On the afternoon before her last day, it was nearly five and Lucie was watching the clock. A few more minutes and she could shut down her computer and bolt. Her eyes hurt and her head felt like a bowling ball that she had to struggle to keep upright on her neck. She let herself daydream frequently about being a chef someday, maybe having a little catering business. She just wanted to save up some more money first - it would only take a year or so of careful saving. Then she would have enough in the bank to be safe in case her business took a long time getting off the ground. At this hour, her dream career floated like a mirage in front of her exhausted eyes, Grand Marnier soufflés dancing among puffing flambé flames.
Just then, an email appeared in her Outlook inbox from Molly:
Lucie,
I can't believe you gave me this resume. Leah Cohen? Are you kidding? Come see me right now.
Molly
It was just like Molly to wait until the last minute of the day. How late would she make Lucie stay? No Lucie wouldn't stay; she was dead-tired and she wanted to go home. She would rush through whatever it was, just punch it out and be done. Lucie stood up and limped over to Molly's office as if going into war, her face set and determined.
Molly looked up when Lucie appeared in her doorway. "Come in. Shut the door."
Lucie closed the door and stood in front of her desk. Molly let out one of her irritated sighs. "Lucie. Lucie, Lucie, Lucie...how many Jewish people do you think work here? Huh? Give me a number."
Lucie blinked her eyes in dismay and disgust. No, that's right. Molly was no bullshit, per her. Well, it repulsed Lucie. She shrugged. "I don't know."
"Well, think about it. What's Rosh Hashanah like around here?"
"I really don't know what you're talking about."
"It's a ghost town, that's what it's like. I mean, yes, we have a diversity program. We're not idiots. But it doesn't apply to religions. The last thing we need is more Jews."
Lucie realized then that she would need to look for another job. Somewhere where she could work for a decent human being. Fighting the urge to vomit, Lucie managed, "I'm sorry, what do you want me to do?"
"Tell Abe that we don't have a position suitable for Leah currently, but that we'll prioritize her for anything that comes available. And don't do it again. Remember: no more-"
"Fine," Lucie said, turning away and cutting Molly off before she could reiterate her earlier statement by opening the door so that others could hear.
Lucie went back to her desk and sat down. There was a new email in her Outlook inbox from Molly who had re-forwarded her original email that had Leah's resume attached with an addendum:
Were you listening to me? No more Jews!
Molly
Lucie's phone for the department rang then, and she answered it. Then she forwarded the resume back to Abe Feingold, a Research Director in the the Manhattan office, telling him that they would be keeping Leah's resume on file and prioritizing it for the next appropriate position. She shut off her computer and left, practically jogging to the elevator bank to get away before Molly caught her and gave her something else to do. Her and Ryan's living room couch was calling, and she was going to beg Ryan for a backrub. Better yet, a head rub.
She didn't know she had made a disastrous mistake until the next morning. A sticky-note was centered on the face of her computer monitor, reading: "Lucie, Please see me. Molly."
Molly was sitting in her office with Anna Maher, TMB's Employee Relations Officer and Molly's top suck-up toady. Oddly, Anna was sitting in the far visitor seat rather than the one closest to the door where all of Molly's visitors sat because the far one was hard to get to, requiring a bit of climbing over the first chair wedged in front of the desk. Although Molly's office was the largest of those given to the HR department, it was still small, its only benefit a window overlooking a pretty wooded area.
Molly looked up when Lucie appeared in her doorway and smiled a strange closed-lip smile at her. She gestured at the empty guest chair. "Lucie. Please come in. And shut the door."
Lucie felt a cold dropping sensation, like ice-melt trickling down through her. Molly had never asked her to close the door unless it was just the two of them. Lucie did as she was told, closing the door and sinking into the chair, back rigid.
"Lucie, I'm shocked at what you did last night. I'm really in shock."
Lucie looked at Molly and then at Anna, who was regarding Lucie with a look of undisguised hatred. "I'm sorry? What's going on?"
"Well, we all know you've been having trouble. Your time management skills are poor, you pay no attention to detail, and the amount of mistakes I've had to correct on your work is getting in the way of my being able to do my own job. I wanted to cover for you. I had faith in you. But what happened last night, the sheer viciousness of your behavior, it can't be tolerated."
Anna leaned toward Lucie and spat, "You're horrible. How could you write something like that?"
"What? I don't understand?"
Molly leaned back in her chair. "Jews. You hate Jewish people? And to think you put it in an email to Abe Feingold, trying to make it look like it came from me. It's astonishing, frankly. I have no idea why you would do such a thing."
"I don't...," Lucie said, sputtering. She forwarded that email? How? But she'd been so tired. And what was Molly talking about? It was she who- "You wrote that. You said that! I just, I made a mistake, but it wasn't-"
"Are you accusing me?" Molly gasped and put her hand dramatically to her chest, lifting up her shoulders like a histrionic lead in a high school play.
Anna sucked in a disbelieving breath and then let it out in litany of attack directed at Lucie, "You've done something that's unpardonable! First attacking Abe, and now Molly! Molly, who's been helping you this whole time? Who's been your champion! Apologize!"
Molly shook her head and waved her hand at Anna. "That's not necessary. This isn't about me. Just sign this and you can go," she said, sliding a page thick with small type across the desk toward Lucie with a pen on top of it.
"Sign?" Lucie said, hearing the word echoing in her head. What was going on? She felt turned around, her thinking confused, muffled. If only she wasn't so overtired; it had been weeks since she'd had a decent night's sleep. She took the document and squinted at it. It was a legal document, impenetrable and dense. What did it say? She tried to read it.
"Please, Lucie. Let's not drag this out," Molly said, repeating that beleaguered sigh she had been uttering for months in Lucie's presence.
Lucie straightened. She couldn't sign this, this who-knows-what-it-said legal document? She pushed the document and pen back toward Molly. "No, I won't sign this. I didn't do anything wrong. I mean, I forwarded your email, the one where you said-"
Molly's cool composure broke. Eyes bulging, she shouted, "Don't you dare!"
Lucie raised her voice, continuing, refusing to be cowed this time, "You said no more Jews. I think that's what you said. You said that this place was a ghost town at-"
"Shut up! Shut up right now! How dare you!"
Anna started shouting, too, and between them both, the noise was so loud Lucie knew she wouldn't be heard and she stopped talking. Seeing Lucie's mouth shut, Molly fell back against her chair from which she had risen and had been standing over Lucie, screaming down at her. Anna continued her attack for a moment longer before also falling back.
After a beat, Molly pushed the document back at Lucie. "Just sign it. It's not a big deal. It just says that you relinquish your right to severance pay and unemployment benefits, that this was a disciplinary issue. And before you say one more word, remember that you have been falling down on the job for months. There are countless witnesses here who can attest to your inability to perform your duties. So no matter what you claim you didn't do last night, TMB has a strong case should you foolishly decide to fight this," Molly said and then sighed and shook her head, looking at Lucie with pity. "Do yourself a favor. Sign it. Go home."
Oddly, it wasn't Moll
y's other words about witnesses and HR's case against her, all of the words frighteningly true, that resonated with Lucie. It was just the last one: home. That's what she wanted to do, go home. This day, only fifteen or so minutes long, had already been overwhelming. She wanted to go home, run into Ryan's arms and be held, understood. He was home right now, probably just sitting down to a bowl of Cheerios and the paper having worked late at the bar the night before.
She looked at the document, started to pick up the pen, but instead put her hand on top of it. "No. I need to know what I'm signing. I can't read this. It's all legalese. I need a lawyer to see it."
Molly's soft-featured face hardened until it looked as if it was made of rock. "Anna," she said, flicking her eyes over and then back to Lucie. "Can you give us a moment?"
Anna leaned forward and started to protest. "Molly, I thought we agreed that-"
"Please. A moment."
Anna shook her head, shrugged, and then got to her feet. Lucie stood to let her out, refusing to meet Anna's angry and accusing eyes, and then sat, hearing the door softly latch beside her.
Molly leaned forward, her elbows propped on her desk, her virtuous expression from the meeting with Anna evaporating and a devious narrow-eyed look taking its place. "So I must have pissed you off last night. Forwarding that message probably seemed like a good idea. Good way to let everyone know who Molly Knowles really is. Well, girlie, it backfired. It's all on you now. Lucky for me I was here late last night. Had plenty of time to clean things up on my side, plant a few bombs on yours. You should have seen Anna's face when she found the neo-Nazi stuff in your miscellaneous folder. I knew she'd want to look through your desk."
Feeling like Daffy Duck, but unable to stop herself, Lucie said what she had grown to know about Molly, "You're despicable."
Molly laughed lightly. "Go ahead, call me names. But sign on the dotted line," she said, nodding at the document still in front of Lucie. "Because, if you don't, I'll make sure you'll never work again in the tri-state area. You won't be able to get a job scrubbing toilets. I will work my network like it's never been worked before. That's a promise."
Looking into Molly's knowing eyes, Lucie fought the urge to shiver. She meant it. Lucie looked down at the document again, tempted. But she wouldn't sign it. It could say anything, could be filled with lies condemning her. Over the years, life - her parents' divorce, her mother's untimely death, the automobile accident, her father's disappointment in her - had managed to beat down the strong little girl she used to be, the kid who'd try anything, who stared down fear, raising her fist and shaking it in trouble's face. She had to stop subverting herself to please others, stop being the "good girl".
Lucie forced herself to stand. "No, I won't sign it, not unless I can have a lawyer look at it."
Molly let out a puffing bark of shock. "You've got to be kidding. You really are stupid."
Lucie shook her head. "No, I'm smart. Very smart. Maybe too smart."
"You know what you're asking for, right? I guess you must be planning to move away. Well, suit yourself," Molly said, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms over her chest. In that defiant act of assured confidence, Lucie saw a glimmer of uncertainty hiding underneath Molly's armor. Within that glimmer, a seed of hope for herself was planted.
Seeing no point in continuing their conversation now that they had reached stalemate, Lucie turned, pulled open the door, walked as gracefully as she could out of Molly's office, ignoring Anna, who was following her, and grabbing her work bag to put in the few framed photos she kept on her desk: her father, Flo, Erin, and herself in one sunlit shot taken by a local photographer at the beach, another of her mother looking composed and peaceful and taken during that last trip to Paris, and a recent shot of her and Ryan with their arms wrapped around each other - photos she had looked at countless times during her months at TMB, trying to overcome each painful day with happy memories. Then she took the stairs down, not wanting to run into friendly co-workers at the elevator bank and be forced to explain what had happened.
In fact, she didn't know what to say about what had happened. Should she declare the truth or would that only make Molly's retaliation worse? After much discussion with Ryan about her next career move, during which she decided to take the leap and start her dreamed-of catering business, she also realized she just wanted to leave the whole terrible business behind her rather dredge it up again and again. The dark times of working for Molly at TMB were over: let in the sunshine! Besides, other than Chelsea, she had never spent time with co-workers outside of her job, so who was she going to tell?
Seeing Molly sitting there at Cafe Luna, so close, her eyes following her, brought everything Lucie had thought buried back up. It wasn't over after all, was it? There was no way to continue to fool herself now. Involuntarily, Lucie's arms went up and she wrapped her hands around her elbows against the chill of Molly, following the others down the street, the promised salsa dance lesson's appeal gone and the earlier laughter and lightheartedness she'd enjoyed at the table with the other girls evaporating into the cooling evening air. She bid it goodbye, feeling that old hopelessness from her days at TMB return.
But she had been wrong. The night had turned again, and although Bianca regrettably had to leave due to her child's illness, the rest of them ended up having a wonderful time. Well, they did until now. Because, watching Chelsea walk toward her, Lucie could see that Chelsea had been crying, her delicate features puffed and pink.
Lucie pushed herself off of her seat, feeling a bolt of pain go through her hip but ignoring it, and went to her friend, already knowing what it was, what it always was: a man. Chelsea, who could be whip-smart and savvy about office politics, who could fix any problem with your computer within minutes and was the unofficial one-woman IT department at TMB, who possessed the impressive ability to remember minute details, phone numbers, and dates on the spot without having to rely on notes or even a calendar, could be incredibly thick when it came to a man she was interested in. When Chelsea was in love, it was as if she became blind and deaf to any inconvenient realities about him. Crossing the floor to her friend, who was attempting a wobbling smile, Lucie prayed the man in question wasn't John Rossi.
"What happened?" Lucie said.
Chelsea shrugged, her smile failing and lips turning down. "I don't want to talk about it. Please? Let's just have fun."
Lucie put her arm around Chelsea, remembering all the times it had been Chelsea who had put an arm around her after a bad day with Molly. Chelsea, her relentless cheerleader who only saw hope and possibility. Now it was Lucie's turn, and she hoped she could successfully return the favor. "Okay, no talking. Do you want a drink? I'll drive you home so you can really party it up?"
"No," Chelsea said mournfully. "I'm not in the mood to get drunk. I...I don't know what I want."
Lucie looked over and spotted Sharon and Kate still twirling on the floor, Kate's garish red lipstick only slightly less visible due to the distance. "I have an idea...what about a makeover? You love those shows."
"A makeover show? What?"
Lucie raised an eyebrow at Chelsea and then pointedly looked across at where Kate was dancing. "Our own little show, over in the bathroom. Project Save Kate from Ugly Lipstick and Scary Spider Eye Makeup. What do you think? She's too nice to look like that."
Chelsea looked up and over at Kate with surprise. "Oh, my God. You, too? But do you think we should? I mean, I hardly know her."
"Bianca put makeup on her the first night they met. Kate was cool with it then. She obviously just got carried away, doesn't know when to stop. She needs us. I mean, she needs us."
"You're right. She does," Chelsea said, her whole demeanor transforming, shoulders going back as she peered at Kate.
Lucie sighed with satisfaction. "Let's do it."
And it hadn't been hard; Kate had happily followed them into the bathroom even after Sharon laughed and remarked, "Uh, oh. I think the Makeup Police are here."
Kate had startled and said, "Makeup? Is that what you guys want to do? But my makeup is from Saks Fifth Avenue? It was really expensive?"
"Expensive isn't what matters," Chelsea said, putting an arm around Kate. "It's all application. See what I'm wearing? One hundred percent CVS. Well, not my lipstick. That's MAC."
"Really?" Kate said, gazing at Chelsea with open awe.
Luckily, the bathroom had paper towels rather than heat hand dryers and they were able to get Kate's makeup off almost completely before Chelsea got down to work on her, taking over and chattering away as if she didn't have a care in the world, fully in her element. Sharon listened with interest, not one for wearing much herself other than mascara, and Lucie watched the whole scene feeling victorious.
In the end Kate looked like the sweet fresh-faced girl Lucie had met and liked right away, Kate's genuineness radiating off of her like a kind of gentle heat, and Chelsea was her talkative happy self again. Observing them, Lucie wished she had some way of knowing the cause of Chelsea's earlier distress. She wanted to dismiss her nagging fears about Chelsea's poisonous ex, just know that it was another less-dangerous object of affection - then she could truly relax. But she couldn't ask Chelsea now and risk upsetting her again. Lucie would try to remember to call her this weekend and do a little digging then.
The makeup session nearly over, Lucie checked her cell. It was almost midnight and she had a busy day tomorrow with that birthday bash for twenty in Rowayton, a bigger headcount than she had ever catered for before, breaking her promise to keep all the parties at or under twelve. "I don't know about you guys, but it's late and I have to go."
"Me, too," Chelsea said, standing back to regard her work. "Good. You look really good, Kate."
Cocktail Hour Page 20