolitan for me.”

  “Tabitha, are you sure it will be good here? I’m not sure that this is what you had in mind.”

  “It is, Eve. It is. Hell’s Kitchen is rising. Just give it a chance. It’s still early.” The bartender comes over to ask Tabitha what’s in a cosmopolitan.

  “Oh, you have got to be kidding me. It’s just pink goodness. How do I know? I’m paying you to figure out these things. Don’t you have a little manual back there?”

  “Absolut Currant, cranberry, lime juice, Cointreau, maybe,” I say to help him out. Tabitha snorts as he starts to make it.

  “Eve, you’re so sweet. Of course I knew what was in it, but really the man ought to figure it out for himself. This is supposed to be a service country. Anyway, how was your meeting with Mabel? She is the Big C’s nemesis by the way. Apparently she wants to talk to the Big C about reorganizi
ng and I overheard the Big C saying ‘Frankly, it’s my magazine, and when you start seeing drops in circulation then, and only then, can you talk to me about reorganization.’ Can you believe it? Then when she got off the phone she screamed, ‘Reorganize this!”’

  “That Big C, quite the crusader.”

  “Eww, Eve, you’ve been in such an icky mood. Let’s get you another cocktail. I’m in the mood to spend money. Let’s get a fabulous overpriced meal on Restaurant Row. What do you say?”

  “Let’s drink these and see how we feel, Ms. Golightly.”

  “Come now, I’m much too robust.” I think about trying to explain my day to Tabitha, but I wouldn’t know where to begin. I also can’t exactly get a handle on which part bothered me the most. I basically brief her on Lorriane’s termination.

  “Wow! They’re not handling this well at all. Morale is going to plummet. I’m so glad the Big C is holding off the dogs. I hate when people start making changes.”

  “I don’t know how long the Big C can hold anyone off for.”

  “Poor Eve, so worried. How’s Rob?”

  “Done. He basically fired me. I cried in the handicapped bathroom a little.”

  “Oh, Eve, how dehumanizing. I didn’t know. Drink up, let’s go get a meal.”

  “Like that’s going to improve my disposition.”

  “Well, getting laid might, but a meal is the first step.”

  We walk down Restaurant Row and Tabitha picks an Italian place because she “needs carbs.” The doorman ushers us in. We get seated between two tables of businessmen who can’t stop staring at Tabitha.

  “I hate it here,” I say to a smiling Tabitha.

  “Mother of God! All the drama. Think of Tuscany. It’s inspiring.”

  “It isn’t inspiring, but we’re on 46th Street. Yards away from our office. Next door to where Rob and I had our first date.” Tabitha ignores me and reads the menu with the appropriate hunger/orgasm noises.

  “I know I want a meat dish.” She giggles, aware how that must sound to the males who are practically sitting at our table. “What should I get, grumpy puss?”

  I shrug when she looks up at me. The businessmen are silent, listening.

  “Excuse me,” she says to the one sitting farthest from us (he has on the nicest suit), “Is that the tagliatelle with truffles?”

  “It is.” Tabitha is on her feet and strides over to him. I can’t believe this. She peers into his plate.

  “I hate when these restaurants get all excited about al dente—know what I mean?” He nods, hanging on her every word. She picks up his fork and (I can’t believe this) “Do you mind if I just…” She is twirling his pasta onto a fork and eating it. She closes her eyes as she does it, transported to heaven, by the bite. I have to start laughing. All of the guys have their napkins in their laps.

  “Thank you, that’s what I’ll get,” she says, opening her eyes. She grins down at the man and says, “Not too hard.” It’s going to be a long night.

  I creep into the apartment and Roseanne is asleep on the couch with the TV on and a cookbook across her chest. I shut off the TV and she wakes up right away, startled. I am full of wine and pasta. I apologize for not calling her.

  “No, it’s fine. Pete called. We are going to go to lunch tomorrow. Your sister’s boyfriend called, too. He says everything is okay, he was just checking up on you.”

  Herb calls me into his office when he gets to work (I got there on time, thank you very much). He’s got the New Age music going full blast.

  “How are you?” I ask.

  “Doing okay, Eve, doing okay. I know most of the staff is unhappy about the changes, but we have to move on. We have to think of the product.”

  “And the brand,” I offer, knowing it’s what he wants to hear.

  “Exactly, it’s going to be an exciting time of growth and…”

  “Synergy.”

  “Exactly.” He nods, pleased. I’m getting used to playing this game. Any minute now, I think he is going to bust into a Mabel doublespeak. “So, I hear you’re being very positive about the changes. It says a lot to your youth, but also, I think you can set an example with your attitude. There are going to be opportunities. Mabel expressed to me that you were interested in writing and I had a great idea that might utilize your skills.”

  “Really?” Is he going to give me my own column? I know nothing about Breathe as a brand, either, but I could learn. I’ll learn.

  “Yes, there are certain duties that aren’t being filled to my satisfaction. They’re small things, really, but I think you could be integral in helping.” Integral? Did he say integral? “And also it might interest you, because of your desire to write.”

  “What is it?”

  “Correspondence. You could open the correspondence from our readers. Select the ones that you think are worthy of going into Letters to the Editor and which ones should go into the You Asked Us section. You would separate them by magazine and decide which ones could be used for Breathe. Then you would research and write the answers for You Asked Us which, with my approval, would go into the magazine.

  “The mail? You want me to do the mail?”

  “It’s more than the mail, Eve. It’s a great way to familiarize yourself with the style of writing we want. It’s quite a stepping stone.” Isn’t my shitty job enough of a damn stepping stone? Aren’t I already familiar enough with the magazine?

  “That sounds great,” I say as Herb hands me a box from underneath his desk.

  “You can see there’s quite a bit of mail. It’s a testament to our popularity. So go through it at your leisure and pick out ten letters you’re thinking of responding to and twenty that are suitable for Letters to the Editor. I’ll review them and we’ll get cracking.”

  “Thanks, Herb.” I’m trying to sound as cheerful as possible.

  “Oh, Eve, try to get them to me by Wednesday.” What about my leisure?

  “Great,” I say, not wanting to look at the hundreds of letters in the box. “I definitely will.”

  April

  I’m eating, sleeping and breathing these shitty letters. You would not believe the kinds of things people write in about. I guess I understand e-mailing, sort of. I mean, that takes a second and if you really have something to say you can just whip it off and be done with it. But to actually write a letter, get a stamp, mail it out? I think that’s a little crazy. Don’t these people have lives?

  People either write ridiculous questions about their bodies and nutrition, or try to plan our magazine for us. Like we’re going to listen to these crackpots. The worst are the Yoga for Life letters which go on and on about all this enlightenment crap. It’s disgusting.

  I think I am going to explode if I read another fucking letter. I can’t call Roseanne, she is in the middle of yet another audit. I’m still not exactly sure what that means, just that she’s busy and cranky and stays at work till way past midnight. I suspect she hasn’t been eating properly. She’s got no time to deal with me.

  My mom is getting treatment all this week. I would really like to go home and be with her, but she and my dad insist that there wouldn’t be much for me to do other than hang out in the hospital with my dad and worry. My mom asks me if I’ve talked to Monica lately and I have to lie and say I have. I think it makes her feel better.

  “Hi, Eve, what’s going on?” Lacey is hanging over my desk. It’s a little early in the season for the shirt she’s wearing and I know she’s already sporting open toe shoes.

  “You know, Lacey, just going through the mail.”

  “How fun,” she says, not having heard me. She slips into her English—this-is-my-way-of-trying-to-be-funny-and-friendly, you-serf-in-my-kingdom—accent. She hands me a small shoebox full of receipts. What is this? “Anyway, I was wondering if you could help me organize these.”

  “What exactly do you expect me to do with these?”

  “Well—” she’s back to her American accent and taking a tone, as well “—I was und
er the impression that with this new—” she pulls her spread hands apart “—entity, we, that is the writers, are not going to be dealing with the administration as much. It’s really been impeding my creative process.” I’m going to lose it. I can feel myself losing it. I’m certain she’s had expensive dental work, and I’m going to ruin it. Why am I so violent lately?

  “Look, Lacey.” I can take a tone, too. “We are still transitioning. We don’t even know when our new magazine is being launched or what it’s even going to be about. But, I’ll tell you one thing, Lacey, I don’t care what decisions are made. There’s no way in hell I am ever going to do your expense reports. If you take issue with that you can bring it up with Herb and I will bring it up with my human resources representative.”

  She is speechless. I’m kind of surprised myself. “I certainly wasn’t trying to insult you. I just thought it was your job.”

  “Did you really think cataloging all the ways you’ve sucked off the company was in my job description?”

  “I don’t know what you’re trying to say?” But I can tell by her face that she does. She’s sure not slipping into her faux British accent now. “I understand that everyone is a little stressed with this whole thing. I’m sure it will all work itself out.”

  The nice thing about this transition is that it’s the perfect excuse for hostility. It’s a get-out-of-jail-free card. In a way, I love it. I turn back to my computer, it’s just my screen saver, but I look at it like it’s the most important document in the world. That makes her go away. I can’t wait to tell Tabitha about this, but she is also too busy for me.

  The Big C is on jury duty, which is absolutely killing her because it’s such a bad time with this crazy reorganization thing. She is counting on Tabitha to hold down the fort. They have nightly meetings where Tabitha goes over every detail of the day. The Big C screams and yells about how they are trying to take away all her power and Tabitha supplies her with cigarettes by the carton. Tabitha is thriving from it. The other day she bought me lunch that we ate in the Big C’s office answering phone call after phone call. It’s kind of sick that she’s so busy.