Cheating on Myself (32 page)

Jean started class then, and as we lifted and stretched and wiggled our bodies through the water on noodles, I thought about Heather’s offer. I had the money, I had no other plans that thrilled me, no Christmas traditions of my own, and I certainly wanted to go… so what was keeping me from going for it?

* * *

When James Davis peeked over the edge of my cubicle wall later that morning, just moments after I’d returned from a coffee break with Lily, I was distractedly scrolling through Google results for Venice. I’d slipped off my cowboy boots—the ones I’d impulsively bought for that first date with Joe—and I was sitting at my desk in socks. I’d been asked to come in on a Friday, my day off, even though I wasn’t actually being paid to work. This irked me, but I was a good corporate soldier and didn’t want to ruffle feathers, so I’d come. But so far, I’d spent the day wasting time and getting as comfortable as I could in my bland cube.

Around eleven, James’ slippery voice cooed, “Working hard, Stella bell?” and I jumped out of my rolling chair so fast it shot back and rammed into the cloth wall behind me.

“Please don’t call me Stella bell,” I said coldly, minimizing my browser before turning to face James. Because he had my career in his little hands, I feared him. James was shorter than me, and younger than me, and ickier than anyone, but he was Important. I didn’t like the way he could sneak up on us, or the way he seemed to lurk around corners waiting to bust someone for having a life outside Centrex. Even still, I wasn’t sure how a guy who reminded me of Vanity Smurf could intimidate me. His coif was pomaded and pressed into a shape that roughly resembled the secret underbelly of a Smurf’s hat, which should have made him simply comical. But he was sort of scary, and I didn’t like that he’d bullied me into coming into the office on a Friday, my company-mandated “free day.”

“Up a little early for cheer today, eh, little Bear?” He grinned, flashing the fronts of his teeth all the way back to his molars. He gestured to my boots and said, “Cowboy boots. Not really Centrex-appropriate, are they? Have you checked the dress code intranet site to see if they’re on the approved list?”

I lifted my eyebrows and said nothing.

After pushing one of my boots toward me with his toe, James cleared his throat and moved on. “Anyhoo, sorry to make you come in on a Friday—I’m sure you’ve gotten used to sleeping in and watching movies all day on Fridays, now that you’re a lady of luxury.” He chuckled, though I didn’t think him making light of my corporate downsizing was particularly funny. “I’m going to make it up to you, but you know, we’re all team players and sometimes, Stella, we have to work on our own time to get the results we’re looking for in our lives.”

“No problem,” I said, gritting my teeth. “I’m happy to help out.”

“The reason I had you come in today,” James said, getting comfortable in my guest chair. “Hey, cute flannel,” he said, suddenly distracted by the piece of red flannel Joe had brought me weeks ago to spice up the bland walls of my cube. James looked at me and laughed, as though we were sharing a joke or enjoying a funny together. I stared back at him and he turned to rub his finger across the surface of the fabric. Then he studied it carefully, pinned as it was to the wall of my cube like some kind of masterpiece. “Is this art?”

“Please don’t touch it,” I snapped, trying hard not to laugh. “It’s from a gallery in New York, and it was very expensive. You know you’re not supposed to touch art with bare, greasy fingers, right?”

James pulled his hand away and jammed it in his pocket. “Sorry about that. It’s a great piece.” He nodded appreciatively. “As I was saying, the reason I had you come in today is we’re kicking off a new project that I want you to be a part of. I see opportunities for you here at Centrex, Stella, and I want to make sure you’re engaged in every aspect of this organization.” He paused, taking a moment to adjust his hair.

“You’ve worked on a number of fantastic projects in your years here, and I know you must feel lucky to be a part of such a team.” I didn’t bother telling him how wrong he was. I hated my job, and it just seemed to be getting worse. At least it was a job, I reminded myself… if only eighty percent. There was that.

James rolled along, without pausing for comments. “See, a few interns have recommended a new strategy I’m excited to run with. We’re going to be launching a new campaign in support of high-frequency items—toilet paper, paper towels, things of that nature. The sexy stuff we sell at Centrex.” Again, he laughed. I did not. “I’d love for you to be a part of the team leading our toilet paper—er, bath tissue—program. We need to fill the ranks with people from every level, to ensure we get a variety of ideas and experience supporting the project. One of our summer interns is being brought on full time to lead the task-force and bring the plan to fruition.” James grinned. “Isn’t this exciting?” He reached over and patted my knee. “Let’s see a little of that Care Bear cheer, huh?”

I tried. Really, I did. But the thought of sitting on a task force to figure out a fun way to market toilet paper, of being responsible for people knowing Centrex was the place to turn when you had to use the restroom, was so deeply depressing that all I could do was sigh. Loudly.

“Isn’t this exciting?” James repeated. “You can thank me for getting you a slot on the team. I stood up for you, insisting you be a part of group. I know your morale has probably been a little squishy since the whole cutback business, but this should help. You’ll need to come in some Fridays, obviously, until we’ve got the plan nailed down.” He smiled thinly. “Since it’s a special project, it’s going to require a little special time.” He air-quoted around special time, which made it all feel so much worse than it needed to.

“So does this mean I go back to a full-time position?” I asked quietly. “Or am I still reduced?”

“Still reduced,” James said, pushing his lower lip out into a pout and running his hand across his forehead. “Sorry I can’t do anything about that. But you’ll be part of the team that’s going to change the way people look at Centrex. You, along with the rest of this team, have the opportunity to make something
big
happen here. This is a marketing dream job. Finding our way into customers’ pockets through creatively marketed
frequency
items. What could be more fun?”

What could be more fun? Oh, I don’t know… teaching water aerobics? Playing the banjo in a children’s band? Maybe even marketing hand soap, like Erik? Just about
anything
sounded more fun than trying to sell toilet paper, and I knew that meant my run was over at Centrex.

I didn’t quit then, but that was the moment I knew I would. I wasn’t going to storm out that day, or even that week or month or maybe even that year, but I was going to get out of my job—soon. I wouldn’t let what happened with Erik happen in all the other parts of my life. I would escape Smurfy-James, and on-site-off-sites, and corporate yoga. I promised myself I would not let my career dreams top out at marketing toilet paper to suburban families. There had to be something better out there, and I promised myself I would find it.

Instead of storming out in a blaze of glory, I rebelled just a little bit that day, just enough to make me feel somewhat in control of my career and my choices. When my cell phone began to ring in the middle of our conversation, I pointedly turned away from James and answered.

“Yoo-hoo,” James said, tapping me on the shoulder in a way that let me know we weren’t finished with our conversation.

On the other end of the phone, Cat’s tiny little voice rasped, “Hello? Stell? Where are you? ”

“I had to come in to work. What’s up?” James cleared his throat behind me, but I ignored him. I was thirty-four-years-old, for God’s sake. I could take a call from a friend on
my day off
and not fear the wrath of my boss like I had feared every one of my grade school teachers and college professors… and Laurel.

“Work? That blows. You’re not supposed to work on Fridays.”

“No shit, Shirley.”

“Who’s Shirley?” Cat asked, distracted.

“Shirley’s made up. ‘
No shit, Shirley’
is just a saying.”

“A stupid saying you must have learned from farmhands in Iowa—or Erik. He says stupid stuff like that. Don’t say it anymore. I need to mentally separate the two of you, okay?” I sighed and Cat continued. “So, can you take off early today? Like, two-ish?” she asked. “I’m going on a little field trip you might enjoy. The girls are coming, too.”

“Sure,” I said, then covered the mouthpiece with my hand. “What time is the TP meeting?” James glared at me and held up two fingers. “Shoot,” I told him, snapping my fingers. “I have plans—they’ll just have to fill me in later on what I missed.”

I was at liberty to leave whenever I damn well felt like it. A few frozen yogurt coupons and free lunchtime yoga weren’t going to motivate me work for free when I’d been twenty-percent laid off. Fridays were my time, and if they were keeping twenty percent of my cash and filtering it into intern-led-toilet-paper-taskforces, I’d do what I chose with my Fridays. I was going to hang out with Pippa and Heidi and Cat.

“You know what? I’m ready anytime—I’m not supposed to be here today anyway, right?” I grinned at my boss, who shook his head and passive-aggressively slunk out of my cube without comment. What was the worst thing he could do? Fire me? That was probably better than sitting on a toilet paper committee, anyway. If marketing toilet paper was supposedly the pinnacle of my career, it was definitely time to find a better one. And if I got fired, at least then I wouldn’t have to quit or look at James’ inappropriately hard hair anymore. A mini rebellion was well deserved.

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise. I swear it will be fabu.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

I should have figured out what Cat had planned when I saw the short, high-pitched crowd gathered in front of the glass-encased suburban library. But it wasn’t until Pippa, Heidi, Cat, and I walked into the paisley-carpeted, lower-level performance space and I saw Joe strumming his banjo across the room that I realized she’d taken me to a Dog Hounds concert.

“There he is, Auntie Stella!” Pippa cried happily, hugging my arm. She was still moving slowly, and didn’t have the verve she’d had before the accident. But her sweet little smile was as pretty and perfect as ever, and her voice was filled with joy and life. “It’s Joe!” Both Pippa and Cat grinned at me, but for different reasons, I was sure.

“It sure is,” I murmured, wiggling my toes in my boots. I took a moment to watch him before he realized I was there. He was wearing the usual uniform, including those awful overalls and the fluffy hair. But beneath the ridiculous get-up (which was practically see-through as far as I was concerned, since my mind just kept thinking about the stomach and chest he had hiding under it all), his eyes shone in that way I had come to adore and his goofy grin made me want to run over and wrap my arms around him. He was talking to a pair of little boys wearing cowboy hats, but paused when he noticed me and Cat and the girls.

The sweet smile that had been on his face while he was talking to his tiny fans widened as he made his way toward us a few seconds later, and the dimples at the tops of his cheeks crept into place. My cheeks flushed and my insides squirmed. I guess I’d been fooling myself that I was over him, since my body was telling me I was absolutely
not
over Banjo Boy.

“Pippa!” When he reached us, Joe immediately crouched down and held his hand out to give Pip a low-five. “Let me see that smile.”

Pip grinned, clutching my hand tightly in one of hers while she placed the other timidly inside Joe’s.

“And hello, Miss Heidi,” Joe said, bowing his head and winking. “Ladies.” He nodded at Cat and I, letting his eyes linger on mine. My stomach flipped as I waited for him to say my name or touch me, even in the most innocent of ways. “Joining the mom circuit, eh, Stella?”

“I guess so,” I said nervously, trying to find a way to flirt. Did I
want
to flirt? Yeah, I really did. “A
single
mom. Or maybe just the really fun aunt?”

He leaned in to speak close to my ear. I breathed in deeply when I smelled his familiar sugary smell and felt one of his curls tickle my cheek. “Well, that’s even better then.” The rustle of his breath on my hair made my neck tingle, and I had to stop myself from turning to bring my mouth to his.

But he wasn’t my boyfriend, and I’d been rude, and whatever had been building between us had been cut down when I’d—rightly—criticized him for sleeping with married women. Joe leaned in even closer and my breath caught in my throat as his hair brushed against my cheek again.

“Not that something like a wedding ring is going to stop a guy like me from hitting on you. Isn’t that right?” He stepped back and plucked at the strings of his banjo. When he quirked up one corner of his mouth, I knew he didn’t hate me for judging him. And I also knew I really didn’t care that he’d been a player.

All that really mattered to me was that we had some seriously unfinished business. Screw sensible. With Joe in the picture, sensible was out. I’d been robbed of good sex with a hot musician and I was going to get it, no matter how bad an idea it was. Joe leaned into me again and whispered, “Nice boots.”

I clicked the heels of my cowboy boots together and blushed. After that, the concert was painfully slow. The girls squeezed into the front row and got comfortable right in front of the stage, singing along and waving their arms with the Dog Hounds as they sang about clouds and cupcakes and going with the flow. I sat with Cat at the back of the room, both of us uncomfortable in metal folding chairs. Cat spent most of the show shopping on her phone. I kept my eyes on the band, but found it hard to focus on anything other than Joe’s lips and the way I knew my body would feel if his arms were wrapped around me again.

“Oh, eff,” Cat murmured as the show was wrapping up. “The girls and I have to get home ASAP. Amelie put regular dish soap in the dishwasher again, and she’s freaking out. Last time she did this, she was curled up in a fetal position on the couch, eating Doritos and watching a
Top Model
marathon, while the dishwasher spewed soap all over the kitchen floor. So dramatic. I swear, au pairs are a real pain in the
bleep
,” Cat rolled her eyes. “Do you think…” she looked at me and smiled, “…you could get a ride home with Joe?”