The Night I got Lucky

by Laura Caldwell

  He laughed. “I don’t know. Something good.”

  I had to agree.

  “Sorry,” I muttered to anyone who might be listening as I hustled out of the elevator and down the beige-carpeted hall to my beige-walled cube. A look at my watch told me it was 9:39. Not good.

  “Hi there, Billy,” the receptionist said as I sped past her.

  “Hi, Carolyn.”

  “Billy, I have messages for you!” she yelled after me.

  That stopped me. Carolyn took messages for no one but the VPs and the higher-ups. The rest of us had to make do with voice mail. The only reason Carolyn might have a message for me is if Roslyn wanted to talk to me. Roslyn, who no doubt wanted to kick my ass, or my career, for being late again.

  I took a few tentative steps toward her and held out my hand. There were three slips, which couldn’t be good. Possibly the owner also wanted to fire me.

  “There you go,” Carolyn said. “Have a nice day.”

  Was she mocking me?

  I flipped through the messages as I retreated from her desk. Two were from clients. It was curious that she’d taken those. Maybe there was some kind of emergency. The last one was from Roslyn.

  Please see me, was all it said.

  I felt something quake inside me. Not at all good.

  But what really made my stomach rattle was the sight of my cubicle. It was empty. Completely empty.

  The photo of me with my mom and my sisters was gone. Odette’s cookbook, my haphazard stacks of press releases, a stage bill from a musical Chris and I saw during our first year together-all gone. I cleared my throat. I tried to think of a logical reason why this might be happening. Had I missed a memo about a move? I looked around. No, the other cubicles were still full of people and their possessions. There could be no other reason other than the obvious one-I’d been fired.

  I considered simply going home. Roslyn had made her message pretty clear. Why should I now sit in her office so she could run down the list of reasons that Harper Frankwell was letting me go? But the more I stood there, gazing at the empty beige walls, the more incensed I became.

  I marched up the hallway toward her office. I was clomping my feet so hard my toes began to cry for mercy in my stylishly pointed shoes; I almost welcomed the pain.

  “Hey, Billy,” Alexa said, passing me, wearing another black cashmere top. Obviously she hadn’t heard the news of my firing yet, because she walked by quickly, not even bothering to gloat.

  I didn’t say anything in return. I kept my focus on Roslyn’s office at the end of the hall. Then something distracted me.

  I stopped and turned slightly to my left toward one of the VP offices-one of the better ones-which had been empty for a few months. I stepped closer and peered inside. Obviously someone had been promoted; the place was occupied now. Two broad windows faced Michigan Avenue, so it was warm and white with the morning sun. There was a pine credenza, left behind by the previous occupant, one with fleurs-de-lis and scrolls carved deep in its sides.

  And atop the credenza sat the photo of my mom and sisters, right next to Odette’s cookbook.

  I opened and closed my eyes a few times, still trying to focus on the credenza. Was this some kind of freak joke? I glanced at the desk and saw my Northwestern Wildcats cup filled with my pens. There was my orange notebook, the square leather box where I kept my CDs, the yellow mug I bought years ago at Old Town Art Fair.

  Startled, I stepped back outside the office. And there, on the wall next to the door, was a gold nameplate that read Billy Rendall, Vice President.

  “Oh, my…” I said, my breath coming fast. It had happened! That was why Roslyn wanted to see me-she’d finally given me the job!

  “Billy.” It was Roslyn’s voice. I turned to see her head sticking out of her office. “Can I see you?”

  “Absolutely!” I trotted down the hall, beaming at everyone I passed. This was the validation I’d been waiting for-the official proclamation of my worth. And how sweet of Roslyn to move all my things!

  When I reached her office, she was seated and signing letters, her assistant standing near her desk. I beamed some more, ready to hear rounds of congratulations. But Roslyn barely looked up.

  “Billy,” she said, sounding distracted. “Are you free for lunch with Lydia?”

  “ Lydia Frankwell?” I had never been invited to break bread with the firm’s owner.

  “Of course.”

  “Any special occasion?” Aha, I thought, they were going to officially announce my vice presidency at lunch. Again, such a thoughtful gesture!

  “No, no. We just need to go over a few things, mostly the budget for the Teaken Furniture account. We’ll have salads brought to the conference room.”

  “Oh…okay.” Should I raise the fact that I’d seemingly been promoted overnight?

  Roslyn’s assistant gave me a benign, fleeting smile that seemed to say, Morning. Nothing new here.

  “ Lydia is flying in from Manhattan, so we’ll do a late lunch,” Roslyn said. “I’ll see you at 1:30, all right? I’ve got to get these letters out. You know how it is.”

  “Sure, okay.”

  My walk down the hallway was slower this time. I expected someone to jump out of the shadows at any minute and yell, “Surprise! Congrats!” but everyone was going about their work as if this were any other day. As if I had always been a vice president.

  The leather chair behind my new desk was the color of red wine. I sank into it, but it was too low, too cushy. I spent ten minutes trying to adjust the damn thing, but even when I’d raised it, I felt like a little kid in a big La-Z-Boy. It was too deep, my feet barely touched the floor. I found a Chicago Yellow Pages, the shape and weight of an anvil, and put that under my feet. I took my camel sweater off the hook behind the door and balled it up behind my back. Now what?

  I turned on my computer. Everything looked the same there. I clicked on my e-mail account, scanning a note from an old college friend who was coming to town. There was also an e-mail from Odette suggesting new ideas for how to promote her book. I made notes on a pad of paper, reading Odette’s e-mail slowly. The last line said, If you don’t have time to call, don’t worry, just have your assistant, Lizbeth, give me a buzz.

  I put my pen down and sat back in my big chair. Who the hell was Lizbeth?

  I looked at the phone-a sleek black model with typed speed-dial names. One of them said “Lizbeth.” I stared at that a second, then slowly lifted my index finger and brought it down on the button.

  “Hiya, Billy!” A chipper voice shot through my phone. “What do you need?”

  “Uh…” I considered my possible responses. A lobotomy. A clue. “Lizbeth?” I said, the word alien on my tongue.

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re my assistant, right?”

  A peal of girlish laughter. “Of course.”

  I sat back in my chair.

  “Billy?” I heard through the phone.

  “Yes. Uh…Lizbeth, what day is it?”

  “May 5th.”

  That sounded right to me. “And it’s Tuesday, right?”

  “Yeah. Is something wrong?”

  What could be wrong? I’d had fabulous sex with my husband that morning, and I’d been promoted overnight. The only problem was I didn’t seem to know anything about that promotion. Then I got an idea. I knew who could help me.

  “No, everything is fine,” I said. “Have you seen Evan today?”

  Evan looked up from his desk, his green eyes sparkling, his dimples crinkling. “Hey there! I’m glad to see you.”

  He came around the desk and hugged me tight.

  “Whoa,” I said, pushing him back a little. Evan and I might hug when we saw each other out at night (me being the one holding him a tad too closely) but we never embraced at work. It wasn’t that kind of office.

  “God, it’s weird, but I missed you,” he said.

  “You missed me since yesterday?” Wasn’t it yesterday that I’d gone to the team meeting, t
hat I’d been humiliated by Roslyn, that he’d mentioned the Hello Dave show?

  “Yeah.” His hand, still on my arm, felt almost like a caress.

  “I’ve got to ask you something.” I slipped away and closed the door.

  “Sure.” He gestured to one of the chairs that faced his desk and went back to his own.

  “What’s going on around here?” I said, taking a seat.

  “You look sexy today,” he said.

  “Do I?” I took a quick look at my brown pants, my ivory blouse. I’d worn the outfit to work no less than fifty times.

  “You do.” His eyes dragged down my body, then back up again. “God, what is it about you today?”

  “I don’t know.” Maybe it’s the fact that I just got steamed an hour ago? “Look, Ev, focus for me, okay? What in the hell is happening around here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why do I have a VP office?”

  He laughed. “Because you’re a VP, baby. Get used to it.”

  “Why did it happen so quick?”

  “What do you mean? You deserved it for a long time.”

  “I know,” I said, irritated. “But why did they just move me in there overnight?”

  “What are you talking about? You’ve been VP for a while.”

  “A while? How long?”

  He ran a hand through his blond hair-the kind of gesture that normally made me sigh with desire. “I can’t remember.” He scratched his head. “Huh. That’s strange. Well, anyway, it doesn’t matter. Are you tense?”

  “What?”

  “You seem like you’re tense. Let me give you a neck rub.” In a flash, he was around his desk and behind me, his hands massaging my neck.

  My eyes drifted shut for a moment, then snapped open. “What are you doing?”

  “Helping you work out the kinks.” His voice was low, thick, the kind of voice I was sure he used with his girlfriends in bed.

  “Okay, okay.” I stood up and spun around. “Is this a joke? Seriously, this is unbelievably cruel if it is.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “My VP office! And-” I pointed at him, unable to find the words “-you, acting like this.”

  “Sorry.” A confused expression. “That was inappropriate, wasn’t it?”

  “Uh…yeah.”

  “Geez, what is with me?” He shook his head. “Are you all right? Is it tension in your lower back? Here, let me work on that.” He moved forward, his muscled arm slipping around my hips.

  “All right, I’m out of here,” I said. With a nervous laugh I headed for the door.

  “Want to get lunch?” Evan said, looking like a child left behind on the playground.

  “I’ve got plans.” Odd. It was the response he usually gave me.

  Back in my office, I climbed into the chair, and with my feet on the phone book, let my eyes sweep the room. All my stuff was there-no doubt about it-and everyone seemed to think I was a vice president. But it felt surreal, having it just happen like that. I wanted a party, maybe a cake with Congrats Billy! on it in pink frosting. I wanted someone to say, “You deserve it.”

  I needed my mom. She would ramble and rave; she would make me believe this was real and I had earned it. I slid the phone closer and perused the speed dial buttons. There it was. Mom.

  Two rings went by, then three. I knew her machine would pick up on the next ring, and I’d hear the message, “Sorry we can’t come to the phone. We’ll call you back.” My mother hadn’t changed the message since Jan died, and so it still sounded as if he were running around town with her, about to head home and check voice mail.

  The answering machine clicked on, and surprisingly I heard something new. Tinkling piano music in the background, then my mother’s chipper, “Hello! I’m not here right now. I’d love to phone you back. Just leave your number. Ta ta!”

  Ta-freakin’-ta? She sounded like Joan Collins on Dynasty. “Mom, it’s me,” I said. “Nice message. Give me a call as soon as you get in.”

  I put the phone back on the receiver. What to do now? Work, I supposed, but it seemed I might have a different role now, one I was unclear about.

  “Hello, Miss Billy.”

  I looked up and saw Gerald, the elderly black man who ran the mail office at Harper Frankwell and personally delivered everyone’s mail each morning.

  I greeted him, and waited to see if he commented on my new office.

  “Have a lovely day now.” He handed me a stack of mail. He turned and left, whistling an aimless tune.

  I flipped through the envelopes-letters from clients, one from a TV station in Dallas, where we’d been trying to get coverage for a new product. And then there was a shiny lacquered postcard. The photo on the front showed a multispired white building. I flipped it over and looked at the printed words on top. The Duomo, it said. Milan.

  Below that, in my mom’s tiny, perfect penmanship, there were three lines: The collections are surprisingly tedious! The Trussardi stuff-particularly stale. Love, Mom.

  I flipped it back and looked at the front. I turned it again and read the lines a few more times. It appeared that overnight my mother had transported herself, by herself, to Milan and the fashion district. My mother adored fashion. She was always decked out in the latest, and she’d always talked about going with Jan to the shows in Milan, but when he died, so did that dream. Until now. If this postcard was legit, my mother had a real life, something I’d been hoping for her for so long. And if it was true, then she’d gotten over Jan, and in a much shorter time than it took her to recover from the loss of my father.

  With that thought, I noticed something different inside myself. Deep inside me, where there was usually a space for wonderings about where my father was and worries that his abandonment might somehow have been my fault-or his disappointment in me-was empty now. Those wonderings and worries were gone. I could remember the pain, the longing, the sadness that used to reside there, but I didn’t feel it any longer. Like reminiscing about a distant love affair, the emotions had vanished.

  I took a breath. There seemed to be more room in my lungs now, more room in my head, too. The hours with Blinda must have taken hold. I’d broken the reverse Oedipal thing, and I was free of him.

  I smiled to myself in my new office. I felt lighter, happier. Not only had I gotten over my dad, but I’d had a wonderful morning with my husband, I’d been promoted and Evan had flirted with me. Even my mother had begun her own fabulous life. I had no idea how it happened, but in one night I’d gotten incredibly lucky.

  I thought of my visit with Blinda last night and the frog she’d given me. Could they have anything to do with this? Intuitively, I answered yes! but that seemed entirely illogical. Yet either way, it didn’t matter. I’d gotten everything I’d wished for. And I was going to enjoy it.

  chapter four

  W hen Evan made VP, I had pumped him for every bit of information he possessed about the perks of the promotion. He’d gotten a new computer and cell phone, ditto for new office furniture, and there were no longer limits on client lunches and entertainment, the way there were for the non-VPs.

  I rubbed my hands together at my desk now. Time to spend some company money. Then it occurred to me-maybe I had already done that, somewhere in the yawning chasm between my today and my yesterday.

  I hit Lizbeth’s button again.

  “What’s up, Billy?” she said cheerily.

  I still hadn’t seen the girl, and I supposed I’d better “meet” her now so that I didn’t run into her in the hallway and give a blank stare. “Can you stop by my office for a second?”

  A moment later, a woman in her early-twenties appeared in my doorway. Her sandy brown hair was worn in artful waves about her very round face. She had wide, startled eyes and a rosebud mouth shellacked with cotton-candy pink gloss.

  What’s going on?” she said, taking one of my visitor’s chairs.

  “When I made vice president…well, maybe I should say, do you remember
when I made vice president?”

  “I got hired right after, so I don’t remember the exact day, but yeah.” She looked at me oddly.

  “Sure, right. And when was that? I mean when did you get hired?”

  She laughed wryly, as if this were an easy question, but then she scrunched up her shiny mouth and looked at the ceiling. “Gosh, when was that?” She looked back at me with a stumped expression. “I can’t remember.”

  Just like Evan, I thought. Everyone seemed to assume I’d been in this position forever, but I knew different. It made me feel as if I were playacting. It made everything unreal.

  “Billy?” Lizbeth said. “Did you want something?”

  I shook away my thoughts about the strangeness of it all. No sense fighting a good thing, I told myself. “What I really wanted to ask you was if you remember some information I got about furniture and technology stipends.”

  “Yeah, I think it was in that packet of material from Ms. Frankwell.”

  “Great, great. And where do I-I mean we…keep that?”

  “You told me to file it at my desk, remember?”

  I made a big show of snapping my fingers. “Right! That’s right. Could you grab that for me?”

  A few seconds later and she was back with a stapled set of papers, headed New Vice President Information Packet.

  “Thank you, Lizbeth. And can you find out for me where the firm buys our computer equipment?”

  I leafed through the packet while Lizbeth trotted off down the hallway. The terms were the same that Evan had received. Perfect.

  Lizbeth soon buzzed me with the name of a computer dealer we used. Five minutes after that, I was on the phone with one of the salesmen and browsing their Web site for different computers and monitors. I finally settled on a sleek, flat-screen monitor and a top-of-the-line computer that had tons of memory and would allow me to burn my own CDs and download lots of music. Not that I knew how to do that. Not that I even owned one of those cute MP3 players. But then maybe that was different now, too. I’d gotten what I wanted overnight, and I’d always wished I could be one of those iPod people. It might all just flow from my hands as soon as I got the new computer.