I tried on several suits. Dede was blessed with a bigger bust than me but everything she recommended seemed to fit. “How are you with high heels?”
Occasionally I had worn low heels when I acted out or at my big ‘engagement’ celebrations that always turned into disasters but I had never worn four-inches or stilettos. “Not well,” I admitted.
She held out a pair. “These are too small and I never got around to returning them.” They fit okay but I felt like I was teetering. Dede laughed. “Just stand there for a minute before the mirror.” I did. “Now walk straight ahead.” I wobbled forward. Dede laughed again. “Okay. You’ll get used to them in time but for now, just wear flats, and only put on heels for client meetings.” Already I could see myself tripping and splashing scolding coffee over some important client.
Dede kissed me goodbye and said she had to pack for her flight to Miami the following morning and then, hopefully, spend a wonderful final night with Colin.
All weekend, I tried desperately to stay sober and keep my head clear. I spent most of the days with Elaine and most of the nights with Artie.
At 9:30 a.m. on Monday, I reported for my first day of what I suspected would be a very short career of working for Adam Turner at the esteemed firm of Whitney, White and Spencer.
Mrs. Flanigan, an attractive middle-age woman with red hair and freckles, saw right through my hopeful smile. She let me know me that the only reason I was working for Mr. Turner was because Dede was the best temp she had ever had and that she was expecting big things from me and that I had better not disappoint her or my tenure at the firm would be very short. At least, we agreed on something.
The secretarial stations were mahogany with some lovely inlay. My corner station was slightly bigger and more ornate than the adjoining two stations. Grace and Angie were already at their stations. I introduced myself to them both. Grace, who sat next to me, was typing a document and acted too busy to acknowledge my existence, while Angie, a lovely young woman with an awesome tan, gave me a sweet smile and motioned for me not to worry about Grace.
Mr. Turner was in his office, making corrections to a document while talking on the phone. He waved for me to sit down and I sank into a soft leather chair. When he hung up, he welcomed me to Whitney, apologized for not being better with a computer and that when we were alone in his office I was to call him Adam. He then presented me with a pile of documents and left for a meeting with the managing partner.
When I finished revising the documents I took them into his corner office and noticed for the first time how beautiful and spacious it was. He had an antique mahogany desk with an antique Persian rug that gave you the feeling that this centuries-old firm was going to be around forever. Two walls were almost all glass displaying spectacular views of the churning New York harbor. Another wall was a bookcase mostly of pictures of Adam and his beautiful wife and his two lovely young daughters. From the summer beach photos to the wintry ski slopes, they all looked so happy that I was enormously envious. I desperately craved to have such a beautiful family one day.
I picked up one picture of Adam’s wife teaching their youngest daughter a soccer move when Adam walked in. Embarrassed, I quickly put back the picture. “I’m sorry.”
He smiled. “You play soccer?”
“Not really,” I replied. “Your wife looks like she was pretty good.”
“All-State. Turned down several top college scholarships.” I was stunned. I couldn’t conceive why anyone would do that. Adam laughed. “She was also her high school’s valedictorian and got a full academic scholarship. We met at Harvard Law. She was second in our class and for as long as we live, she will never forgive me for being first.”
I was more intimidated than ever. “Where does she work?” When I got fired from Whitney, I wanted to make sure I never ended up with her.
“At home. We decided that one of us would make a living and the other would raise our kids. Lisa works hard but it’s all pro bono. She’s working on the Denison case.” I didn’t know what that was. “Mary Denison, the Murder Mom?” I admitted that I had seen some headlines about her in the New York tabloids. Adam explained that Denison was a devoutly religious woman who had killed her husband and daughter. Because she felt that she deserved to be executed as a punishment for her sins, she wasn’t cooperating with the appeals being filed on her behalf. “Lisa is trying to keep her alive, due to the ‘extenuating circumstances’ that never came out during her trial,” Adam explained.
That afternoon, I answered the phone to hear a small voice ask, “Is my Daddy there?” I soon learned that no matter how busy he was Adam almost always took calls from wife and his daughters.
Dede had been right. Adam was a dream to work for and wanting to stay with him as long as I could I tried not to screw things up. I still drank and acted out. But I also bought a big purse and stuffed it with a thin dress, so I wouldn’t wear the same clothes to work two days in a row, as well as breath mints and a very loud alarm clock set for 7:30 a.m. every morning. That definitely pissed off a few guys. But despite my precautions my penchant for self-destruction got the best of me.
After acting out all night with several fraternity guys, I arrived at work still drunk and out of breath mints on the morning of an important meeting between Adam and a group of Japanese investors. Having kicked off my sneakers, I was wrestling with my high heels when he Adam came out, took one look at me and asked, “Can you type?”
“Sure,” I said defiantly.
“Good.” He pulled a packet of breath mints from his suit pocket and handed them to me, saying, “Just sit there quietly and type, okay?”
He turned to Grace. “Would you please show in the Osaka group and handle the coffee?”
After giving me a disgusted look, Grace smiled sweetly at Adam, saying, “Of course, Mr. Turner. I will take care of everything.”
As she headed off toward reception, I jumped up and rounded my station, saying, “I can handle it.” First, the room started swirling around. Then someone smacked me hard on the forehead. I looked around to hit them back before I realized that I was lying face down on the carpet and Adam and Angie were trying to lift me up.
“Are you all right?” Adam’s voice was filled with concern. “Do you need treatment?”
“I’m fine,” I retorted as they sat me down in my chair.
Grace was returning with the well-dressed Japanese group. Adam instructed me, “Just sit there.” He ushered the clients into his office and then returned, telling Angie, “Please get me another secretary for today and call a car to take Sherry home. See that she gets into it.” He turned to me. “I’ll see you tomorrow, when I hope you are feeling better.”
He returned to his office and shut the door before I retorted, “I’m fine, thank you very much.”
In the car, I burst into tears. I was hopeless, absolutely hopeless. I couldn’t believe that Adam expected someone as worthless as me to return to work the next day. He had to be some kind of a weird masochist.
At home, I collapsed onto the sofa and passed out. It was dark when I woke up. Although I desperately wanted a drink, I instead lay on the sofa, petting Robie and watched Charade four times.
The next morning, maxed out on caffeine but stone sober, I arrived early at my work station. As I was finishing a note of apology and saying that I was quitting, Adam arrived, called me into his office and closed the door.
I didn’t know exactly what to expect but I expected the worst. By now, I figured he knew what kind of girl I was and wanted some, too. I hated that a man with a lovely-looking family was now going to turn out to be one more scumbag. Only he was one day too late. He should have had me when I was smashed out of my mind.
“What do you want to do with you life, Sherry?”
I hadn’t anticipated that question. “Adam, Mr. Turner, ah, look, I’m sorry about yesterday. I promise it wouldn’t happen again.” How many times have I repeated that lie? “But I was thinking that maybe this isn’t the place
for me.”
Like a nice but stern father that I never had, he repeated, “What do you want to do with your life?”
Was I supposed to scream, Just survive? What business was it of his if I spent every day semi-suicidal? I was just a temp. Then it hit me! Maybe he wanted me to become his mistress and pay my bills? With those lovely daughters! “Why do you want to know?” I asked bluntly.
“Maybe I can help you.”
That was it. He wanted to help me into bed. Did Dede screw him? Had she expected me to do him, too?
“Sherry?” He was still waiting for an answer.
“I want to teach primary school children,” I blurted out.
“How far along are you with your education?”
I didn’t think that was any of his business either but answered, “Not very far. I want to go back to school but…” I stopped. What was the point? If I did become his mistress he’d probably still want me to stay his secretary for a quicky now and then. Which meant he was a fool, because I would surely screw up again like yesterday and be doomed anyway. I was leaving and would never see him again, so why does he have to know all of my problems?
Finally, he said, “The firm’s health insurance pays for a dependency clinic. I can probably get you twenty-eight days but you’d have to go full-time with the firm and, hopefully, stay on afterward.”
I couldn’t believe it! That was the last thing I had expected him to say.
“Mr. Turner, I don’t really drink that much,” I lied. “I just had a bad night.”
He looked at me for a long moment and then said, “Well, the offer stands, if you want to take it.” The meeting was over.
I walked out stunned. He didn’t want an affair? That was worse! Then I knew I definitely didn’t deserve to be with him. I had to get out of there before I screwed things up so badly that I jeopardized his job. I stayed all day and managed not to screw up. I didn’t even react to Grace’s spitting whispers reminding me, “You don’t deserve him,” and “You don’t deserve to be here.”
I went to group that night, grateful for a place to go beside a bar. During the break, I stepped outside for a cigarette but my purse contained an empty pack. I dreaded the two-block trek to the Korean deli. Then I noticed a tall, fortyish man wearing an expensive pinstriped three-piece suit. He was staring at me. I had seen him at previous meetings but never before close enough to see how handsome he was. He held out a cigarette and lit it was a gold lighter.
“Thanks,” I said, taking a long drag. We talked a bit. He was Jack R., a corporate lawyer, who was once a partner in a large firm but now he worked on his own.
“What do you do?” he asked.
“I’m sort of a legal secretary,” I replied.
“Sort of?” Jack paused and then said, “You mean when you show up for work on time and are not hungover?”
I nodded. “Lately, I seem to have a little problem with that.”
He smiled, unfazed. “I’m looking for a secretary right now. Maybe we can help each other stay sober.”
He was so good-looking that I wanted to go out with him and I was afraid that if we worked together he would just look at me as a secretary and not want to get involved. Then I thought about him being close to twenty years older than me and wondered if I just needed a father figure. I had enough problems without throwing that one into the mix.
Still, this would be the perfect way to leave Adam without having to tell Dede that I screwed up. She couldn’t fault me for trading in temping for a permanent job. And if I came into the office half-drunk, wearing the previous day’s clothes, Jack would understand. He was an addict, too. When he mentioned a starting salary that was considerably more than my temp salary, I was sold.
He handed me a business card. “How about we start Monday morning?” Jack asked with a perfect smile. “Nine-thirty?”
“Great.”
We crushed out our cigarettes and started inside when a horrible chill came over me. I stopped. “I need to know. Have you ever molested children?”
Jack smiled again and shook his head. “Not my thing.”
I managed to stay sober all weekend and early Monday morning, I called my agency and explained the situation and left a message with the floor receptionist to tell Adam that I had gotten a permanent job. Since I had pretty much turned down his own job offer he would probably know that something wasn’t right but neither was I.
To make sure I wasn’t late, I arrived at Jack’s office an hour early and talked the security guard into letting me in. Jack’s office was small but nicely appointed. No family pictures adorned his shelves, only several honorary plaques. The last one was dated over a decade before. He appeared to have been a high-powered lawyer until something happened. It wasn’t hard to imagine what that something was.
I sat in my small cubicle and looked at the inbox of docs to see if I could get an early start. But the computer needed a password so I busied myself with pinning “One Day at a Time” next to “Progress, not Perfection” on a cork board beside my desk.
Just before ten, Jack walked armed with coffee and looking ragged.
“Good morning,” I said, cheerfully.
“Morning,” he answered, barely glancing at me. “Come into my office.”
At his desk, he sat down gingerly in his chair, and I asked, “You okay?”
He nodded. “Just a headache. I had a small slip last night.”
“I looked at a few of your documents,” I admitted, as I settled into a leather chair. Jack didn’t reply as he downed a couple of aspirins with his coffee. “That unclaimed beneficiary document you’re doing? How much will it cost to find him?”
Jack glanced up. “Who do you want to find?”
“My mother.”
He gave me a long look and slugged his coffee. “Give me what information you have. We’ll call it a hiring bonus.”
I worked hard all day, trying to be both fast and accurate and Jack seemed to appreciate the effort. But he showed no personal interest in me. Maybe someday, I thought.
During my first week with Jack, I didn’t act out once. Five days! A record! Knowing that Jack understood my problem was comforting. I no longer felt like I was one binge away from starting all over again. I knew I would have at least a few chances with him. I actually felt proud of myself since twice Jack came in hungover but I was also impressed that he never let it affect his work. On Saturday night, I decided to test myself with one drink in a village bar. Bad idea. I woke up on my living room floor nude from the waist down.
The following week, I also managed not to act out because Jack was preparing for a huge closing and we worked late every night. At 8 o’clock on Thursday evening, we finally finished all the documents. I was so tired that I wanted to go straight home but Jack insisted that we go out to dinner to celebrate. He took me to a lovely restaurant below the Brooklyn Bridge. As I stared in awe at the spectacular, and romantic, view of Manhattan and the Harbor, I fantasized that that Jack was trying to start a relationship. I wasn’t sure about dating another addict but knew that it would immediately give us a common bond and I had certainly never dated someone who was both handsome and rich. I decided to try to let things happen and not worry about where they might lead—at least not until after our first kiss.
Jack asked me what it was like growing up in Indiana. I knew he was giving me a choice of either making small talk or saying something real about my childhood. In group, I had watched countless people share their painful childhood stories and felt sure that such courage would always elude me. I only whispered softly, “I was abused and have spent my entire life trying to deal with it.”
Jack had no such qualms about sharing, saying that he couldn’t blame his addiction on his parents or anyone else, that he had enjoyed a typically normal childhood. “My most traumatic childhood event was breaking my collarbone while skiing but that was because it took forever to get down the mountain to a hospital.” He added, “God only knows why I am a sex addict because I sure a
s shit don’t.”
Jack downed his Scotch and motioned to the waiter for another. “I was paying prostitutes a thousand dollars an hour, until I went broke twice. Now, I refuse to pay for sex. It’s my main bottom line.”
An eerie feeling came over me. While I enjoyed looking at Jack’s candlelit face, the evening seemed to be turning into a weird group meeting. Jack showed absolutely no personal interest in me. He just drank heavily and talked about his attempts at recovery. I had been trying to drink less but as I became more discouraged by the lack of connection between us, I began matching his drinks.
On the way home, I was too drunk and too depressed to worry about Jack’s driving but he seemed use to driving drunk. As he neared my apartment a car pulled out. Jack exclaimed, “God! A parking place in New York City.” He slipped into the spot, adding, “We should celebrate or something. Can I come in for a nightcap?”
I hesitated. It was really late and he had his big closing the following day but I figured he couldn’t scold me too much for being hungover when he was the one who had gotten me blasted. Wondering if he was finally showing some interest in me, I nodded.
We got out and as I started up my steps, Jack popped his trunk. “Mind if I bring in my things?”
I turned around. “What things?”
Jack picked up a bag of whips and ropes. “If I see them I don’t fantasize about them. I’m trying to neutralize them.”
I stared at him. “You paid someone a thousand dollars an hour to whip you?” He nodded. I couldn’t believe it. “Have I lived the wrong life.”
I immediately regretted the comment but regretted more Jack hauling his sick “things” into my apartment. As long as he didn’t do anything with them!
I got us diet sodas and once again listened to Jack talk about himself, finally realizing that he wasn’t going to try to get closer to me. Jack explained that women dominating him turned him on and that he had some clothes in his bag that might fit me if I wanted to try them on.
Falling in Love Page 15