The Night I Got Lucky (7 page)

So I said her name. “Alexa Vil a.”

Roslyn frowned. I was about to do a U-turn and say there was real y nothing wrong with Alexa, it was just a mistake, but Lydia sat straighter. “Ms. Vil a, yes,” she said. “Tel me about her.”

“It’s just…” How to put this? I hadn’t official y formulated anything about Alexa in my head, I’d just stewed internal y about it for years.

“Yes?” Lydia said with an encouraging nod. “Go ahead.”

And it al began to spil from my mouth.

I told Roslyn and Lydia exactly what I thought—that Alexa was constantly pushing off work on other people, that she didn’t respect authority, that she was rude and patronizing and very difficult to work with.

Roslyn looked a little troubled, and I wondered if I’d overstepped my new boundaries. I pushed salad around on my plate. The conference room was silent.

“I might be mistaken,” I said, about to take it al back and head for the hil s. No need to screw up my new position by bringing up Alexa.

But then Roslyn spoke again. “I suppose I have noticed some of that. I just didn’t realize it was so bad.”

“Has this been documented?” Lydia asked.

“We’ve had a couple of issues with her,” Roslyn said. “A few years ago, there was a complaint from a client about a comment she made.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Lydia murmured.

“And then of course there was the incident with Miss Martha’s.”

“Good Lord, that’s right,” Lydia said.

Miss Martha’s was a famous Chicago bakery, and they’d enlisted us to promote the fact that they’d been chosen by the
Today Show
for having the best chocolate chip cookies in the country. Alexa was in charge of approving and sending out the press kits to media al over the United States. The title of the kit was supposed to be, “Miss Martha Sacks the Competition!” but Alexa failed to check the final copy properly, and the kits went out reading, “Miss Martha Sucks the Competition!” Needless to say, Miss Martha was no longer a client of Harper Frankwel .

“That was a grave error,” Roslyn said, “but I believe she’s improved greatly since then.”

“Has she brought in business?” Lydia asked.

“No,” Roslyn said, “but—”

“Wel , you know the policy,” Lydia said. “It’s been in place since Bradley was here.” She gave a wistful smile at his memory. “If there are two written warnings in someone’s personnel file, that person can be terminated.”

I froze at the word “terminated.” Fire Alexa? I real y just wanted her to get a corporate slap on the wrist, maybe a little demotion.

“Bil y, you’re her immediate superior for the team,” Lydia continued. “If you truly believe she’s undermining our employees’ ability to do good work, then something should be done. Isn’t that right, Roslyn?”

Roslyn stil had that slightly troubled look, but she nodded. “It’s your decision, Bil y. But if you decide to do anything, that’s your responsibility, too. You’l have to be the one to tel her.”

“Me?” I gulped. I had never handled
any
personnel issues before, much less fired someone. “Oh, I don’t know…I just—”

“Bil y, it’s your responsibility,” Roslyn repeated.

I felt power surge through me. It scared me, and yet I loved it. “Al right,” I said. “I’l consider it.”

I went back to my office and mul ed it over. I thought about how impossible Alexa was to work with. If I found her so difficult, others must too, and if that was the case, then wouldn’t it be easier for everyone if she wasn’t here? The firm wasn’t overloaded right now. We could spare her until we found someone else.

I went down the hal and spoke to our Human Resources director. Alexa, she told me, was entitled to severance due to the number of years she’d been at the firm. There was no employment contract, but according to our guidelines, it could be anything from two weeks severance to three months. Since she was being terminated for cause, it was my decision, she said. A rush went through my body.

I thought about Alexa blaming her bad work on others and the way she taunted me with not being promoted. “Two weeks,” I said with what I hoped was an authoritative tone.

An hour later, the power surging even stronger through my veins, I phoned Alexa and asked her to come see me.

“Hey,” Alexa said, appearing in my doorway. She crossed her arms casual y and leaned on the frame, but her expression was suspicious.

I said hel o, and asked her to sit. My body was nearly twitching with nervousness, excitement and shock at what I was about to do.

Alexa glanced around my office as she slipped into a chair. “Nice place,” she said. She shook her head a little, her face saying,
I can’t believe you’re a VP.
That look irritated me—like everything about Alexa—but I could hardly believe it myself.

“I need to talk to you about something.” My words faltered then. How, exactly, did you go about firing someone? I’d read the company HR manual. I knew the few key phrases I was supposed to say and how to explain what would happen to her benefits and such, but with her sitting in front of me, I couldn’t think of how to start.

“Is it the Channel 7 News account?” she said. “You probably need help with the budget recommendations. You’re not exactly proficient with that.” Her mouth twisted into a smirk I was al too familiar with. “I’d be happy to review the figures for you.”

And with that, the words rushed into my brain, al waiting like soldiers in perfect formation, ready to march. “It’s not the news account,” I said. “It’s you.”

Alexa tossed her hair over her shoulder, her eyes wary. She said nothing.

“You see,” I continued, “your attitude has become a problem.”

“Is that right?” Stil , the smirk rested comfortably on her mouth.

“Yes, that’s right.” My voice became stronger. “You tend to be condescending. You push projects off on other people. And your attitude makes it very hard to work with you.”

“Real y? Wel , I’l try to improve on it, okay? Thanks for the chat.” She began to stand.

“Alexa, please sit down.” My voice was stil strong.

She sank back into the chair and sighed as if she were barely tolerating me.

“Alexa, I have to tel you that we’re letting you go.” My skin tingled with the words. I was
firing
her.

The perma-smirk disappeared. “What?”

“Yes, I’m sorry, but as you know, you already have two warnings in your personnel file.” I made a show of looking at the piece of paper where this was documented. “First, there was the comment you made to the president of Ryder Sports Network when you said—” I glanced at the paper again “‘—go fuck yourself.’”

“He grabbed my ass.”

I blinked. I hadn’t known about that. I would have said the same thing. “Yes, wel …” I nearly faltered. “I’m sure you could have handled it better.”

Alexa’s eyes were steely now.

“And then there was Miss Martha,” I said.

“Clara was the one who was supposed to check the last copy.”

“Clara was working under you, correct?”

Alexa said nothing.

“So, that was your responsibility,” I continued, the rush surging back. “Due to these past problems and those I mentioned with your attitude, we’re letting you go.”

“What?”

“You’l get two weeks severance.”

“That’s it? That’s insulting.”

“I’m sure you’l find another position during—”

“I want to talk to Roslyn,” she interrupted.

“I’m sorry, Alexa, but the decision has been made. It’s done.” The words sounded strong, confident, managerial.

“You’re
not
sorry.” The anger in her voice startled me.

She was right. My whole body was humming from the experience, so I kept talking, fil ing her in on the termination of her benefits, how she would have twenty-four hours to clean out her desk. She sat rigid, looking at me with what I could only assume was intense hatred. I talked faster and faster. Final y, I asked her to sign the severance agreement.

“You know what, Bil y?” Alexa said when I’d finished with my spiel.

“What’s that?”

She rattled off a string of Spanish words.

“Excuse me?” I said politely.

“It’s a Mexican saying.”

“Wel , however you need to deal with it. Now if you’l sign the agreement.” I pushed it across my desk.

She ignored the pen I held out. I noticed that my hand shook a little, my body stil humming.

“Don’t you want to know what it means?” she said.

If it will get you the hell out of here,
I wanted to say, but I remembered the warnings in the personnel manual about how to properly terminate an employee. “Sure.”

“It means, essential y, what goes around comes around.” She stood, shaking her shoulders back. “And I’m not signing that thing.”

“Holy shit,” Evan said, sticking his blond head in my office, “I just heard.”

“What do you think?” I whispered.

He perched on the edge of my desk. I could smel his cologne, an earthy, sporty fragrance that always made me a little weak. “Impressive,” he said.

“Is that a good thing or bad?”

He shrugged. “Lots of people didn’t like her.”

“What about you?”

His eyes twinkled. “I think she’s hot as hel .”

I scoffed. “Any other helpful opinions?”

Another shrug. “I thought she was pretty good, but you worked with her more. It was a bal sy move, Rendal .”

“Wel , you know me.”

He cocked his head. He gave me a sexy, appraising stare with those mint-green eyes. “I’m not so sure. It’s like you’re a different person today.”

I cleared my throat. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

I didn’t want to give Alexa any more opportunities to put Mexican hexes on me, so I told Evan I had a doctor’s appointment and slipped out of the office. I walked down Michigan Avenue, enjoying the sun now peeking from between the clouds. Due to the earlier rain, the air was humid, but because it was suddenly seventy degrees, it felt balmy.

What to do now? I had time before I had to meet Chris. I thought about going home, but as I crossed the street, I caught a glimpse of myself in a storefront window. Evan might have been impressed today with the trusty old brown pants and the ivory blouse, but I needed something better for a dinner with my husband to celebrate my promotion. I increased my pace and headed straight for Bloomingdale’s. Once inside, I ignored the glittering makeup counters and took the escalator to one of the designer floors, where I never usual y let myself shop. But I’d gotten a raise with my promotion (I’d checked on that with the Human Resources person at the same time I got Alexa’s file) and I could afford a fabulous, celebratory outfit.

A saleswoman asked if she could help me. Usual y, I turned the salespeople away, afraid of being pressured into a big purchase I didn’t need, but I was in the buying mood, so I said,

“Yes, please.”

Soon, I was in the dressing room, trying on A-line skirts and sliplike dresses and spring sweaters the colors of Easter eggs. I decided on a slim marigold dress with velvety straps and a lace-up back. It was much brighter, much more chic than the clothes I usual y wore, and it was perfect.

“I’l wear it out,” I told the saleswoman.

Spring, the restaurant where I was to meet Chris, was on North Avenue in a building that had once been a Turkish bath. Outside, it stil had the original stone face and columns. But inside, where it was decorated with Zenlike grasses and smooth wood tables, it was hard to imagine overweight men in towels being bathed and pounded upon by other men.

I went down the short staircase and saw Chris, sitting at the softly lit bar, a bottle of champagne in a bucket before him.

He slid off his stool. “You look gorgeous.”

“Thank you. So do you.” His hair was wet around the ears, and he smel ed like shaving cream. He’d clearly showered at the gym before our date, a detail which touched me.

“You got the vice presidency, didn’t you?” he said with a grin.

At last, someone who didn’t assume I’d had the VP gig forever. Apparently, that strange assumption was held only by the people at work.

“I did!” I said. “I got it!”

He pul ed me into a hug and swung me around. People were staring, but I didn’t care.

“I knew it!” Chris said. “That’s why I got the champagne.”

Our table wasn’t ready, so we settled onto bar stools and started on the champagne.

“Here’s the thing,” I said to Chris. “Everyone at work was acting like I’d been a VP for a while.” I told him about how my stuff had suddenly appeared in my new office and how no one remembered when I’d actual y gotten the promotion.

“They were putting you on,” Chris said.

“I don’t think so.”

“Of course they were.”

“It’s just that everything is different today.”
Like you,
I thought. But instead I told him about my mom and the postcard from Milan.

“That’s great,” he said. “She needed a vacation.”

“I know, but don’t you see? It al happened overnight, after I got that frog yesterday from Blinda.”

“The frog?” Chris made a face that said,
c’mon.

“I know it sounds ridiculous, but it’s true.”

“It just feels like that.” His eyes twinkled as he gazed at me. “I’m so proud of you.”

Hearing that meant the world. “Thanks, sweetie.”

He squeezed my knee. “I can’t wait to get out of here so I can get you into bed again.”

I kissed his cheek, but then I had to ask. “Chris. Why today?”

“Hmm? What do you mean?”

“I mean, we’ve been having….” I wasn’t sure how to say it. “We’ve been having troubles. You’ve been distant, and I guess I have too, lately. So why today? Why did you want to fool around and talk in bed and get champagne for me?”

He took a swal ow from his glass. “You’re my wife.”

“I’ve been your wife for two years, and things haven’t been good.”

Silence.

“Was it something I did?” I said. “Is that why you’ve been so sweet to me today?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” He looked confused for a second. It was like he’d known exactly what I’d meant at some point, but now he couldn’t find that memory in his head.

“Or was it something I said?” I asked.

“What does it matter?” He took the glass from my hand and drew me closer to him with one arm, looking in my eyes with an intensity that warmed me from the inside. To be back in his graces, to feel his devotion again, was irresistible. “Doesn’t it feel right between us?” he asked.