Stilettos & Scoundrels (2 page)

“I wanted to talk to you about the workforce reduction reports
,
Presley. They’re still four percent higher than where I asked you to come in
last time.
”
I
wasn’t surprised he wanted to discuss
this. One of the aspects of my
field
that I
hated most was
that I
was
responsibl
e
for
cutting jobs.
I knew it was u
navoidable
if the
company
was to remain
profitable, but
it was
a distasteful job nonetheless.

“David, I realize the numbers were a half percent above expectation
s,
but the higher average salary of some of the more tenured employees wasn’t figured into the original numbers. Head count came in on target. One person less actually
,
but the salary piece was higher.”

“Not good enough. You needed to hit those numbers or it throws off the rest of my projections. I’m accountable for those. You need to fix it.”

“How do you expect me to do that?”
I
looked at him incredulously. “I can’t just get rid of people because they make too much money and don’t fit into your spreadsheet calculations.”

“Hey
,
I’m the sales guy
,
you’re the HR person
.
I
t’s your job to figure it out.”

I
seethed. There was no way to meet the numbers he wanted and he kne
w it. There was only so much I
could do from a legal and ethical standpoint. He just wanted to make
my
life difficult, and he was doing a damn fine job at it.

“Maybe we could work something out,” David said lecherously, putting his hand on
my
knee.

I
deliberately took his hand, removed it o
ff my
knee, and looked him straight in the eye. “And what exactly would that be?”

“Let’s just say if you are nice to me
,
I could be persuaded to overlook the discrepancy
,
and you wouldn’t have to lay off any more people,” David said with
his version of
a charming smile,
returning
his hand
to
my
knee.

I
jumped
up and faced David, putting my hands on my
hips.
“If you think I would do anything outside the professional capacity for y
ou, you are sadly mistaken,” I
said furiously. “Your behavior is despicable and I’m not going to tolerate it.”

David flushed a deep red. “Are you sure about that
,
Presley?”
H
e sneered. “We’re making cuts all across the company
,
and if you aren’t doing your job, which you clearly aren’t by being over budget, well…”

“Are you trying to tell me that if I am not
nice
to you, you are going to fire me?”

“I’m not doing anything. This is your choice.” David sat back in his chair looking s
mug, as if he really thought I was going to change my
mind.

“Well…” David said.

“Well nothing. I won’t do it.”

“Then I guess you have left me no choice. You’re fired.”

“What! You can’t do that.”

“Yes I can. I talked to HR already about your not coming in line with the budget and like I said, we need to make more cuts.”

I couldn’t believe what I
was hearing. There was no way Gary knew about this. No fucking way. David got up and went behind his desk.

“That’s all,” he said dismissively. “Please clear out your desk and leave. I assume you won’t cause any trouble on your way out. I would hate to call security.”

I was dumbfounded. I
couldn’t
believe this was happening. I
walked over to the desk and David looked up.

“Is there something else
,
Presley?”

“Just one more thing.”

David looked up expectantly; I
picked up his coffee cup and threw the contents at him. His jaw dropped, in shock. He stood there dripping coffee off what was probably a five
-
hundred
-
dollar suit
. I
started laughing.
“There
, that’s all I have to say.” I
then turned around and walked out of his office.

“Hi
,
Charles,”
I greeted the doorman of my
building where
I
lived, just off Michigan Avenue
.

Ok, admittedly, it was WAY off Michigan Avenue, but since it was within walking distanc
e to all the great shopping, I
felt it was a somewhat accurate a
ssessment. I
resided in a beautiful, but old, condomi
nium in a six-floor walk-up. I
cursed the climb often, but tried to tell
myself what great exercise I
was getting and
that I needed all I
could get. On a sunny day,
I
could see the skyline for miles
—
if
I
look
ed
out the bathroom window at a right angle, while perching precariously on the toilet seat. However, with the re
al estate prices in Chicago, I
knew
I
was lucky to have this.

I
usually liked walking around the city and taking in
my
surroundings, bu
t on a windy day like today, I just wished my
dark red
hair would quit blowing into my
eyes and mouth
or, at the very least, that I
had not forgotten a rubber band or barrette.

I tightened the belt of my
light blue overcoat
;
even safe
ly
inside
my
building, it was still chilly. The air coming in from Lake Michigan today was strong and cold, as was typical for spring in Chicago
. Even though the wind drove me crazy, this was one of my
favorite times of the year in the city. The crisp air had such a clean smell
—
unlike
the warm stench of
garbage not yet picked up
that would intoxicate the city’s summer air in a few months
.
It was
a small price to pay for warm weather.

Charles smiled at
me
as
I
walked to the stairs. He was such a cute old man
—so
bald and chubby
that
you just wanted to squeeze him, and what a sweetheart. He was a huge flirt and all the residents here loved him. Charles had been the doorman for over thirty years.
He had s
tart
ed
when the building had been in its heyday, stayed on during its decline, and was happy to see it on its way up again. Alwa
ys telling the tenants how their
energy kept him young, he was a permanent fixture here
,
and
I
couldn’t imagine the place without him. This building was a part of him.

“Hi, Red. You look lovely as ever today
.
” Charles winked at
me
the same way he had ev
ery day for years. Normally, I
hated th
at
overused nickname for a redhead, but coming from him,
I
couldn’t get mad. If only he were forty years younger, he would be the man of
my
dreams.

I
loved the energy of Chicago; it was always fast paced and put
me
in
great spirits. Walking into my
building and seeing Charles, I almost forgot my
current troubles. This was
my own personal palace; I
loved it here and couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.
When I m
ov
ed
to
Chicago right out of school, I purchased my
condominium
. At the time,
this section of town wasn’t cool, but rather a stomping ground for vagrants.
When I
bought it, it was all
I could afford. Actually, I
couldn’t really afford it
at all
, but, cr
azy enough, the bank thought I
could. No wonder the lending industry was in such disarray.
I
wanted a place of
my
own so bad,
I
took
a gamble that not only would I
make enough money to eventually pay
my
mortgage and eat something more than Ramen noodles but
that more people like my
self would move into the area and property v
alues would go up. Lucky for me
, over the last five years, both had happened. The area went from old and decrepit to shabby chic, if you were generous. Over time, the place had caught on and young professionals started moving in, which gave the building life and energy. It was a great place to come home to, at least in
my
opinion.
My
mother
had
a different opinion.
My
mother liked the city, to visit, but didn’t think the area
I
lived in was safe enough for her baby. Although, she somehow didn’t have a problem with the fact that
my
younger brother, Jesse, was currently living in Los Angeles working on his career as an actor. Last year, it was Oregon because he wanted to be a forest ranger. The year before that he spent in Mexico as a zip
-
line instructor. He was a little unfocused but
he
somehow always got away with what
I
nev
er could. I
admit
I
was often jealous of his carefr
ee ways and sometimes wished I
were brave enough to buck the system.

Though I
guessed
that,
in some way
, today I
had done exactly that.

I
needed to give Jesse a call, maybe go out and se
e him for a while since I
didn’t have a job. Maybe get my
self a job as a model or a go-go dancer or something. That thought made
me
laugh…as if that would ever happen.
I was sure my
ass would not meet Hollywood standards.

Regardless of my
mother’s opinion, something about the city of
Chicago had always drawn me
in
. Growing up in the country, I
always thought the city was this ma
gical place. As a child, I insisted my parents bring me
to Chicago for birthdays, events, and all those special occasions. It nev
er ceased to be exciting for me
.

Enough reflecting
, I
said to
myself, unlocking my
door. There were more pressing things to worry about
—
like finding a
new
job. The bills wouldn’t pay themselves
, and I
didn’t have a sugar dad
dy in my
back pocket. Stepping in the foyer,
I kicked off my Jimmy Choos (I
had a weakness for shoes and would ra
ther not eat than go without my
favorite
shoes), and dug
my
toes into the
thick, cream, shag carpet as I hung my
coat in the front closet.
I’ll have to cut back on the shoe shopping now that I am unemployed
, I
thought to
my
self. That was going to be more difficult than anything. A girl had to have her priorities.

Since graduating from college,
I
had toiled away at McLaughlin Industries; at what
I
thought for the last seven years was really
my
dream job. Since
I
was young,
I
had
a
vision of being a high
-
profile e
xecutive, with assistants at my every disposal. I saw my
self on the cover of
Fortune
magazine and
Business Week
, in a red power suit, maybe a Chanel
. The article would describe me
as someone who broke through the glass ceiling and c
ould play with the big boys. I worked my
way up to Senior Human Resource Manager, which
,
in seven years
,
was pretty good
,
considering
that I
started out as someone’s assistant. It was, emphasis on
was
, a position
I
thoroughly enjoyed. Though loo
king at recent events, maybe I had been fooling myself. I j
ust threw away years of hard work and job security and wasn’t very upse
t. Shouldn’t that be telling me
something?