One Look At You (3 page)

“Was it the guy you were dancing with last night?”

“Maybe…I don’t know… I mean, it makes sense to think that way, but when I looked at the man this morning, my mind was a total blank. He looked familiar, but I can’t say I actually recognized him, so I ran away as fast as my legs could take me.”

“Well, we didn’t see you with anyone else but that man last night. No offense, but when you were dancing with him, it seemed like some kind of foreplay that was bound to end up in bed.” He looks at me now to see how I’ll react to that.

I cover my face in humiliation.
Oh God, what did I do? How could I have been so out of control?

Mark reaches for my hand. “Liv, don’t make too much out of it. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Alcohol can have that effect on some people. That and the heat, and whatever it was you had going on with him.”

“Mark, I’m freaking out because I don’t know if…” My words trail off.

“I’m not gonna judge you for having a one-night stand, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He sounds hurt as he says this.

“If only… Look, I woke up with just my top and underwear. He was still sleeping next to me, and I was so shocked that I just ran away instead of staying and talking to him like an adult.”

“It’s a normal reaction. Besides, you don’t even know him, so it’s not like you’re expected to have a mature early morning discussion.”

I look at him, wanting to say more, but he cuts me off. “Let it go, Livie. You’ll never see him again. No one need ever know.
You
don’t even have to know. Just thank your lucky stars someone didn’t take advantage of you.”

Take advantage of me? Is he thinking I was in the right frame of mind when I went up with the guy to his suite? Did something happen between us? How is it possible that I don’t even know, can’t even tell?
My brain is about to burst from all the questions. I take a deep breath and dissemble unconcern.

“You’re right. I should just put this behind me.” He nods in agreement. “Thank you, Mark. Thanks for the ride. Most of all, thanks for just caring.”

“Sleep in for the rest of the day. You’ll feel better.”

I say nothing, but I know a big part of me wants to remember exactly what happened.

I hastily wave at Robert, the concierge, as I walk through the huge lobby. Tower 88 is one of the dozen tallest high-rises in Los Angeles. It’s a postmodern edifice built by the world-famous architect, Lucas Palermo. Everyone in the financial district simply refers to this tower of glass and off-white steel as ‘The Tower.’ Its forty-eight floors house some of the biggest names in banking and industry. I work at the national headquarters of Gallo’s, the third largest coffee chain in the world, and our offices are on the top floor in the penthouse.

In my senior year in high school, I was fortunate enough to be hired on as a trainee. Mitch, the night manager, liked my work ethic. He put in my name for one of the corporate scholarships. I was one of the ten chosen that year, and as a result I managed to graduate with a business economics degree from UC San Diego without having to take on a crushing student loan. I was then offered a job in the finance department of Gallo’s, where I’ve been for the past three years.

John Bailey is my immediate supervisor. He’s in charge of Accounts Payables. I’ve been his assistant for a little over a year. John is a hard worker but, at the end of the day, he can’t wait to go home to his lovely wife, Ana, and their three year old toddler, Kent. Ana is only eight years older than me, but she fusses over me like a mother hen. Her favorite pastime is trying to fix me up on a blind date. I adore her but, sadly, her efforts have been fruitless.

I go into John’s office. “Good morning, John. Did you have a chance to go over the spreadsheet last night?”

“And a good morning to you, too, Liv. I haven’t even had my first cup of java and you’re already raring to start?” He smiles good-naturedly.

“You know how Mondays can be so frantic. Might as well start with the big stuff.”

“True. But today we have bigger things to attend to,” he says with a frown creasing his forehead.

“Bigger things? Like what? It took me a week to get all the numbers for this file. What can be bigger than that? Is the Board having a special meeting or something?”

“No. No board meeting or anything like that. But Ralph is leaving, and his successor is asking for a bunch of reports.”

“Mr. Donaldson is leaving? And someone’s ready to take over?” I’m surprised by the turn of events. Ralph Donaldson has been Chief Financial Officer for over ten years. I would have thought that it would take some time to find his replacement, and yet it seems that they already have someone lined up.

“I know. I couldn’t believe it myself when they called this morning.”

“Why is he leaving, though?” John and I have an easygoing relationship, so I know he doesn’t mind that I’m indulging in gossip right now.

He lifts an eyebrow and says, “Well, rumor has it that he’s been recruited to head RKM Food Group. We’ll find out soon enough, I guess.”

“So who’s taking over?”

“Unconfirmed. He’s officially taking over next Monday. Ralph has emailed the department heads to prepare the reports that the new CFO has requested. I’m afraid you’ll be having no social life for the next five days.”

“What else is new?” I respond flippantly. “What do you want me to start with?”

John hands me a printed list and I study it carefully. “Wow, the new CFO doesn’t ask for much, does he?” The man is detail-oriented and obviously familiar with the operations of the corporation.

“Is it someone who’s being promoted from the ranks?” I ask the logical question.

“Negatory,” John says as he shakes his head vehemently. Of course, he would know, since he would be one of the top three contenders for the job.

“I’ll start right away on your laundry list.” I am now in full professional mode and I head to my desk, situated right outside John’s office. One of the things I love about my work is the flexibility I’m afforded. My boss simply gives me a few directives and leaves it up to me how to best accomplish the objectives. John is laid-back in that way, and I do my best to step up and anticipate what needs to be done.

Gallo’s has 18,000 locations in fifty countries. To come up with the required reports means accessing the data we receive on a weekly basis from each of these locations. We measure and compare almost anything one can think of. We know what the average order is in dollar amount, how long a customer stays in the store, how many buckets of bleach are used in one day, how many milligrams of sodium are in a slice of pie, which mug designs sell well during the holidays, how many nuts are in each butterscotch bar we sell…. The list goes on and on. But the new CFO is asking for data that has never been fully examined before. We have the data, I know, but we’ve never utilized it to increase our margins. Since John heads AP, we now need to do more intensive reports on our suppliers to get all of this together for the new hire.

I’m actually getting excited as I start looking at the information. I briefly wonder if Cassie, Kayla, and the other Finance assistants are working on their respective reports. We all have lunch once in a while, and I know how fiercely protective most of us are of our bosses. Oh, the competition is on, for sure. I quietly chuckle as I picture them clickety-clacking on their own keyboards.

Several hours pass and my tummy starts to rumble. I have completely forgotten lunch, and now it’s past four in the afternoon. The first report is a humongous one. It involves going back five years in time and analyzing the income statements, cash flow, and statements of retained earnings from our suppliers. We carefully screen our suppliers but, based on this new report, management probably wants to go one step further and retain only those who are liquid and financially in good shape. I’ll probably finish this report two days from now.

“Livie, take a break. I know you won’t have the preliminary figures until Wednesday anyway. Have you had lunch?” John is about to leave to pick up Kent from his Karate class. He takes care of his little boy on Mondays and Wednesdays because Ana has decided to go back to school and complete her doctorate in Philosophy.

“Relax, boss. I’m about to order pastrami from the coffee shop. What about you? Don’t let the little dude wait or you’ll be in trouble,” I jokingly warn him.

“He can wait a couple of minutes,” he says, though he doesn’t sound too confident.

“Sure he can,” I say mockingly, knowing how Kent’s going to berate his Dad for being late.

“Fine, I’m gonna go. The minute you have the preliminaries, please put them on my desk.”

“Aye, aye, captain. But, just so you know, don’t hold your breath. Wednesday at the earliest,” I promise him.

“Adios!” John starts to walk in great strides towards the elevator and waves quickly without looking back.

The sandwich arrives close to five, when I no longer feel the need to eat. I’ve detected a mistake in the formulas, and reconfigure the spreadsheet. At eight, I’m one of the last to leave, though I’m glad that at least a third of the report is done.

The advantage of leaving at this time is, of course, the absence of gridlock on the streets. I’m out of the financial district in ten minutes and flying on the I-5 on my way home. I make a quick detour on Alameda to get a few things from Trader Joe’s. Jen loves their cookie butter spread, and I like that their bread comes in smaller portions.

Upon my entering the apartment, Jen gets up from the couch to hug me.

“What’s going on?” I ask, puzzled at her unusual gesture.

“Nothing. I feel like crap, knowing you were trying to reach me yesterday and I didn’t pick up.”

“That’s alright. Mark answered.”

“I think my phone was on vibrate or something. I was so tired that I slept the whole morning. Then, when I woke up, you were sleeping, so I thought it best not to bother you.” As she says this, she has an expression of guilt on her face.

“Yeah, I took Mark’s advice and slept off my exhaustion.”

She looks at me as if waiting for more information.

“What?” The question comes out unintentionally loud, even a little angry.

“If you don’t want to discuss it, it’s fine,” she says, losing her nerve after my outburst.

“Oh, Jen, I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t want to discuss it. There’s really nothing I can tell you.”

“For starters, you can tell me how you hooked up with Mr. Gorgeous,” she says with a laugh.

“I’m not sure who you’re talking about,” I say with some uncertainty.

“Livie! Who else am I talking about but the guy you were dancing with? You know, the guy who was eyeing you from the bar?” Jen thinks I’m playing with her.

Images come to me. The man at the bar. The man who joined me on the dance floor. The same man who was next to me in bed.
Why can’t I remember exactly what happened?
It’s like having only a few jigsaw puzzle pieces in place. The smaller, more important ones are hidden somewhere or hopelessly lost.

Jen sees my face and instantly touches my arm in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t remember anything from Saturday night,” I say truthfully. “I mean, I remember bits and pieces, but not the important stuff,” I continue.

“I don’t know what to say.” Clearly, she’s sympathetic to my plight, but other than feel sorry for me, what can she say or do?

“I know.” It’s my turn to hug her. Jen is a sensitive soul, but she also gets easily rattled or upset. There’s only so much negativity she can handle.

“I actually thought the two of you had hit it off. You were so giddy, and the two of you were all over each other on the dance floor. The chemistry was so obvious.”

I frown at her words. It makes sense, though, for my judgment and reason to have been impaired by alcohol. What Jen thought was chemistry was just me acting out irresponsibly, even dangerously. An image flashes before my eyes. We were slow-dancing and his hands were on my bottom, holding me tight against him. I shake my head from side to side, wanting to remember more, and yet afraid of what came next. My heart feels like it skips a beat. From the corner of my eye, I see Jen looking at me with distress, so I pretend to smile to set her mind at ease.

“You really don’t remember?” she asks again, unable to believe that I had a blackout.

“It’s okay. I’m sure everything will come back to me soon.” We both remain quiet.

“Chocolate peanut butter?” she asks after some time, knowing that’s my go-to food when I’m feeling low.

“Haagen-Dazs?”

“Of course!” she says smilingly.

“Why not?” Burying my frustration in a bowl of delicious, calorie-filled ice cream may just do the trick. We go to the kitchen to grab a pint, some ice cream bowls, and spoons. We eat standing up while leaning on the counter.

“Hmmm,” I murmur with delight. “Every single time.”

“I know, right?” she agrees wholeheartedly.

“Wait, you never told me what happened with…” I pause because I’m unable to remember his name.

“Max?” she readily provides his name. I nod.

“Ugh. Don’t go there. It was a friendly encounter. Nothing more. Drinking buddies and dancing partners. It was fun, but ‘just friends’ fun.”

“Are you sure? I kinda remember you smiling a lot.”

“Nah. It was just what I needed to stop myself from thinking about the break-up. Believe it or not, I’ve jumped to the anger stage.”

“That’s good, I think.” I’m not so sure she’s really past the desperation or denial, but I play along.

“Tomorrow is another day, Liv.”

Oh, yes.
Tomorrow is another day
.

“Livie, have you uploaded the reports yet?” John doesn’t seem like his usual calm and collected self. For the past three days, he’s been poring over the reports I’ve generated and has been nitpicking. The data is insufficient. The results are somehow skewed. Some areas are under-represented. And now he’s afraid that the reports won’t be in the server.
Ugh.
He seems incredibly anxious about making a good impression on the new CFO.

“Relax, please. Everything’s been uploaded and the corrections have been made,” I assure him.