by Ariella Papa
“The files?”
“Yes, you know, the ones in the file room.” I wasn’t even sure we still used those. We have another file drawer near my desk where most of the old issues are, but, the file room…I don’t even think I’ve ever been in it. Lorraine told me it was a mess.
“Lorraine told me it was a mess in there.”
“Lorraine?” Is he for real? “Oh, right, Lorraine. Yes, I’m sure it is, that’s why this is a very important project, considering Erica starts in a week.”
“Okay, great, I’ll get it done.” I guess that means I’m dismissed.
When I get back to my desk, there’s a message from Roseanne. I ask her about Pete when I call her back.
“He mentioned a play he is in, which I think means he wants me to go with him. We’re on our way to becoming a real couple.” I can practically hear her swooning. “But the reason I called you is because I saw this thing for a breast cancer fund-raiser. It’s a run/walk. I thought it would be good for us to do, raise some money for a worthy cause.”
“That sounds good, but I don’t really run.”
“That’s why it’s a run/walk. I run, you walk. We could see if Tab will do it, too.”
“She never will.”
“You’d be surprised. I bet there’ll be all kinds of giveaways and a lot of good contacts, besides she’s softening now that we know she’s from upstate.” Roseanne says she’s a little embarrassed by the whole thing, but happy that she knows Tabitha is a little less glam than she pretends to be.
“All right, as long as we can walk.”
So it looks like I’m back into the old routine. I’m toying with the idea of calling Todd. I wish someone could give me advice. Adrian gave great advice. I decide to just suck it up and end the conflict.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been on this elevator bank. Little Nell’s floor looks totally different. They are totally reorganized, but from what I hear Adrian made out like a bandit and got promoted. I come up behind him and fidget for a while before I say his name. He turns around and looks kind of shocked to see me.
“Hey, Eve, how are you? I heard you weren’t feeling so well.” This is good, he’s not cursing at me or giving me an attitude.
“Yeah, but I’m better, now.”
“How’s your mom?”
“She’s fine,” I smile at him. “Congrats on your promotion!”
“Thanks, I see Tabitha’s been briefing both of us.”
“Yep, so are you busy?” He laughs.
“In general swamped and I don’t use that word lightly, believe me. Right now, I have a little time.”
“Can I, uh, take you to lunch and work on begging your forgiveness?”
He studies me for a second and then says, “Honey, I’m there.”
And that’s that.
May
I don’t know about flowers, but it definitely is a nice day in Central Park. We’re standing on the Great Lawn listening to the celebs talk about what a good cause we’re running for. Everyone is cheering. All three of us have my mother’s name pinned on our cool new Prescott T-shirts. We were encouraged to pin the names of people we know who’ve had or have breast cancer on our shirts. I also have the name of one of my high school teachers who died while I was in college and Tabitha has the name of one of her cousins. But, it’s amazing how many people are covered with names, many of them dead.
We all raised a lot of money. Many of the YFL people gave me a ton of cash. I think it was a political gesture but I didn’t care. I was just happy to turn in my pledge sheet. Tabitha agreed to walk, but we had to assure her that Krispy Kreme was a sponsor. I haven’t seen any of those melty delicious treats yet, so I hope she’s not going to get pissy.
“So, we’ll meet at the finish line, okay?” Roseanne is pulling her knees up to her chest. I nod. I kind of wish I told my sister I was doing this. Not to rub it in her face, but because it’s totally her crowd, and would have loved it. There’s a joyous whoop from the crowd when we take off. Roseanne waves and we watch her jog off.
“It’s hot,” Tabitha says.
“It’s cool, and breezy! It’s a good day, Tabitha, come on, I heard Halle Berry was here.” She feigns indifference, but I know her eyes are darting behind her sunglasses. Suddenly, she pulls me closer to her and points.
“Look. Oh, Mother of God.” I watch as Lacey and the Big C jog by, chatting. They look all together too designer fit, they are decked out.
“Wow, Lacey didn’t mention she was running in this. Of course she didn’t give me money, but I just assumed it was because she’s a bitch. What do you think they’re talking about?”
“How little they eat,” Tabitha says. “They’re congratulating each other for being the most fit any female could possibly be. It’s their only joy.” She might be right, but, I can tell after we walk a while that she’s getting into it. She’s complaining less and smiling a little. She’s softening, but still has to maintain an image.
“Is it much farther now?”
“No, c’mon, we’re doing good.”
“I just hope this party is as good as the Aids Walk one was.”
“Tabitha, I didn’t know you did the Aids Walk. Are you doing it again this year?”
“Maybe.”
“You’re a regular philanthropist.”
“Whatever.”
I’m a little disappointed when the walk is over. The press is there and people are clapping and waving when we walk through the finish line. I stand for a little bit and cheer others through, while Tabitha looks for Roseanne. Not everyone who is running or walking is totally healthy; you can tell that some of these women are running to find a cure for themselves as much as for anyone else. I can’t help but feel a little proud of these women that I don’t even know. And I clap for them, imagining all the times I’ve wasted my applause at the Feed Meet, clapping automatically at articles on Scottish cyclists.
“Hey, Eve.” I turn and see Roseanne and Tabitha standing with my parents. Oh, my God! They are both in jogging suits. She’s wearing one of the scarves I got her. I run over to them.
“Did you guys do this?”
“What do you think, I quit smoking for nothing?” My dad pats his slightly smaller belly.
“But, Mom, do you feel okay?”
“Honey, I feel great. A lot of the women in my survivor’s group were doing this and I thought it was a good idea. I didn’t tell you, because I wasn’t sure I’d do it, but when I got up this morning I knew I had to. I left you a message this morning, but I guess you had already left. Let’s go get our totes of goodies.”
Afterward, we sit on the grass and eat cheese nips and ice cream bars. We got a lot of good loot—makeup and magazines—and stuff from all the sponsors.
“You did really well, Mrs. Vitali,” says Tabitha, going through my mom’s bag, “I’m a little jealous.”
“Yes, we survivors make out like bandits.”
Roseanne is stretching out in the grass. I lie on one of the magazines and put my new Breast Cancer Awareness shirt over my eyes and fall asleep.
“Eve, honey.” My mom is standing over me and I have no idea how much time has passed. I think she looks younger with no hair. I fell asleep, I guess on the grass, my butt feels wet. Great, grass stains. “Daddy and I are going to drive home. Want us to give you a lift back to the apartment?”
I sit up. Roseanne and Tabitha weren’t sleeping. I wonder what they were talking about with my parents. We all decide to head back. My mom reminds me (and I guess my friends) that my birthday is coming up in two weeks. Luckily, it’s a weeknight, so I can go home and have dinner with the ’rents and maybe, if anyone is planning anything, I can celebrate the weekend with my friends.
My parents hug my friends goodbye. Roseanne and Tabitha congratulate my mom on her run (that’s right, she ran—I walked). After they’re gone, we go home and sit out on the veranda for a while. Roseanne makes lemonade. Tabitha doesn’t smoke.
“You guys, I think
I’m going to have an early night tonight,” Tabitha declares.
“Tabitha, did you get too much sun?”
“I’m fine really, I just think I want to go home and take a bath and try on my new lipsticks and maybe drink some cognac.”
“Cognac?” We both say in unison.
“Tab, it’s May. Pull out the mint juleps. Summer’s on the way.”
“Eve, don’t think in my overheated state you are going to get away with calling me Tab. Now, I’ll give you guys a call tomorrow. Maybe we’ll grab a fatty brunch. I think I worked off too many calories today. The last thing I want to do is lose my ass.”
She let’s herself out. Roseanne and I watch her hail a cab.
“Not much danger of her losing that ass.”
“How much money will you give me if she’s going to see a guy now?”
“How much money will you give me if she stops at Krispy Kreme first?”
“Eve, think it’s strange that we’re okay with the fact that she stole, then sold, our underwear—used underwear—to men who are probably using it to pleasure themselves?”
“I think what bothers me more is that she’s from upstate.” Roseanne looks at me, shocked. “Kidding. Just kidding. I don’t mind, really. I wouldn’t mind a percentage and I’m kind of sorry that I didn’t come up with the idea but, if it keeps another loser off the street and Tabitha occupied, what’s the harm?”
“I guess you’re right. Do you want to have an early night tonight?”
“Not a chance.”
On Monday, Tabitha pressures me about what I’m going to wear to my meeting with Prescott. I had been trying not to think about it. I’m still considering canceling.
“Eve, I bought you a very smart suit at one of those sales, a Max Mara, for this very occasion. C’mon. Do it for me! Please.”
“As if I didn’t know. Don’t you remember GoodFellas when they were all excited about Joe Pesci becoming a made man, because they could never be made? He was the only true Italian. But when Joe Pesci got there, there was plastic on the floor and he knew right away. Pow!”
Wednesday comes before I know it. Tabitha’s idea of prepping me is forcing me to spend over a hundred dollars on conservative sandals. These sandals still manage to show the pedicure she also included in her grand scheme prepping. Tabitha insists that not having the right shoes or toenail polish will destroy my credibility.
“Well, don’t you think my credibility will be affected by the whole suspicious circumstances under which I’m meeting with him?”
“Eve, calm down, I can see you getting in one of your states. Just don’t start talking about obscure films or anything.”
I wind up getting the suit from her. I must say I look pretty smart. I take the subway to work and when the train comes and the wind pushes back my hair, I definitely feel like my life is starting over. This feeling lasts me through the morning all the way up until I get on the elevator to Prescott’s floor. I’ve never been on these elevators before. They are so hard core. The very first floor they stop on is forty-five. There is a certain distinction between the people that get on this elevator and the staff I’m used to. No one here bought their pants at Urban Outfitter.
I get to his floor, sixty. The receptionist looks me up and down—I know she can see through me. “Hi, I’ve got an appointment with Prescott, that is, Prescott Nelson.”
“Go right through.” I walk past a huge kitchen, an amazing oak conference room and (get this) a gym. There’s a well-dressed older woman at a big desk.
“Hi, I am Colleen Brandes. You must be Eve Vitali,” she says. She’s figured it out. She is going to tell me that there has been an awful mistake, and could I please return to the lower floors with the rest of the peons. If not, she’ll call the armed guards.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“What a lovely name. Mr. Nelson is just finishing up a meeting, but we’ll bring you in in a moment.” She gestures to a plush sofa. I sit. I grab a magazine from the stack they have. The only other advice Tabitha did give me was to be aware of everything I did; all my body language, all my choices. Shit! Shit! Shit! I should have taken the financial magazine. I would have been taken seriously, then. Shit! What’s the name of our financial magazine? What if Prescott tests me on the names of all his magazines?
“Ms. Vitali, he can see you now, come with me.” Oh, my God!
I toss the magazine back on the table. Why did I toss? Why couldn’t I have placed? What is wrong with me?
I follow Prescott’s assistant down the hall. She is walking softly; why do these wretched sandals make so much noise? What if Prescott is sensitive to noise? Why haven’t they figured out my awful secret yet? I am destined to suffer for this. How could my friends not talk some sense in to me? We get to Prescott’s door. It’s closed. Colleen opens the door and puts her hand on my back to guide me in. No! No! I can’t do this. I resist her hand, but she is firm. She closes the door behind me.
Then we are alone in the office, just him and me. There seems like miles between us. The office is amazing. It takes me a second to realize the low hum is Prescott talking on the phone. He looks up and gestures me over. There is only one chair for me to sit on directly in front of his desk. I stare out past him at the large view of the Hudson. This is living! He is talking so softly I can’t make out what he’s saying. Finally, he hangs up, writes something down in his book and smiles at me.
“Hi, Eve. I suppose you know why I wanted to speak with you.” He’s got a Chicago accent.
“Look, I know, I’m sure it was a big mistake. I understand.” I look pleadingly at him. I am conscious of my pleading look. I tried it out in the mirror.
“Well, Eve, I randomly picked a sample of our temp force to speak with. Temporary and freelance employees are making up a larger part of our workforce and I wanted to talk to a bunch of you, personally, about ways we can make it easier for you.”
“That’s why?”
“Well, of course, didn’t you inquire when you got the e-mail?” I’m a dork.
“No, I didn’t. I thought it was some kind of mistake. If it was, I didn’t want to correct it. I thought it would be cool to have an audience with you.” Prescott laughs, it’s one of those gaspy laughs you expect from men down south who sit on porches and smoke too much. Any moment I expect him to slap his knees.
“An audience? Who am I? A king? A pope?” He laughs so hard, he actually wipes his eyes. Prescott must not get out much. Maybe I should tell him my “get on the subway and go straight to hell” line. That would really have him in stitches. Maybe I should see if he wants to come out for a drink with Tabitha and me.
“It’s just that I’m really excited to meet you. This is going to sound really brownnosey, but I admire you, my friends and I think you’re really cool.”
“Why, thank you.” He is still recovering a little from the laughing attack. He opens up a thick folder on his desk.
“Is that a folder about all the temps?”
“No, this is your folder.”
“My folder? How could you have that much stuff about me? Oh, my God, do you have copies of my e-mails in there?” He laughs again. I’m cracking this guy up.
“Your e-mails? Of course not.” But then he composes himself. “But, I would advise you to only use e-mails for official business. And be aware that anything that you write on e-mail is owned by the company.”
“Yeah, well you might want to start with all those people who think I’m interested in chain letters and dirty jokes.” He nods, considering this, I can’t believe I am sitting here talking to Prescott like a normal person. He laughs again.
“So all right then, Eve. Do you like working for Prescott Nelson Inc? How are things going down at Bicycle Boy with all the changes we have been implementing?”
“I guess okay. I think it’s going to take some getting used to, but we’ll do it.”
“Very nice, Eve, very diplomatic. You can be entirely truthful, this is to benefit you, not hinder you
r progress in any way. You can say whatever is on your mind. You have carte blanche.” Carte blanche, huh?
“I don’t know where to begin.” He looks at me, I think he must dye his hair. I can’t believe it’s naturally silver. I’m trying to remember everything so I can tell Tabitha.
“I see here that you’ve applied for staff positions in quite a few of our magazines, most recently Food and Fun. You even sent story ideas to a few.”
“Now, you’re going way back.”
“Yes, it’s interesting that you stopped sending ideas into magazines around August of last year.”
“Wow! You did some thorough research on me. This is how you make the big bucks.” Prescott laughs some more about this, although not as maniacally.
“You know, a lot of good writers get rejected in the beginning. It’s never easy.”
“But it seems kind of fake, kind of wrong.”
“What does?”
“I was sending in all these ideas to magazines I didn’t really care about, to get a break, but what then, continue working on something I didn’t really care about?”
“And being an assistant is better?”
“No, worse. I hate it.” Maybe I should calm down, Prescott’s not my therapist. He closes the folder and leans back in the chair. “Look, I’m sorry.” So much for decorum. “I’m sure you didn’t intend to listen to all my gripes. My parents always taught me to be happy about getting paid. It didn’t work on my sister Monica, now here I am, complaining to you. My dad would kill me.”
“No, I find this more interesting than anything my research could tell me. I’m not a creative person, so it’s beneficial to hear this side.” When he says that I think of Todd.
“I’m not creative, either, that’s the problem. I can’t remember the last time I was creative. No, I can, it was probably a week before I graduated college. I’m learning a harsh reality, that creativity falls by the wayside once you get out of school. There’s no time to be creative anymore. No one cares. And you, you must be creative. Look at everything you own.”