Confessions of an Ex-Girlfriend (33 page)

 

Confession: I am forced to shed my role as office pariah—and ex-girlfriend.

 

The following week I felt as if a great load had suddenly been lifted off my shoulders. I even summoned up the courage to call my dad to check up on him. The good news was that he appeared to be laying off the alcohol, and had even started to attend some Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, which was a good sign, considering that he usually wrote them off, saying that the only people who went to those meetings were people who “really had problems.” For years, my father seemed to think he fell into another category. I suppose this had a lot to do with the fact that he had managed to stay functional even during his hardest drinking days.
He held down a job, renovated his first home and, when he remarried, completely overhauled his second home, though he was a bit older and a lot less fit for the job. All with the assistance of good old Johnnie Walker. But now that he was retired and found himself falling off of rooftops, I guess he figured it was time to face a few facts.

I began to feel cautiously optimistic about him. And I might have been more hopeful if Deirdre hadn't mentioned that he was still vigorously seeking a new lawyer for his lawsuit against the harness company. I guess he still couldn't let go of the need for a scapegoat yet.

And I should know. I had a few scapegoats of my own, I discovered. Namely, Rebecca, who, I realized, I had turned into the one reason why I would never succeed in life.

It seemed that in the weeks following Rebecca's rise to power I had become the unsung heroine of the weary and disgruntled among the ranks of
Bridal Best.
People like Lucretia Henry with her dead-end job and Marcy Keller, who lacked an inner emotional life, took every opportunity to let me know how strongly they felt that the promotion should have been mine, how I had been a victim of the kind of mismanagement that would one day bring the magazine to its knees. I will admit that my survival at
Bridal Best
in the weeks after Rebecca moved into her freshly painted office, complete with a door and a window with an East River view, was dependent on this kind of bitter commentary. How else could I go on if I didn't convince myself that Rebecca, with her power suits and freshly trimmed bob, hadn't blindsided Patricia and everyone else into thinking she was better than she actually was?

For a while there, I was doing just fine as the disgruntled, passed over contributing editor. In fact, a strange calm had settled over me. A calm that allowed me to compose articles and develop captions and savvy headlines in a more timely and efficient manner than I ever had before. It was as if I had become indifferent to the impact my work would have on others, and this attitude, oddly enough, made my job easier to do. It was like sleepwalking during a hike up Mount Everest. Though I would probably never make it
to the top, I would somehow manage to get by, as long as I didn't open my eyes and see the jagged cliffs below.

Then Caroline went and stirred things up. I was sitting cross-legged in my cubicle, meticulously renaming all my file folders as part of my newfound desire to see myself as one of the holy organized few, when I felt Caroline's now very pregnant presence in my doorway. As I greeted her cheerfully, I saw a look of concern in her expression that I wondered at, until she asked me to meet me in her office for “a chat” when I had “a free moment.”

Naturally I was worried. Had someone overheard me mimicking Patricia's soft-spoken speeches about the magic of
Bridal Best?
Did Marcy let out that I was the one responsible for the decapitated bride layout that was hung anonymously on the lunchroom wall?

I dropped everything I was doing and hurried after Caroline. Though I was not really ready to face my fate, I was clearly unable to live with the unknown.

By the time I reached her doorway, Caroline had already seated herself among the mounds of paper that filled her office. Despite the fact that she was on the verge of leaving for three months on maternity leave, she seemed just as unfazed as ever by the endless deadline pressure and general insanity of life at
Bridal Best.
She even looked serene as she bent her head over the layout before her. I almost ran away, suddenly not wanting to disturb her, when she looked up, blinking at me in surprise. “Oh, Emma. You're here already. Well, come in,” she said, gesturing to the seat across from her. “I'll just be a minute.”

I obeyed, sitting anxiously while she finished reviewing the spread before her. When she finally looked up at me, I saw the same concern I'd seen earlier still creasing her brow.

“How's everything going, Emma?” she asked.

So determined was I to wipe that worry from her brow that I immediately launched into a relentlessly cheerful speech about how wonderful everything was, how focused I was lately, how organized I was becoming. How my desk was so clean and well maintained that I could perform surgery there, if necessary—this last said with my usual token laugh.

Caroline was not amused. “That's all well and good, Emma. But I want to know how
you're
doing.”

Suddenly I knew what was coming. Caroline was that kind of touchy-feely boss who likes to make sure on a regular basis that the employees in her care are feeling happy and loved. And since I had so recently exhibited signs of despair, I felt sure she wanted to get to the bottom of things with me.

I stifled a sigh. “I'm great. Life is great.”

“How's the writing going?”

“Good, good,” I replied. After all, I had handed in my last two articles on time and after little toil. Suddenly I worried that maybe my lack of toil was resulting in lackluster writing. If that was the case, then I needed to know. “Uh…has there been…I mean, have you had some negative feedback on me, uh, recently?”

“No, no. Not at all,” Caroline said, shaking her head in denial. “I was just concerned, that's all. I thought you might have been…distracted by recent events in this office.”

I knew the “events” she referred to. Rebecca's promotion. My downfall. Since the subject could no longer be avoided, I launched into it. “Well, to be honest, Caroline, things have gotten…easier for me since the decision to promote Rebecca was made. I'm concentrating better on my writing. And everything is just going…easier.”

She smiled. “I'm glad to hear that.”

I smiled back, relieved to have reestablished my position as a contented employee with Caroline.

“The truth is,” Caroline continued, “I was surprised you ever wanted the senior features editor position at all.”

This took me aback. What did she think I was doing here, anyway? Did she expect me to be some sort of corporate slave forever, endlessly belting out copy on the magic of happily-ever-after and all the nightmarish preparation that went into planning for it?

As if she read my mind, Caroline continued, “I don't want you to take this the wrong way. It's just that I've always seen your writing as your strength. It's one of the reasons I wanted you on my team as a contributing editor. Truthfully there's very little writing involved in the senior features position. Mostly management
stuff.” She rolled her eyes. “I should know.” Then she smiled. “I don't know if I ever told you this, but I used to fancy myself a writer. Right after college I wrote a lifestyles column for a newspaper back home in Ohio. Of course, that was before I met my husband and his job brought us to the East Coast and me to
Bridal Best.
When I first got here, I was the reigning writer on the staff, until I got offered a spot in management and spent more time assigning articles than actually writing them.” She smiled. “You know, when you came on board, I saw a little of myself in you.”

Now I was really shocked. Caroline, Miss Perfect Wife, Mother and Manager, saw herself in
me?

“Of course, I could have kept up the writing on the side, but a lot of other things got in the way of my pursuing that dream,” she said. “All good things, of course. Miles and I bought the house, and it needed so much work to make it a home. Then Sarah came along, surprise, surprise.” She chuckled.

Surprise, surprise, indeed, I thought. Up until now, I had always believed Caroline had carefully orchestrated every moment of her life, from puberty on. First boyfriend, first husband, first cozy Connecticut farmhouse and then three perfectly behaved and beautiful children.

“By the time my second child was born,” she continued, “I was up for a management position. How could I turn down that money when my family needed so much? When my husband and I wanted so much for our kids?” Her face suddenly took on a wistful expression, and my heart leaped out to her. I had always seen Caroline's life as a dream-come-true—not as something that might have stifled a dream.

As if she read my mind again, she said, “Don't get me wrong. I don't regret the choices I made. My life with my family is good, and it gave me great satisfaction to build it with my husband. The writing—that will come someday, in its own time.” Then her gaze focused on me. “But for some of us, that time could come sooner, if we don't let ourselves get sidetracked by…misplaced ambitions.”

I swallowed, hard, ever ready to deny that I had any ambitions other than to be one of the best at
Bridal Best.
But I knew Caroline
wasn't looking for my pledge of allegiance to the company. She was looking for something more. Like my hopes and dreams. Things that, for reasons I didn't want to look at, were a lot harder to pledge my allegiance to.

By the time I eased myself out of her guest chair, Caroline and I had moved on to other, safer subjects, like my thoughts on the layout she was currently reviewing. But before I left her office, she had jotted down the name of an editor friend of hers at the magazine
Today's Woman,
encouraging me to contact her if I ever had an idea for an article that might not fit within the scope of
Bridal Best.
I knew by the smile behind her words that she was referring to my passionate though misguided proposal on women who said no to marriage. But I didn't take it the wrong way. Suddenly I felt as if Caroline was on my side. Rooting for me, even.

It was a good feeling, for the most part. Especially when I sent off a query letter two days later to Caroline's editor friend, proposing an article on, of all things, breaking up with the love of your life. Clearly I had struck a chord with the senior editor, because a week later she called to offer me a thousand-dollar advance to write the piece for the Relationships section in their fall issue. I was both thrilled and shocked, and called Jade and Alyssa immediately to tell them my good news.

Jade couldn't help giving me an “I-told-you-so” attitude.

Alyssa proposed a minicelebration the following Saturday night. Dinner and drinks. Just us girls. “Besides,” she said, “it's been so long since the three of us got together.”

By the time Saturday night arrived, our minicelebration had turned into a megacelebration. For Alyssa showed up at Miracle Grill on Bleeker, our chosen restaurant, with the most beautiful engagement ring I had ever seen and the sparkle of pure love in her eyes. She insisted she didn't want to upstage me, and ordered a round of drinks to toast my success as a writer, but as we waited for our food to arrive of course, Jade and I demanded all the details of the proposal scene.

It seemed Richard had gone for true romance. First he asked Alyssa to meet him at Central Park after work on Friday night for a free concert on the Great Lawn. As Alyssa stood waiting to meet
him at the Seventy-second Street entrance, suddenly out of nowhere Lulu came running toward her. Alyssa admitted she was confused at first, until she saw Richard in tow, a picnic basket in hand. Though he calmly explained that Lulu “seemed lonely at home,” Alyssa was naturally suspicious. Even more so when he led them away from the Great Lawn and toward an alcove of trees further in, which Alyssa immediately recognized as the place where they had carved their initials into a tree in the weeks after they had moved to New York together to share their first apartment. Richard claimed he thought they would have a private little dinner before the concert, but by then, Alyssa's heart was thrumming with anticipation. And once the blanket was laid with Lulu perched on the edge as if she knew exactly what was going on, Richard got down on one knee and told Alyssa just how much he loved her, how much he hoped to make her his wife.

Even Jade had tears in her eyes by the time Alyssa was through. “More drinks!” she immediately announced, gesturing to the darkly handsome waiter at whom she barely batted an eyelash as she ordered us another round.

“How's Ted?” I asked, after we had sufficiently toasted Alyssa's engagement and settled in to contemplate just how good life was.

“Ted is perfect,” Jade said. Then: “But he's trying to get me to quit smoking.”

“Good for him!” Alyssa said.

“Yeah,” I chimed in, “you really do have to quit, Jade. Smoking is just so passé.”

“Listen to you,” Jade said, “the hip new writer for
Today's Woman
magazine.”

“Yes, I can't wait to read your article!” Alyssa said, “What's it about, anyway?”

I smiled as I lifted my glass, “Getting over your ex-boyfriend.”

Jade and Alyssa lifted their glasses. “I'll drink to that,” Jade said.

And we banged glasses yet again. But the merriment surrounding us at the moment didn't stop Alyssa from doing a little check on my emotional state.

“So how are you doing, anyway? I mean, I haven't asked be
cause I didn't want to bring up the
D
word, especially since things have been going so well for you,” Alyssa said.

“I'm fine,” I replied, my token response. “Though I have to say, when I got the offer from
Today's Woman,
I wanted to call him up and tell him.”