Try as I might, I couldn't convince Seth to take me to find his cache. I started to think my ability (or lack thereof) to successfully find one on my own contributed to his rejection of my request. When I say we found eight, the truth is he found seven with me standing by. The one I found, though, got me pretty damn excited. Seth proved to be an expert at the hobby, and I hoped once I got better, he’d take me to find his, which I was now convinced must have a difficulty level I wasn’t yet prepared to handle.
I didn’t skip visiting my dad. I felt guilty about spending the day with Seth, though, before going to see him. I made it a point to see him first before seeing Seth, or anyone else, on Sundays. Sunday mornings were our time together, even if only ten minutes, or an entire hour. I hadn’t missed a Sunday since he died; and I didn’t intend to start.
Chelsea walked in Monday morning in one of her tightest skirts possible, and a top leaving nothing to the imagination. When she approached me to chat, I could only focus on her cleavage. “So, what’s this about?” I asked as I scanner her up and down.
“What do you mean by that?”
I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean. You’re what, seven or eight weeks pregnant, and you're wearing that?” The deep red skirt fit snug against her thighs, the matching top slightly off her shoulder, with sheer black material running down the middle. Her breasts squished together, and with no bra, a wardrobe malfunction seemed inevitable. Of course that type of stuff usually only happened to me.
“What's wrong with this? When we've gone out in the past you sure thought it was perfect for me.”
”Trust me, you look good, Chels, but I don't understand why you chose to wear something so provocative while you're pregnant, much less while you’re at work. That’s more of an outfit to wear to the club.”
“Well,” she pulled at the pleated area at the bottom of her top. ”If you must know, my parents and I had a long talk, and while they will be there for me and the baby, I need to think about making some more money.”
I touched my finger and thumb to the collar of her shirt. “And this is how you plan on making more money. What? Are you a pregnant streetwalker?”
“No!” She slapped me on the shoulder. “Shut up, Ally! I think I'm going to go for the promotion. I think I may be a good fit for Sam's position.”
“What?” My face matched her outfit as flames rose from my feet all the way through my body. “You know the promotion is mine and how badly I want this. Why would you do that to me?”
“Ally, you made it clear you want the promotion, but Daryl doesn’t seem interested. Maybe,” she pushed her boobs together. “I can convince him to give me the promotion.”
“What? With your whore outfit?”
“That's a crappy thing to say, and also not very fair.”
“Stealing the job from underneath me is?” I’ll admit, calling her a tramp, not my best moment. The anger gripping my heart compounded into hurtful words I wanted to spew at her.
She crossed her arms. “Do you think it's fair I'm going to be a single mom and my boyfriend is marrying someone else?”
“You put yourself into that situation,” I scolded her. “I made my position of your relationship clear since the beginning, and you knew how wrong it was. With this pregnancy, if you ask me, you got what you were asking for. You’re telling me you didn't mean to trap Daniel, thinking he would miraculously leave his fiancee to be with you?”
Chelsea blinked away tears. “That’s not what happened.” Her voice shook. “I love Daniel and he loves me. His relationship with his fiancee, or whatever she is, it’s complicated.”
Complicated. If it were possible to murder words, I’d wrap my hands around that damn word and strangle it to death. “That’s the thing Chels, it's not complicated. He’s using you. You're pregnant and he couldn’t give a shit.”
I jumped when Daryl approached us. “Ladies, what’s the problem here? We’re about to open the doors and I can’t have the customers witnessing a chick fight.”
“Come on, Daryl, this is barely a chick fight.” Chauvinistic pig. I bet he lived out some fantasies just watching us.
“It certainly isn't tea and toast, now is it? Girls, do we need to take this to another room?”
“You would like that, wouldn't you?” I mumbled under my breath.
Daryl raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?” He motioned to his office. “Both of you, in my office now!” He called out to the other employees in earshot. “Becky, please watch the counter, and put the sign up on Chelsea’s cube. Kelly, please keep an eye on the drive thru.”
As far as I was concerned, I was done with this conversation. Chelsea hadn’t told anyone yet she was pregnant, and I wasn’t going to spill the beans. Although right now, that would take the cake. She takes my promotion; I let everyone know she’s pregnant. But, as pissed as I was, I couldn’t do that to her. Her taking this job from me, well, maybe karma finally hit me swiftly on the ass. Her relationship with Daniel, though far from healthy, was an important part of her life. Every time she cried over him, I shrugged it off, refusing to listen and offer any advice other than to leave him. I told her that all the time. Never once did I tell her I was sorry for what lied ahead, and even when I showed support by escorting her to the doctor, I still managed to be a shitty friend.
We followed Daryl into his office. He slowly closed the door and walked behind his desk without saying a word as Chelsea and I took a seat next to each other. He straightened his tie and let it fall onto his belly. I examined his Master’s degree hanging behind his desk, realizing how closely we were in age. Already he managed an entire bank, and I only did the job of a sixteen year old.
Daryl sat down and crossed his hands together, resting his elbows on the desk. “Which one of you would like to tell me what happened out there?”
Chelsea and I exchanged glances as though we were back in high school and the principal was reprimanding us. Though we attended different high schools and never knew each other until we met at the bank, we would've been best friends if we had. We both spent our share of time in the principal's office for goofing off in class or passing notes. Neither of us were the type to get suspended or anything, but we've had our share of detention. During principal meetings, I tried to hide a smile, but today I tried to hide tears, as I was sure Chelsea tried to do, too. Chelsea, single, pregnant, and living with her parents, only wanted to do what was best for her child. I was single but had a place of my own, wasn't pregnant, and wouldn't be pregnant considering Seth and I were keeping things below the belt pretty clean, at least for now. As much as I wanted the promotion, Chelsea needed it more. I opened my mouth to praise her and recommend her for Sam’s position, but she cut me off.
“Ally is upset because I told her I want an opportunity to interview for Sam’s position.”
Daryl sat up and adjusted a picture on his desk. “Is that right, Chelsea?”
“Yes, sir.”
Did she really call Daryl sir? What a suck up! She crossed her legs and leaned into the desk, exposing more breast than I thought she even had. “I think I would be good at it.”
Wow. My eyes didn’t deceive me. She was flirting her way to the promotion! I didn't think she had in her to sink so low. Of course, considering her baby’s daddy was engaged to somebody else, I guess nothing should surprise me.
Daryl fiddled his thumbs. “Tell you what, ladies. Why don’t I take each of you to dinner separately to discuss the position and your qualifications?”
Qualifications? I knew exactly what qualifications he meant.
“Dinner?” Chelsea perked up, resting her hands on her lap all prim and proper. “I suppose I could do that.”
“And you, Ally, dear?”
I ignored his disgusting term of endearment. My conscience told me to give in and let her have the job without a fight. This dinner with Daryl wouldn’t be an interview. It was his sneaky way to ask us out on a date and who knows what the hell he planned to do with us on those dates, b
ut it wasn't to talk about job. But I wasn't going to give in so easily. If Chelsea thought she could use her pregnant body as a weapon, I loved the competition. I turned my head and looked at Chelsea. “Game on.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Can you believe she even would think about doing that?” I slammed the refrigerator door shut with my hip, popped open the microwave, and tossed in my leftovers from dinner the night before.
“I'm not surprised,” my mom said on the other side of the line. “Competition has always been present in your friendship.”
After what happened, after work I gave in and called my mom, profusely apologizing for freaking out about her “boyfriend.” I didn’t want to call him that. Imagine my shock when I found out she and Paul started dating almost six months ago. My mom wasn’t some little girl. She was a grown woman, and grown women had sex with their boyfriends (well, I guess except me). The thought made me cringe. Accepting this as her life wouldn’t be easy, but for my mom’s happiness, I would suck it up. Besides, I already told my dad she was dating, and it wasn’t a lie; things happened to be more serious than I first thought. And, in all honesty, I did know my dad and he would want her to be happy.
“I don’t think we’re competitive with each other.” Chelsea and I loved each other. We didn’t compete against one another. “Why do you think that? I know her better than you do.”
“Yes, you do, but I’m on the outside looking in. I can see things you can’t.”
“How do you mean? What do you see that I can’t?” I noticed everything. I may have been blind about some things, like whatever happened between Seth and his ex-wife, or Josh cheating on me with a billion different women, but I didn’t miss things about my best friend. I needed to be her eyes because based on her relationship with Daniel, she had blinders on.
“She always tries to take credit in some way. Remember the craft fair? Even though you worked hours on every design, she claimed to be the mastermind behind every necklace and bracelet you sold. I hate to say it, but there’s also Josh.”
“Josh? How does he fit into this?”
Silence overtook the other end of the line. Finally, my mom elaborated. “All the years you were with him, you mean to tell me you never caught her eying him up?”
“No, Mother. What on earth are you talking about? She didn’t like Josh that way.”
“He’s in the past and you can believe what you want, but all I can tell you is she stared at him whenever she had the opportunity. I always caught her in gazes.”
“You never thought to tell me this? Even if she did compete with me, I doubt she wanted to try anything with Josh.”
“I don’t think she would have pursued anything.”
The microwave beeped, and I smashed my hand into the button to open the door. “Ouch!” The plate burned by finger. “Shit!”
“Are you okay, sweetheart?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m a little distraught by this whole situation.” I wanted to wrap up this conversation and eat my dinner.
“Don’t you think distraught is a strong word? You’re overreacting.”
“Really? Am I? You do remember Chelsea is pregnant and the guy she's pregnant by is engaged to someone else?”
“Sweetie, you need to settle down.”
“How can I possibly settle down? The way Josh was, something could’ve happened between them.”
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
Did my mom take me for idiot? “What would I even do, Mom, that’s stupid?”
“Well, don't go calling her, or texting her, or whatever it is you kids do these days, accusing her of doing things with Josh because we don't know the truth. I'm not saying anything ever happened between them. I’m only trying to illustrate Chelsea’s competitive nature, and if she wants something, she goes for it.”
I pondered this for a moment, at first upset she implied I had a shortage of ambition. “Wouldn't that mean she would go for Josh?”
“I don't know what it means, Ally. Don't blow this out of proportion, especially when you don't have all the facts.”
I sat down and stabbed my fork into the ravioli. “I’m just so pissed about this job.”
“You said you were going to tell her to go for it. Why the change of heart? Because she challenged you for it?”
“What was I supposed to do? Back away?”
“Yes, Ally. She’s pregnant. She’s going to have a child to provide for. You haven't been happy at the bank for a while now. Maybe it's time to move on.”
“To what?” I chewed rapidly. “What are my skills? Counting money? Sure, I'll be a cashier at Wal-Mart. I want a career - to do something with myself.”
“Don’t let Chelsea stop you. Go in to your boss’s office, Ally, and prove you’re the one deserving of the promotion, but don’t step all over your friend in the process.”
“You mean like she did?”
“I wish I could make you feel better about this. I don't want you to lose friends along the way to success. If you're doing this to spite Chelsea, don't. If you’re doing it to better yourself, and because it’s something you want, then go for it. Chelsea was aware you wanted to get promoted.”
My mom was right. Stepping all over Chelsea to get a promotion I didn’t want made me a crappy friend. Despite my competitiveness, being so harsh didn’t fit my genetic makeup. I couldn’t be so cold hearted. Did I want the promotion? A promotion meant more money, obviously, but if my goal eventually was moving on, the job added more than Bank Teller to my resume, and showed my desire for success as well. If I stayed put, I was guaranteed to go crazy, but an attempt to move on may put me in the same miserable position, only at a different place. Dinner with Daryl could eventually help me, and it wasn’t like I had to act like it was a date. I’d force the discussion and the questions. Chelsea could try to win him over with her glowing pregnancy face and her big ass boobs to match, but I’d use my brains, my power of persuasion, to work my way right into this job. I told Chelsea the game was on, and I was out to win.
----------
After I hung up with my mom, I texted Perry and let him know the situation. I didn’t tell him about Josh stopping by and pleading with me, or that Seth and I agreed to keep our hands off each other’s business, because it was none of his, but I filled him in on everything else. I never liked chatting on the phone, but I created a novel out of a text. I knew Perry couldn’t stand it, but as my brother, he tolerated it, and often teased me about it, too. He expressed how happy he was I found Seth, before calling Chelsea a few names. Perry rushed me off the phone, though, on his way out for a hot date.
The next few days at work were awkward at best with Chelsea. We exchanged a few sentences and stayed civil for the sake of our jobs and everyone’s comfort. Daryl set our interview up for the following Monday evening after work, which I liked since the timing seemed more like a business meeting. I overheard him talking with Chelsea and they agreed upon Friday evening.
I kept busy the whole week, texting with Seth and going to the gym. Friday finally arrived, and I anxiously waited for the workday to end. Chelsea and Daryl decided on dinner at the local pub, which turned out to be good news for me because I planned on tagging along, in a not so tagging along way. Seth and I didn’t make any plans until Saturday, so I intended to find out what happened with Chelsea and Daryl in the meantime. I needed an in on my competition’s game. My best move was knowing hers ahead of time.
A bar set the scene perfectly, allowing me to hide at the counter, and Chelsea wouldn’t even know I was there. I parked in the corner of the lot, feeling all James Bond in my dark outfit I wore. I wore it to work, too, though, so it wasn’t like I was trying to be James Bond. It happened to work out that way.
I listened to my radio until about six-thirty when they finally arrived. They drove past me, but luckily they didn’t see me. Chelsea got out of Daryl’s car, her long legs out the door well before she was. Her skirt should have been illegal this side of town, barely s
cooping under her butt. Her shirt sparkled, a spaghetti strap tank we bought together one day while having a shopping spree at the outlet mall outside of town. Tonight, Chelsea swooped her hair up, pinned from multiple sides, and earrings dangled from her lobes. Not to be outdone, Daryl sported a suit, fancy shoes and all.
The biggest mistake in spying is trailing too closely and much too soon, so I stayed back in the car for another ten minutes before venturing into the bar. It surprised me how dim the facility was, given the bright sun outside. Music played, although not too loud. I heard the song before … maybe Nickelback or Daughtry, someone like that. The room was filled almost wall to wall with people, and Daryl and Chelsea may have gotten the last available table. I maneuvered my way through the crowd to the bar, and grabbed the first open stool, giving me a decent, although not perfect, view of the two.
“What are you drinking?” The bartender asked the second my butt hit the stool.
“Um, Miller Lite, please.” I didn’t mind a beer now and again, but I didn’t want it to crash my diet. I stuck strictly to coffee and water, for the most part, with the occasional glass of wine or beer.
I sipped on my beer, making sure it lasted the entire time. I didn’t want to be nursing a hangover tomorrow because I wanted to enjoy every moment I had with Seth. I kept my head down as I evaluated Chelsea on her “interview.” Most interviews didn’t involve so much laughing, knee touching, and leaning over so your boss saw down your shirt.
Chelsea giggled - a lot. Bubbly behavior wasn’t typical for her. Sure, when she wasn’t whining over Daniel, most times laughter and smiles filled her face. Not this, though. This behavior we often made fun of, or gawked at while we people watched. Desperation covered her actions to a point I almost felt embarrassed to watch. However, Daryl didn’t seem to mind. He invited her gestures, and leaned in himself many times, and finally, his hand rested on her knee, and never left. I really wish I read lips better to figure out if their conversation centered around work or not. I tried to read as best I could, but it was no use. I needed to get closer if I had any chance of hearing a thing.
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