The Night I got Lucky

by Laura Caldwell

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Roslyn, but I think you see my point. I am better suited to be an account exec than a VP.”

  “But Billy,” she said in a chiding tone. “How embarrassing. To be demoted? It’s unthinkable.”

  It would have been unthinkable to me in the past. Back then, I was all about forward motion, at least in my mind. I wanted to get a job, get engaged, get promoted, get married, keep moving, keep achieving. What I’d forgotten to do was stop and look for the quality, the satisfaction in each station. I’d also forgotten to actually decide what direction I wanted to take next. I’d been walking a scripted path, never halting to ask whether it was the right path for me. Not everyone needed to be an officer of a company. Accomplishment, I’d realized, needn’t always come in the form of a raise or a title. Instead, I would find accomplishment in giving the best performance I could in a job I loved.

  “You demoted Scott Billingham last year,” I pointed out to Roslyn.

  “Well, he was horrible. He deserved it.”

  “I deserve this. I want it.”

  Roslyn gazed at me with a perplexed expression. “What would we tell people?”

  “I’ll handle it. I’ll send out the memos and explain to everyone that we both thought it was best.”

  She gave me a wry smile. “Now you’re acting like a VP.”

  I smiled back.

  “Well,” she said, “we are still looking to fill Alexa’s position, so your timing couldn’t be better.”

  My stomach cramped. “Oh, no, I couldn’t step into her job.” How could I possibly take Alexa’s space when I’d so unfairly axed her?

  Roslyn shrugged. “That’s what’s available, Billy. Take it or leave it.”

  “What about my old position? The one that was vacated when I was promoted?”

  Roslyn scoffed. “That was filled eons ago.”

  “By who?”

  Again, she cocked her head. “I can’t remember now. Good Lord, what’s wrong with me? But it doesn’t matter, that position is long gone. You’ll have to take Alexa’s spot.”

  “Couldn’t we rehire her? I know I asked before, but really, she’s such an asset.” I’d send myself to the street if it meant getting Alexa her job back.

  Roslyn gave me a queer look. “You’re right, we have discussed this, and as I said then, this company does not rehire people who were terminated for cause. End of discussion. You’ll be taking her position. Effective Monday.”

  My arms quivered as I walked the hallway, trying to shrug off my jacket. It felt as heavy and hot as armor. In my head, my overachieving sisters sang a chorus-What have you done? What have you done? You’ve given up an officer’s position! They were loud and hitting lots of high notes, which made my body tremble more. I’d just willingly tossed away the position I’d strived toward for over a decade. I heard my father’s voice-much weaker-chime in with, Sometimes you have to know when to double back.

  I got a flash of what it would be like to come in Monday morning-quizzical, pitying looks from coworkers, packing of my office and retreating to a tiny cubicle, attempts to explain it (a lame, “I thought this would be best for me”), receiving of assignments from people I’d been ordering around lately. I began to sweat.

  I took off my jacket and rolled my shoulders to release the tension, reminding myself that it didn’t matter how this would look to others, it only mattered how it felt to me. And the truth was, when I peered around my panic and examined the rest of my mind, I spied sheer relief.

  Except for one thing. I had to talk to Alexa and soon, before she got wind of this. I wasn’t even sure if Alexa still spoke to anyone from Harper Frankwell, other than myself, but I knew it had to be me who told her. And this was a conversation that had to take place in person, I decided. In a strange way, I’d come to enjoy Alexa’s friendship, and she deserved face-to-face honesty. I looked at my watch-4:15. I stopped at an empty cubicle and dialed Chris’s number. His secretary said that she thought his dep would last at least another two hours. Just enough time for me to stop by Alexa’s.

  I hustled toward the elevator, tossing my jacket over my arm, but a voice made me stop.

  “Getting ready for me?” Evan said.

  I turned, and there he was, all blond hair and dimples, smiling a private smile. “Excuse me?” I said politely.

  He gestured with his chin toward the coat I’d stripped off, and gave me a wicked raise of one eyebrow.

  “Ev,” I said.

  He took a few steps until we were only an inch apart. “I missed you,” he said in that low voice.

  I took in the tanned skin of his face and the brown flecks in his green eyes. I glanced at those lips, the lower one pillowy and much larger than the top. But instead of feeling thrilled and stirred inside, I felt ill with remorse, and now I started noticing everything Chris had that Evan didn’t. Chris’s eyes were kind while Evan’s, at least to me, were blatantly sexual. Chris’s mouth was generous, waiting to tell stories about Shakespeare’s myth and his own hunt for the perfect Raclette cheese, ready to smile at me or kiss me on the forehead, while Evan’s mouth was ready only for laughs and raw pleasure.

  I had outgrown my crush.

  “Can I talk to you privately?” I said.

  The eyebrow shot higher. “Anytime.”

  I turned and walked toward my office. Might as well use it one more time. I closed the door behind us and leaned my back against the door. Evan perched on the desk.

  “I thought I explained on the phone,” I said. “I asked you to respect me and my marriage. None of this-” I waved my hand between him and me “-can happen again.”

  His cocky grin fled his face, and he looked at me pensively. “I did listen to you. I’m leaving Harper Frankwell.”

  “What?” I stepped away from the door, toward him, thinking now of Evan only as my friend, my one friend in this firm.

  “I’m going to New York. To Norwich & Towney. I just accepted the job five minutes ago.”

  Right when I was demoting myself. “You can’t leave Harper. You’ve been here forever.”

  “Exactly. Time to move on.” He loosened the collar of his blue and white checked shirt. “And like you said, I had to respect your decision. With me gone, nothing will happen.”

  “Oh, God, Ev. I’ve made such a mess of this.” I covered my face with my hands. I’d wished for Evan to be interested in me. More than interested-I’d hoped for him to lust after me. I’d gotten the interest, I’d gotten the lust, and I’d made such a spectacular muddle of it Evan felt he had to leave.

  “You didn’t do anything,” Evan said. “I’ve been thinking about New York anyway.”

  I raised my face. “You were?”

  “Hell, yeah. I’ve dated all the women in Chicago, right? Greener pastures and all that.”

  We both laughed, but they were small, weak laughs.

  “You’re sure?” I said.

  “I’m positive. Two weeks, baby, and I’m living on Spring Street.”

  “When will you tell Roslyn?”

  “Right now.”

  “I don’t know if now is a good time, especially after the conversation I just had with her.”

  “What conversation is that?”

  “I demoted myself.”

  He scoffed. “C’mon.”

  “I’m serious. I asked for my job back as an account exec.”

  His mouth dropped open a little. “Are you kidding? Why?”

  “I’m no good at being a VP.”

  “You were good enough. You just didn’t like it.”

  I thought about that for a moment. “You could tell?”

  “Of course I could tell. We grew up together around here.”

  We were both silent.

  “You know, Ev,” I said, breaking the silence. “Roslyn is going to ask you to leave immediately.”

  “I know.”

  I thought about the first time I’d seen Evan-standing at the receptionist’s desk with his brand-new briefcase. I thought of our closed-do
or meetings in his office where we’d gossip about coworkers, and I thought about our lunches discussing dates and families and career paths. Now those paths had diverged. Our lives were heading for opposite ports. Hopefully, like friends from the past, we’d always remember the exceptional moments spent together.

  “I’ll miss you,” I said. “I’ll miss our friendship.”

  He touched me on the shoulder, then took his hand away, leaving a cold spot. “We’ll always be friends,” he said. But it sounded like a greeting card designed for high school graduation, and I knew the situation was probably the same. We promised to be close forever; we’d mean it. But new friends and daily routines would get in the way.

  “I should talk to Roslyn,” he said. “You know, give her time to forge a warpath to my desk and set fire to it.”

  “Right,” I said. “Make you an example for others.”

  “Exactly.”

  I opened the door and stepped back to let him pass. I wanted to hug him, but it no longer seemed an option. We’d gone past the point of friendly embraces.

  “See you,” I said.

  He grinned. “Yeah, see you.”

  I knew we were both lying.

  At Alexa’s building, I asked the cabbie to wait.

  “Make it quick,” he grumbled.

  The warm weather had brought everyone to their cement stoops, and I had to pick my way past four teenaged guys to get to the buzzer. They stopped their conversation. They eyed me predatorily, as if I was holding the latest video game that featured mass killing.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” one of them said under his breath. The others giggled-snide sounds.

  “Hello,” I said, with all the primness of an English governess.

  I hit the buzzer for Alexa’s apartment, trying to appear efficient and nonchalant, but fear and dread grew inside. I glanced at the cab. I could get to it in ten steps if need be. God, was this what Alexa went through every day?

  “Hola,” someone said through the buzzer.

  “Hi, uh, it’s Billy Rendall, I’m here to see Alexa, if you could just buzz me in…” I spoke the words so fast, I wasn’t sure anyone could decipher them, but the buzzer sounded. I pushed the door hard, slamming it closed behind me, still under the watchful eyes of the teenagers.

  I took the stairs quickly.

  Alexa opened the door. “Billy! How are you?” She gave me a quick embrace, which left me flustered and flattered. “Come in, come in,” she said, as if I always stopped by. “I have to show you something.”

  The place was much as I’d seen it last time-old, mismatched furniture, a TV with rabbit-ear antennae, toys scattered throughout. The kitchen, viewed from the living room, was tidy, but the Formica tops were yellowed, the linoleum floor cracking.

  “Look,” Alexa said proudly. She held out her arm, gesturing toward the corner of the living room, where an old door had been laid across two stacks of blue milk crates. On top of the door, sat a host of papers and pens and, in the middle, a silver cell phone.

  “What’s this?” I said, taking a step closer.

  “It’s my desk!” Alexa was beaming, as if she’d said, It’s my new Porsche!

  “Wow, great.” But I was ashamed. What I had in my life, both before and after the frog, could easily be termed an “embarrassment of riches.” I hadn’t worried about money in years. Alexa, on the other hand, was scraping by, supporting an entire family, and was thrilled about a desk made from a door.

  “So you’re working from home?” I asked her.

  “I know it isn’t much, but I’m determined to open my own firm, like I told you on the phone, so here…” She moved behind the makeshift desk. “Let me show you.” She picked up one stack of papers after another, displaying them for me. “Here’s my application for a small business loan, and here’s a lease on this tiny office I found if I get the loan. Say a prayer.”

  “This is great,” I said.

  She held up a two typed sheets of paper. “Then here’s a list of potential clients, and this is a list of people who might give me capital, like Carlos Ortega. Do you know him?”

  I shook my head no.

  “Well, he’s big-time around here. He used to be an alderman, now he’s into venture capital and real estate. I’m too small-fry for him, but you gotta aim high, right?”

  “Absolutely,” I said. “You amaze me, Alexa.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing.” But she smiled as she placed the papers onto neat stacks already on her desk.

  I couldn’t help but think of Alexa’s clean cubicle, the one I’d inhabit on Monday. “Look,” I said, “I have to tell you something.”

  She looked at me. “Of course. God, I’ve been going on and on, and you didn’t come here to see my paperwork. Hey, what happened with your dad?”

  “It was really…Well, it was wonderful for what it was. Thanks for asking. But that’s not what I have to talk to you about.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I demoted myself today.”

  “What?” Her eyes went big.

  “Yeah, I know it sounds weird, but I asked Roslyn to take away my VP position and give me my old account exec job back.”

  Alexa surprised me by hooting and clapping her hands. “Holy shit! Roslyn must have lost it!”

  “She was pretty good, all things considered, but there is something else.” I took a deep breath, and plunged ahead. “She said I’d have to take your job. It’s the only opening.”

  Alexa’s head snapped a little as if someone had startled her.

  “But you know what?” I said, rushing in with my words. “I don’t think I can do it. I told her I would, but now…”

  She watched me closely. “Now what?”

  “I like you, Alexa. I like hanging out with you.” I paused. She remained stoic. “And I don’t want to ruin that by taking your old position. So forget it. I’m just going to have to look for a new job. I can’t take yours.”

  She shook her head. “No, that’s ridiculous. There are no jobs in this town, remember?”

  “I know, but-”

  “Look, Billy…” She smiled briefly. “What I said on the phone a few days ago was true. I think you did me a favor by firing me. I am going to get that PR firm of my own. I don’t know how and I don’t know when, but I’ve realized how much I want it since I left Harper. So let me do you a favor in return. Take my job. Enjoy it. Really enjoy it, you know?”

  That was exactly what I wanted-to take pleasure in my job without the mental machinations of how to slide into a VP spot. “You’re sure?” I asked.

  She stood and reached out her tiny hand, squeezing mine. “I’m positive.”

  We stood there a moment, our hands touching, and I recognized something in Alexa right then. Here was a friend.

  “Hey,” Alexa said, “how about a beer? It’s almost five.”

  I shook my head. “I’d love it,” I said, “but I’m hoping I have plans with my husband.”

  chapter eighteen

  I saw Chris appear at the edge of Grant Park’s green lawn. He turned his head this way and that. Finally, he seemed to notice me, sitting cross-legged on a blanket, our picnic basket next to me. He paused. He was too far away for me to read the expression on his face, but that pause scared me. I sat up taller and waved. Another pause. I gestured for him to come to me. His body was still.

  “Chris,” I called out, waving again.

  It felt suddenly as if I were in a bad dream, one where I could feel Chris, I could see him, but he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, see me.

  At last, Chris raised his hand slightly. That hand floated up to his chest and sank again. It made an arc in the sunlight. Then he took a step onto the green.

  “What’s all this?” he said when he reached me.

  “A picnic. It’s a beautiful Friday evening, and I thought we could use it.”

  He nodded.

  “Sit, please,” I said.

  He sank on his knees onto the green tartan blanket.

  “I
got all your favorites,” I said. I flipped the latch of the wicker picnic basket. I took out the items I’d picked up just a half hour ago-a creamy Tomme de Chevre cheese, delicate rice crackers, star fruit, a long, thin loaf of French bread.

  “Nice. Thank you,” Chris said. The formality between us was killing me.

  I pulled a bottle of Merlot from the basket and handed it to Chris with a corkscrew. He went to work on the wine, while I set out glasses and plates for the food. I’d purposely brought the silver wine goblets we used as toasting glasses during our wedding. Chris noticed, his eyes locking on them, then rising to meet mine. He gave me a slight grin. He took the wrapper off the cheese. I slid the bread from its paper sleeve. We did this all in quiet preparation for what we both knew wouldn’t be a whimsical, easy picnic in Grant Park. This was a summit meeting.

  Once we each had a glass of wine, and I’d set out the food, there was nothing else to busy our hands.

  “Chris,” I said, and again my voice sounded formal, even ominous.

  He looked at me. There was something sad in his eyes.

  I couldn’t think of how to start. There were too many things to say, none of them the right jumping-off point.

  Chris saved me. “Tell me about the rest of your time with your dad.”

  I smiled gratefully. He gave me a small lift of his mouth in return.

  “Well, it was interesting,” I said. I told Chris everything about the night with my dad and Lillian and Kenny. I told him how I’d been cruel to my father, and how it had felt both good and horrible. I told him how kind and wise I thought Lillian was. I told him about my conversation with Dustin, and how, despite my sister’s warnings, I was glad I’d found our father.

  “And I came to some realizations while I was out there,” I said.

  “Like what?”

  “I realized that I don’t know what a great marriage looks like. I was only around my mom and Jan for a year before I went to college, and obviously my mom and dad didn’t help me out. In some ways, in my mind, I think I set us up to fail. I was afraid you’d do the same thing as my dad.”

  I’d been playing with my glass, but now I looked up at Chris.