The Marriage Pact (1) (11 page)

 “Fuck
him. That’s right. Couldn’t have said it better myself. I wish I
could
say it myself.”

Suzanne’s
outrage did little to ease Marci’s pain, but it was nice to have someone on her
side. She was glad she had broken down and told Suzanne about Doug a few weeks
ago, though at the time she had been thinking of it more as some sort of step
toward legitimacy than a protective measure for herself.

For
over an hour, she listened vaguely as Suzanne alternated between asking Marci
whether she was okay and describing in detail the horrifying things she would
do to Doug’s genitals if she had access to them. Once or twice, it occurred to
Marci that in a previous life her best friend might’ve been an accomplished
torturer of spies and heretics. She replayed tonight’s conversation repeatedly
in her mind, looking for some minute clue that would make the whole thing make
sense.

She
did not expect to sleep that night, but by the time she had finished talking to
Suzanne and forced herself through her nightly routine, her eyes were so tired
and puffy from her tears that she could barely keep them open. A mercifully
dreamless sleep took over and held her until the 6:00 alarm.

She
debated not going in to work on Thursday, but needed the hours because her rent
had gone month-to-month and was more expensive. Besides, she felt she had
something to prove to Doug: she was strong enough to carry on without him. She
wanted to prove it even if she didn’t feel it. A thick layer of concealer
helped disguise the evidence that she had been crying all night. She dug out a
brightly colored scarf to detract attention from her tired face.

It
was amazing how the rest of the world continued normally when her life was in
ruins. The usual e-mails were in her inbox, the same small talk with Jeremy and
Victoria, the same choices for lunch. She found that anger was the best friend
she had at the moment; it kept the spiraling depression at bay. The stubborn
desire to be as unaffected by Doug as possible actually made her focus better
on work. She plowed through her data entry in the morning and actually managed
to finish a couple of minor projects that had been lingering on her desk for a
while. Though she was always alert for his approach, Doug did not pass her
cubicle and she made none of her usual excuses to go to his side of the office.

Somehow
the day passed. Victoria stopped by Marci’s desk on her way out that afternoon.
“Got a minute?”

“Sure,”
Marci said. She instinctively went to hide whatever was on her screen and then
realized there were no covert e-mails from Doug. There would never be again.

“I
was wondering whether you had lunch plans tomorrow. There’s something we need
to discuss.” Victoria’s tone was neutral but serious-sounding.

“Um,
sure. I mean, no. No plans.”

“Great.
It’ll be us and Candice from HR. You know Candice?”

Marci
nodded.

“Great.
We’ll do 11:30 at Carmelo’s. I’m taking the morning off for something personal,
so I will meet y’all there.”

“Okay.
Thanks, Victoria.”

Victoria
gave a noncommittal wave and swept out of the office, leaving Marci to wonder
once again what was coming next. On the drive home, her brain excavated a
memory of Cathy and Candice chatting chummily one day when the former had
stopped by the office several weeks ago. Could it be that Cathy did, in fact,
know who she was, and was exacting her revenge by getting Marci fired?

She
reminded herself that temp employees could be let go without cause and there
would be no need to call a meeting with her if that were the case, much less a
meeting at Carmelo’s. They would simply call the agency and say that Marci was
no longer needed.

Despite
this very sensible reassurance, however, she did not sleep at all that night.
She had learned that the worst she could imagine was not always the worst that
could happen.

#

Friday
morning Marci used up the other half of a tube of concealer and stopped for a
cappuccino with a double shot on the way to work. Between the caffeine, lack of
sleep, anger, nervousness, and depression, she spent the morning trying to keep
herself from bursting into either tears or hysterical laughter—never sure which
might be coming. With Victoria out, Marci was unsure whether she was meant to
ride with Candice or take herself to the restaurant, and each time she stopped
by Candice’s office, she was on the phone with the door closed. At 11:15, she
tried again and found the office dark and locked. Clearly, she was expected to
make it there herself. Carmelo’s was just a few blocks away and she couldn’t
afford to park twice, so she set out on foot.

After
walking a few minutes, she glanced down at the post-it on which she’d scrawled
the address and realized that while she was right that the restaurant was on
Fifth Street, she was on the wrong side of Congress. That meant backtracking
what she’d done and walking an additional five blocks in the opposite
direction, and she had only five minutes. There was nothing to do but run for
it, in the ninety-plus degree weather. Her sandaled feet pounded the hot
sidewalk, breasts bouncing painfully as she went. A homeless man pushing a cart
covered in anti-government signs cheered for her wildly as she passed him. She
felt ridiculous, but could think of no better option.
At least if they are
firing me, they can add “lack of punctuality” and “slow runner” to the list of
reasons.

When
she got to the restaurant, she was soaked through with sweat and completely out
of breath. She steered herself to the restroom to see how she looked and almost
wished she hadn’t bothered. The concealer had caked with the sweat and made it
look like her face was covered in mud. Her fuchsia t-shirt showed enormous
sweat rings under the arms. She rinsed a paper towel in the sink and tried to
clean up her face, and then stood under the hand dryer with her shirt lifted to
try to dry her shirt. It seemed to work, but also made her face red and sweaty
again. It was 11:43 and she needed to get to the table, but she wanted to give
the dryer just a couple more minutes to work, hoping to make the sweat rings
less visible.

This
is why, when Candice walked into the restroom, Marci was standing with her
shirt lifted high and hot air blowing over her body. Candice’s face registered
shock, just as one would expect, but like any well-bred Austin woman, her words
were polite in the face of even the oddest behavior. “Hi, Marci. We didn’t see
you come in.”

“Hi,
Candice,” Marci said, smoothing her shirt. She was glad she’d worn a nicer bra
today, at least, instead of the beige standby with the fraying straps. “Hot
today, isn’t it?”

“It
is,” Candice said, still looking at Marci with something of an appraising look,
but not cruelly. It was as though she were just sort of vaguely wondering what
planet Marci was from, but not really with any strong feelings that she should
return there immediately.

“I’m
sorry I’m late,” Marci finally managed.

“Oh,
it’s okay,” Candice said. “Frank was late, too. We’re in the weird little nook
by the bar.” She gestured toward the back wall and stepped into one of the
stalls.

Frank?
As in Frank Dodgen? Holy crap
.

 Marci
took a last glance in the mirror and smoothed her hair. The sweat rings were
mostly better, she decided. Maybe not immediately noticeable if she kept her
arms at her side. The rest, well, it was what it was. At least the restaurant
had soft lighting.

Frank
greeted her warmly and shook her hand as she approached the table, but Victoria
gave her an admonishing look behind his back. In response to both she repeated,
“I’m so sorry I’m late. I...went the wrong way.”

“Fine,
fine,” Frank said, and then, to the waitress, “We’ll have a bottle of Chianti
for the table, please. Okay, ladies?” Candice was taking her seat, and the
three of them nodded their assent.

After
a few moments of staring at the very pricey menu, unable to concentrate, Marci
was relieved when Frank tossed his menu on the table and said, “Well, let’s get
right down to business, if that’s okay with you girls. I’m not one for a lot of
bullshitting, as you know.”

The
waitress seemed to sense that this was her cue, and interrupted to get their
orders. Victoria and Candice both ordered Caesar salad with grilled chicken, so
Marci followed suit, even though she was starving and would’ve preferred one of
the grilled panini. Frank ordered an enormous sandwich with every kind of meat
known to man.

“Well,
Marci, I imagine you know a little about why we’re here already,” he said, and
she glanced at the other two women, both of whom wore neutral expressions. She
did not. He went on. “I’ve talked with Doug Stanton—”

Marci
let out a gasp that Frank did not seem to notice. She thought Candice glanced
at her but couldn’t be sure. She tried to keep her focus politely trained on
Frank while her insides turned to knots.

“—and
he shared with me your portfolio of work. It’s good, Marci. Really good. I can
tell you that Doug doesn’t get excited about new talent easily, but he has
basically insisted that we create a position for you. And looking at your work,
I’d say he’s right.”

Marci
could not believe what she was hearing.
Was this really happening? Was she
being offered her dream job?

“So,
of course, Victoria, I’d like to know from you what you need Marci to do in
terms of transitioning out of your department. Of course, we’ll make sure we
get another administrative worker. Candice, you’ll talk with the temp agency?
I’m sure we have to jump through some hoops with them but we’ve given them
enough business over the years; they ought to make it easy for us to hire Marci
without paying an arm and a leg.”

It
was all but settled in Frank’s mind, apparently. She had wanted this
opportunity for years, and here it was. Solid, no interview necessary. Doug had
made it happen.
Doug
...Was this his way of making it up to her? Buying
her silence at work?

“...now,
of course the pay won’t be much at first. More than you make now, I imagine,
but it’s entry-level, keep in mind. Of course, if you’re good, you’ll do well
and you’ll be able to write your own check in this town. Kids who come through
our office are never at a loss for job offers...”

Hearing
herself referred to as one of the “kids” was odd but that was definitely an
improvement over “the temp.” She would be moving out of her isolated cubicle
and to the open, well-lit creative side.

Near
Doug.
Jesus, surely she wouldn’t be working directly with Doug?
Just
being on that side of the office was going to be hard. Did he seriously think
that she wanted to sit
closer
to him while she watched him get on with
his life? Listening to the office buzz about his new baby, watching Cathy
traipse in and out with her developing belly? Her excitement about her career
faded into a fog of anger and resentment, and she had trouble focusing on what
Frank was saying.

“Marci?”
Frank said, obviously aware that he’d lost her. “What do you think?”

“I’m,
wow. I’m overwhelmed,” she said, and then added, “It sounds like such an
amazing opportunity.”

“Well,
it will definitely be a learning experience,” Frank said. “But listen, I don’t
want to put you on the spot today. I’m sure you have a boyfriend or husband you
need to talk it over with.” He winked at her kindly. He knew damn well this was
the opportunity of a lifetime and she didn’t need to talk it over with anyone,
but he wanted to pretend that she had some power in the situation.

Frank
was slightly older than the other three partners, the only one who had not gone
to college with them. He had sort of a “good old boy” reputation, but Marci
could see that what he contributed to the team was deeper than that. His
no-nonsense style seemed to keep the firm’s artistic temperaments in check. He
was also consistently kind, from what Marci had gathered. There was something
to be said for that.

They
spent the rest of lunch making small talk—company business, vacation plans,
free concerts at Zilker Park. Of course, even in May, it was never too early to
begin speculating about Longhorn football. Marci tried to show as much interest
as possible in all these topics, but found that she most often felt she was
floating above the conversation in a weird sort of haze.

Victoria
gave her a lift back to the office, and on the way she apologized for not
giving Marci a heads-up about the job offer. In uncharacteristic disclosure,
she then began rattling on about everything she had going on in her personal
and professional life, everything from a botched six-week relationship that had
ended this week to her ancient cat’s inability to control his bowels and her
unwillingness to put him down. It was more detail in one ten-minute trip than
Marci had gleaned in the previous nine months working with Victoria. It seemed
the job offer from Frank Dodgen had inducted Marci into some sort of exclusive
club. The whole experience was surreal.

At
Victoria’s request, she spent the rest of the afternoon bringing all her
current projects to a stopping place, and preparing instructions for the next
person. “Even if you don’t start the new job Monday, I’d like to make sure
we’re prepared for the next temp.” Marci had completed all of this by 3:00, and
rather than wait for quitting time, she updated her time sheet to pay herself
for the time she’d spent waiting for Doug Wednesday night and left the office
without a word to anyone.