Cocktail Hour

by McTiernan, Tara

  She should have known then that she was in trouble. He had only ever referred to her as Wozniak. An hour later she was chomping on her pencil and gazing at her computer screen where her report was displayed, trying to understand what, exactly, was wrong with it that she couldn't see, when Molly appeared in the doorway to her office.

  "Sharon," Molly said with her dangerous fake smile. "Do you have a minute?"

  Sharon took the pencil out from between her teeth, the soft wood nearly bitten through, and put it on the far left of her desk, out of sight. "Uh, sure?"

  Molly stepped into Sharon's office, shut the door behind her and sat down in the guest chair. The same chair where Alan had sat, breath ragged and head bowed, almost two months before. Right before everything fell apart. Molly was almost perky, sitting down and crossing her legs and tilting her head at Sharon. "I think you know why I'm here."

  Sharon shook her head. "No. I asked to meet Bob. I don't have any idea why you're here." She resisted the urge to sneer. God, she hated Molly and everything she stood for. The woman was artificial and deceptive and seemed to take pleasure in adversity. Lucie hadn't told Sharon what had happened between her and Molly, but Sharon could tell that working for Molly would be a very bad experience: every day spent answering to someone who invested in the downfall of others.

  Molly said, "Yes, you did. You demanded to meet with him and you questioned his authority in front of the team. You refused to make the necessary changes to the reported findings for the client. Insubordination and a rotten attitude will get you nowhere. But I have a feeling that you don't really care. I have a feeling you want to torpedo Bob, damage the team, and make your point. I think you were done here the minute Alan Duffy was let go."

  "Really? I don't see it that way at all."

  Molly leaned back and folded her arms over her chest, her confidence unshaken. "Oh? Do tell. What way is it, then?"

  "Bob criticizes me. He targets me. He is the one with the problem. I don't have a problem. I just want to do my job."

  Molly lowered her head, looking at Sharon from under her eyebrows. "No, you don't. I knew this was coming, and I'm not fooled. And I think you wanted this meeting with me, too. So you could champion your friend, Lucie. But it's too late. She's already dug that grave."

  Sharon's temper flared, hearing Molly say Lucie's name. Then she remembered what she had heard about Molly and an intern through the office grapevine, something about sexual harassment? She leaned forward, put her elbows on her desk, and said in a low voice, "The one who digs graves around here, Molly, is you. Your own. I heard about the harassment. That kid? It's really disgusting. I bet you think you can get away with anything."

  Molly's eyes narrowed. "I don't know what you're talking about. Lucie probably told you some tall tales, huh? Well, know this: Lucie's a liar. You should be careful, the friends you keep reflect on you. Anyway, here's a little something I can have you sign now, or in front of Bob. Your choice."

  Molly slid a manila file she had been holding across the desk to Sharon. Sharon hesitated, staring at it and remembering Bianca's story from that first night at Ibiza. Was it really true after all? Was Lucie a compulsive liar? But she liked Lucie, had so much fun in her company, and she had been meaning to call Lucie, get together just the two of them for coffee or a drink. But between work and checking up on Alan, the time and energy required were never available. If it wasn't for Chelsea and Bianca doing all the legwork, she wouldn't have plans that night at The Vault with the girls.

  Sharon took the file and opened it. She read: Subject: Written Warning - Unsatisfactory Performance. Her eyes widened. She read the rest of the lies in the letter. Her name and a place for her signature was at the bottom next to Bob's signature.

  Sharon read aloud, "'And this has indirectly cost substantial loss to the company'? Fascinating stuff, this. How do I work for TMB for over ten years, winning awards, achieving every deliverable, keeping clients happy, and suddenly I'm costing the company?"

  "I think I've already covered what we believe is going on with you. Your priorities have obviously shifted. Now, if you can demonstrate that you're back on board, that could change things. In fact, I could make this go away with a little cooperation from you. That's why I'm here and we're not in my office. I wanted to give you a chance, Sharon."

  She looked at Molly. There was a crafty glint in the Director of Human Resource's eyes, making Sharon wary but curious. "What? What chance?"

  A small smile played on the woman's lips. "I thought you might be interested. There aren't many research companies in the area, none as big as TMB. Leaving here in disgrace wouldn't give you many options."

  "Why don't you stop dragging it out and tell me."

  "All right. You're friends with Lucie Scott. I hold that against you and your poor judgment. But it could work in your favor, because I need something from her. I need her signature. She failed to sign an important document, one that attested to her culpability in an incident she created. One that, unfortunately and unfairly, was left to rest on my shoulders. I take responsibility for the mistake of hiring her, but I shouldn't have to be held responsible for her wildly unconscionable behavior, something I couldn't have foreseen. If you get her signature for me, I'll make this little problem disappear for you. So, what do you say?"

  "I say," Sharon said, looking at the greedy expression on Molly's face, an expression that belied her words. Molly had never been wronged, that was obvious. Sharon was just another pawn to her. "No way. Not a chance. Here, I'll sign." Sharon snatched up and signed the document with a flourish before shoving the folder back at Molly.

  Molly's eyes blazed and her nostrils flared. She grabbed the folder up off of Sharon's desk and stood, leaning over the desk. "Wow. I overestimated you, Sharon. I suggest you start considering your alternatives," Molly said before turning, yanking open the door to Sharon's office, and stalking out.

  Sharon stared at the doorway and felt the righteous fire that had filled her only moments before fade away, leaving her to shake so badly she had to shut her door again, not wanting to be seen in that state.

  And the shaking hadn't stopped, even now as she pulled into a parking space near The Vault, the rain finally slowing and allowing her to see the golden lights decorating the topiary trees that flanked the door of the restaurant-slash-hotspot. Sharon turned off the engine and sat, trying to calm down. If she'd even been able to think, she would have canceled tonight, but she was off-kilter.

  But if she started the car again, backed out, and went home, called Chelsea to explain, would a cuddle with Fred cure this inner icy feeling, this echoing hollowness? The things she loved about her house and her treasured peace and quiet suddenly seemed false. The shushing wind in the trees outside her windows wasn't calming; it was lonely, sighing. Her cat's mewling cry wasn't happy; it was yearning, hungry for family and busy clatter. The ticking of her beloved antique grandfather clock in the front hall wasn't strong and measured; it was ticking away her life, reminding her it would be over too soon, never having really lived. There was never a mess, everything was always in its place, because nothing ever happened - there were no surprises and there never would be.

  Sharon, breathing in shuddering deep gasps, found her neatly rolled umbrella where she left it in the passenger seat and opened her car door. Then she saw Lucie passing on the pavement, limping in an exaggerated way, and the shaking stopped. "Lucie!" she yelled.

  Lucie paused and lifted her chin, turning her heart-shaped face back and forth under her large golf umbrella while searching for the source of her shouted name.

  Sharon stood, threw her own umbrella back in the car, and ran to Lucie's side, ducking under the webbed blue and white edge of Lucie's umbrella. "Hi! Do you mind?"

  Lucie smiled widely, her eyes lighting up. "Hey! Of course I don't. It's great to see you! I can't believe it's been a month already. Merde, what a day I've had. I need a big, wait, a huge, glass of wine. Right now," she said, stepping forward again with the
same extreme hobble.

  "Me, too, sister. Me three! Four! One hundred and forty two!"

  Lucie laughed. "One million dollars," she said with an exaggerated grin, eyes bugged, referencing the joke they had started at Bembe about only dating rich men a la Chelsea. They both thought it was funny and sad that Chelsea prioritized a man's income above all else when considering him as a suitor. They kept poking each other all night and quoting Doctor Evil from the Austin Powers series, cackling, "You know what's important in a man? 'One million dollars!'"

  Sharon laughed, feeling a warmth spreading through her. "So, what's with the limp? It's much worse. What happened?"

  "Too much fun last time, that's what happened. Let's not talk about it."

  "Okay. Your call. I know, what do you say we have even more fun this time?"

  "Let's do it! We will rock this place," Lucie agreed with enthusiasm.

  "The Vault? On Greenwich Avenue? Is this the place you're suggesting we will 'rock'? I think your expectations may be a little high."

  "We will rock it upside down!"

  Sharon laughed. "If you say so." But she doubted it. If the bars in Stamford and Norwalk were full of strivers, the bars in Greenwich and Westport were full of arrivers. And the arrivers were worse, bloated with self-importance and more freshly-acquired money than they could handle psychologically. Also known as nouveau riche, these residents of the tri-state area around New York City had made their lives about this final arrival and expected the band to come out and play, a spotlight to center on them, and the world to bow down to their greatness. They were insufferable.

  In spite of Lucie's slow progress, they finally made it to the door of The Vault and then inside and out of the rain. This is where they paused, Sharon looking up the golden spiral staircase while Lucie shook out and closed her umbrella.

  "Oh, crap," Lucie said, looking up at the stairs.

  "Maybe there's an elevator?" Sharon looked around. The entry area was hard and shiny and black: black marble underfoot, black lacquered walls, and a shiny black podium where the hostesses stood guard: three of them peering at Sharon and Lucie and wearing, of course, black. There was no sign of an elevator. Perhaps in the back? They had to provide handicapped access somehow. Sharon walked over to the podium, sensing the women's critical inspection of her bargain-basement skirt and blouse. "Excuse me. Is there an elevator?"

  The three women glanced at each other as if Sharon had said something amusing. Then one of them, the blond with the shiny bob, said, "Well. Yes....it's a service elevator though. In the kitchen. Would you like to take that?"

  "What about your guests that are handicapped? How do they get up to The Birdcage?"

  The blond smiled, eyes narrowing. "They don't usually want to....but as I said, you're welcome to take the service elevator."

  "Never mind!" Lucie called from behind Sharon. "I can take the stairs. Thanks!"

  Sharon turned and regarded Lucie, who was flushed red but smiling brightly. "Are you sure?" Sharon asked.

  Lucie gave a swift nod, turned toward the staircase, and started hobbling toward it. Sharon shrugged and followed her, not bothering to thank the hostesses as she didn't think they deserved it. Lucie and Sharon made slow progress, Lucie having to pause and rest halfway up.

  "How are you cooking in a kitchen all day with your hip like this?" Sharon couldn't help but ask.

  Lucie shook her head. "I manage. It'll be fine. Come on. I don't want to make a scene."

  They finally reached the top of the stairs and paused. The famed Birdcage was beautiful, gilded and ornate just like its namesake. It was full of arrivers, all of them like peacocks in full-fan, heads back on necks in displays of confidence and power. Sharon looked for the other girls, but didn't spot them, which made her wonder if they were the first to arrive because you could always count on Chelsea standing center-stage in a place like this. And Bianca, of course, didn't need to. She was so arrestingly gorgeous and charismatic, it was impossible not to notice her.

  "There they are," Lucie said and started making her way through the crowd. Sharon looked in the same direction but didn't see them. She followed.

  Lucie stopped at a table in the corner. Sharon peered past her and discovered why she didn't see them the first time she looked. Chelsea, always preening and posturing in popular bars, was hunched over her drink looking small and scared. Kate's hair was a horrible purplish color now and she was wearing a matching purplish dress that was almost as ugly as the one she'd worn the last time they'd gone out. She blended into the similarly-purplish shadows of this corner of the bar as a result, only her fair skin and light eyes visible.

  But it was Bianca that was the most changed. Bianca, who favored fire-engine-red and wore her long luxuriant hair down, flipping it around like a cape, was wearing a plain all-black dress with her hair back in a low and tight chignon. Bianca, who usually seemed to relish attention and obviously adored the spotlight, seemed to be avoiding it tonight. As if she was hiding. Sharon wondered why, and then mentally slapped herself. Enough with the suspiciousness!

  "Hey!" Chelsea said, brightening and sitting up. They all hugged and greeted each other and then Lucie and Sharon sat down.

  Kate bounced a little in her seat and then, patting her stomach, said, "Guess what, Sharon? You were right? I am going to have a whole tribe?"

  "Really, Kate? How wonderful!" Sharon said, leaning forward and trying to ignore the feeling of menace she was receiving from Bianca. She didn't understand it, she knew it was wrong, but Bianca made her think of a big black spider, carefully spinning a glistening and deadly web and then waiting. She glanced at Bianca and could swear she could see a look of breathless anticipation on her face.

  Sharon shook her head quickly, trying to shake off her bad habit of distrust. No, tonight she would focus on being happy for Kate, sweet darling mother-to-be Kate, and the noisy, messy, and joyful life she was building with her husband, Grant, in Darien. Sharon leaned forward and asked all the questions Kate was so clearly dying to answer, letting her new friend enjoy the spotlight she rarely sought.

  Corona

  Kate, chattering away and delighted by her friends' attention, knew she should be happy. She was happy. She had everything she had ever wanted, didn't she? She had to remind herself of that.

  She had a baby on the way, was able to conceive naturally after all. Her belly seemed enormous to her these days and full of promise. Grant was so proud and waited on her hand and foot, making her feel like a queen. They were already shopping and filling the nursery with furniture and toys, damning bad luck. Of course, later, there would be a baby shower, so she had to control her purchases, leaving things for their family and friends to buy for them. But, for once, she didn't care about their debt. She was pregnant at long last and she wanted to celebrate, buy every plush doll, every pretty storybook, every darling onesie she wanted.

  She adored her new job as a nursery school teacher - a job that fed her heart daily. Her students were continual surprises, each their own little person. She relished getting to know them, encouraging them to learn and comforting them when they were upset. She reveled in every game and song and lesson, the sweet scent of finger-paint and Play-Doh rich in the air. The other teacher, Wren, was like a best friend already, and they had figured out a replacement - Wren's schoolmate - for when Kate had the baby and resigned.

  Finally, and most essentially, Kate was starting to feel at home because she had friends. Sure, Grant was her friend, her best friend, but it wasn't the same as having girlfriends. There was an ease, an understanding, she had with other women that she could never feel with a man. She could be wholly herself, her most girlish self, and not see the wrinkled-forehead expression Grant made when she was silly or weepy or mushy-gushy. Sitting here surrounded by her girlfriends, she could rhapsodize about a stroller she'd seen. If she had been talking to Grant, he would have said a stroller was a stroller was a stroller and what was the big deal?

  As she finished catching Sha
ron, Lucie, and Chelsea up on her baby-news, she let herself glance at Bianca and saw what she knew was there the whole time: a warning look. Unlike the others, who were all avid and encouraging, Bianca was not. She had cautioned Kate that miscarriages were common during the first trimester, that talking about her baby so soon could come back to haunt her, but Kate didn't care. She knew she should take Bianca's warning to heart, but she had taken the whole home-pregnancy-test warning to heart and look how that had turned out? She drank almost an entire cocktail that night, thinking she wasn't pregnant. And she was. So, Bianca wasn't right all the time.

  Still, Kate's mouth snapped shut when she saw Bianca's look.

  Chelsea said, "That's so exciting, Kate. I can't wait to have a baby. Well, someday." Then she glanced at Bianca, visibly swallowed, and picked up her passion-fruit martini with both hands as if grabbing onto it for dear life.

  Bianca said, "Well, you'll meet someone, someday. Or have you met someone? Are you dating, Chelsea?"

  Chelsea widened her eyes and shook her head.

  "Oh, well, you'll meet someone soon," Bianca said. "Someday you'll meet your Prince Charming, just like I met mine."

  Chelsea lowered her eyes and nodded, taking a sip from her drink.

  Kate couldn't stand how sad Chelsea looked. "It's true! You'll meet him? I met mine. And I never thought I would?"

  "Oh, boy, here we go," Sharon said in an indulgent voice, smiling. "Soon, a cartoon bird will come and land on Kate's shoulder and they'll start singing together."

  Lucie laughed, "I'd like to see that! Will there be Bambi and all the other woodland creatures, too?"

  "You betcha," Sharon said before seeing Kate's face fall. She reached out to touch Kate's shoulder. "I'm just teasing you, sweetheart. We love you. You're a true innocent, unlike the rest of us hard-bitten pessimists."

  "Hey, speak for yourself," Chelsea said. "I believe."

  "Well," Bianca said. "Optimists or pessimists, we all know how truly happy Kate is in her marriage. So perfectly happy. Aren't you Kate?" She narrowed her eyes at Kate.