Authors: Holly Chamberlin

Living Single (30 page)

BOOK: Living Single

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Chapter Fifty-five

F
riday. The end of the week, the beginning of another weekend without Doug. We’d spent a lot of time together Monday through Thursday and I probably should have had the strength not to pop in on him at Trident’s offices Friday late afternoon but ...

I knew that Doug usually didn’t leave work before six on a Friday. At five-forty-five I knocked on his open office door. As far as I could tell, everyone else at Trident had gone home. Odd. But promising. Maybe we could slip in a few kisses, at least.

Doug looked up from his computer.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, obviously startled.

I smiled. “Just wanted to say hi before you left for the weekend. I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“You didn’t. But I need to finish something before I leave.”

“Rush hour traffic’s a bear, isn’t it?” I said, moving into the office and perching on the edge of his desk.

Doug looked at me and something flickered in his eyes. I felt sick suddenly.

“I’m not going home,” he said. “I’m staying in Boston this weekend.”

I felt sicker now. Oh, God, I thought, Doug’s seeing another woman ... How could he, after our weekend in Vermont?

“Oh?” I said, my voice cracking slightly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Doug leaned back in his chair, as if relaxing. “Because it’s really none of your business, Erin. It’s my anniversary. Carol’s coming in to meet me at seven and we’re staying at the Ritz for the weekend.”

I’ve never been shot by a gun and hope never to be. But I can’t help thinking that what I felt at that moment was what a gunshot victim might feel at the moment of impact. Nausea. Pain. Shock. Disbelief. The world growing fuzzy and dark at the edges.

“You’re doing what?” I said finally, voice shaking with rage.

“Oh, come on!” Doug laughed. He roared. He really didn’t get it. “I can’t believe you’re upset about this.”

“You can’t believe I’m upset that you’re taking Carol to the Ritz for a weekend?”

“She’s my wife and the mother of my kids. I respect her, I’ve told you that. It’s our anniversary and I want her to feel special.”

Okay, Reason said, he’s got a point. He can give his wife whatever gift he pleases. You have no right to object.

It’s good that he treats his wife well, Romance said stoutly. It bodes well for you.

But on the other hand, Reason continued, voice more sharp, what an amazing load of crap this guy is spewing.

I struggled to keep my voice at a calm pitch and my hands from picking up the giant stapler and lobbing it at Doug’s head.

“Doesn’t it strike you as a bit, oh, I don’t know, insincere, to be celebrating your anniversary when you’ve told me you know you married the wrong woman—and when you’re fucking another woman? When you’ve taken another woman away for the weekend?”

I couldn’t help it. My voice had risen to a horribly hysterical screech. I could hardly stand myself.

Doug looked unperturbed. His smile was gone—but not entirely. “No,” he said, “I don’t think I’m being insincere. I think you’re being childish.”

For one thrillingly nasty moment I determined to call Carol and blow it all up, tell her that her shithead of a husband was cheating on her, tell her we were both better off without him, crack open Doug’s world like my grandfather used to crack open walnuts in his bare hand. God, that would feel good. I’d be free and clear and ...

And you’d be leaving Carol to clean up the mess, Reason pointed out. You’d be cracking open her life, too, destroying her hard-won illusions of a happy marriage. She doesn’t deserve that, Erin.

But doesn’t she deserve the truth? I demanded.

Yes. But not from you and not in this way. Not as an act of vengeance.

That gave me something to think about. I knew so little about Carol—the real Carol. Was she mentally tough, emotionally resilient? Would she receive my revelation with mature stoicism—or would she collapse with grief? Maybe even try to kill herself. What would become of the children if I destroyed Carol and her personal version of marriage?

Damn it, Reason was right. I’d keep my mouth shut.

But oh, did my heart—and my dignity—hurt.

“I can’t be with you right now,” I said. I couldn’t even look at Doug’s face. I reached for my bag and his hand shot out for mine. I yanked both hand and bag away and still without looking directly at him, I left.

Behind me I heard an amused chuckle.

On the way home that evening I forced myself to stop in CVS for the few items on my list. You’ll be home soon enough, I told myself soothingly. And then you can let loose. Cry. Stomp. Eat. Drink. Whatever. All by yourself. For the entire weekend.

No matter what time of the day, CVS was mobbed.

Mouthwash and ibuprofen. Last stop, the makeup aisle.

I took my purchases to the back counter, which is really the prescription pharmacy counter, but the people who work there are much smarter than the ones who work at the general checkout counter up front. So, if you don’t want to be charged six times for one stick of deodorant, and then spend fifteen minutes waiting for the slack-jawed cashier to cancel out the order and start from the beginning, you take your purchase to the drug counter.

The guy behind the counter wore a name tag that read JARED. Nice name. He said hello and asked if I had a CVS card. I didn’t. He rang up the mouthwash, ibuprofen, and liquid makeup.

“Oh,” he said, examining the box of face powder. “There’s no price on this. Did you by any chance notice what it costs?”

“No,” I said. “I didn’t. Sorry.”

“No problem.” Jared looked over his shoulder. A twenty-something girl stood several feet behind him, hair streaked false red, lab coat open to reveal a tight tank top. He held up the box of face powder.

“Suzy? Do you know the price on Revlon Age-Defying face powder stuff?”

The girl laughed. “How would I know?” she said loudly. “I’m not, like, old.”

Jared whipped back to face me. One look at my face and he knew I’d heard the girl’s careless remark. At least Jared had the decency to blush.

“I’ll go check the price myself,” he said and rushed out from behind the counter.

Which left me looking directly at the girl, and her looking at me. Suzy’s expression was carefully blank. And then she turned away from me.

So, there I was, waiting for my age-defying formula. Trembling—slightly—with anger. Trembling—largely—with hurt. Single, thirty-two, and with no more prospect of marriage than I had back in January when I’d vowed to get serious about my life. When I’d promised myself I’d start living more consciously and wisely.

Who ever knew I was such a liar?

I had another dream about Doug that night. Maybe “about” isn’t really the most accurate word. It was more like the dream was Doug, like the dream was reality, like Doug was there physically, in my bedroom, in me, on me, overwhelming me. It wasn’t a sex dream as much as it was—what? I was beneath Doug, he was hovering over me, then pressed against me and I couldn’t breathe and it was thrilling and at the same time horrible. I looked up as best I could, not being able to move all that easily, and Doug’s head was thrown back but it lowered when he sensed my watching and blood gushed from his mouth ...

I woke then, scared and breathing fast. No blood on my face, no Doug in the bed, just Fuzzer sleeping heavily against my leg. I got up and went through my usual morning routine and put the disturbing dream from my mind. It wasn’t easy but I did it.

Chapter Fifty-six

E—think i can pay you back soon—going in on a surefire venture with nice man i met at local bar. always wanted to own my own business. will keep you posted. M.

The offer from Trident was still on the table. I called Jack Nugent to confirm that and to let him know I was still considering. I apologized for taking so much time with my decision. He told me there was nothing for which to apologize. He wished me a great day.

Face it, Erin, I told myself. The more you imagine working with big corporate clients, the more you pull away from taking the job.

Am I crazy, I wondered. Crazy to reject an opportunity for serious money and corporate power? Reason weighed in with an opinion. No, not crazy. But examine your motives. Are you really satisfied with what you’re doing and what you have? Or is fear holding you back from taking this step? Say, fear of success? Fear of something new and challenging?

Romance had an opinion, too. Consider this, Erin: Maybe it’s crazy to turn your back on work you’ve always found fulfilling. You make enough money now to support a comfortable lifestyle. Is it worth giving up work about which you feel passionate for a few thousand dollars?

Several thousand dollars, Reason corrected.

On the other hand, Romance said musingly, if you accept the position at Trident you’ll get to see Doug every day and it just might provide an oppportunity for the relationship to grow and flourish.

A traitorous thought erupted: Did I want to see Doug five days a week? Did I want the relationship to grow and flourish?

Reason seems not to have heard. Is choosing your lover to be your boss wise, Erin, it asked.

What would happen if we broke up, I thought, suddenly panicked. Would Doug try to get me fired?

Again, Reason ignored me. It said: How realistic is it to expect to maintain a true separation between your personal and professional life—especially since everyone at Trident knows—or will know—that you’re sleeping with the boss?

No one knows anything! I protested. Doug and I have been very discreet.

Oh, Erin, your love shines from every inch of you! Romance cried. You’ve proclaimed your love to the world!

Yeah, and rumor has it that Erin Weston is sleeping her way to the top. Reason was very smug.

It does not! I protested. It’s not true.

Prove that to your colleagues, Erin. Take the job at Trident. Go ahead. I dare you.

I called Doug at the office for no reason other than the desire to hear his voice. But when I heard it, I wished I hadn’t succumbed to such a nonprofessional desire. Especially after the scene I’d made about his anniversary weekend with Carol. I’d clamped down on my anger, grasped at rationality, and apologized. Still, the memory rankled.

“What is it Erin? I’m busy.”

“Oh, sure, sorry. I just wanted to say a quick hi.”

“Okay.”

“So, hi.”

“Is this about our offer?” he said, with a distinct change in tone. Suddenly, Doug sounded interested in talking to me.

“No, no. I haven’t made a decision yet. I ...”

“Trident can’t wait forever for you to make up your mind, Erin. Honestly, it doesn’t say much for your decision-making ability to be fooling around with us all this time.”

I was shocked. “I’m not fooling around with you!” I cried, then cringed and lowered my voice. “Doug, this is a huge decision. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to ...”

“Erin, I’ve got to go, there’s a meeting. Just focus, okay, and if you’re holding out for more money than we’ve offered, tell me, don’t play games. Trident wants you on board by the end of the year.”

“Yeah, okay ...”

The line went dead.

He could at least have been polite, I thought, and tears pricked at my eyes.

My boss called a meeting the following morning. A few months earlier I’d talked to him about the Women’s Lunch Place and about Maggie’s involvement. As far as I knew, Terry hadn’t given the place another thought after our brief conversation.

I thought wrong. Seems Terry had spoken to the people at WLP, done some research about their past involvement with public relations and publicity, checked out their financials. Finally, Terry had come to a decision. He wanted EastWind to offer its services to WLP pro bono.

“It’s my firm, I know I can do what I want,” he said, with a grin. “But I don’t want us to offer ourselves if we’re not all in agreement. I don’t want to force anyone to participate. Some of you have kids at home, some of you are already putting in too-long hours. All of you have lots of responsibilities. I don’t want to force you to accept another set. But I do want you to consider EastWind’s doing everything we can for this shelter.”

“I’m in,” I said, surprising myself. The words had come without thought and they felt right.

“Just so we’re clear,” Terry said. “It might mean some long hours with no compensation. No monetary compensation, anyway.”

“What’s their annual operating budget?” Hank asked.

Terry passed him a piece of paper.

“Ow. How they get anything done is a miracle. Okay, I’m in.”

And it went like that around the table.

“Me, too,” said Edmund.

“I don’t see how we can say no.” That was Maureen.

Each and every one of us made the commitment.

“Good,” Terry said, grinning broadly now. “I’ll call WLP right now. Thanks, everyone. You people are the best.”

I looked around the table at my colleagues. Yeah, they were the best.

BOOK: Living Single