Pink Slip Party (22 page)

“Ow,” I say. I feel like I’m ten again and have a crush on Kyle, and he’s just caught me kissing his yearbook picture.

Kyle hides a smile.

“Same old Jane. How long have you been working here?”

My brain can’t seem to function. “A week,” I finally say. I want to shout at him, but I doubt that would win me points in the office.

“I tried to call you,” he says. “I left you messages.”

“I got them,” I say, curt. Here we go, I think. That’s the tone I’m looking for.

“Never mind,” Kyle says, waving a hand. My heart sinks. Never mind? Never mind what? Never mind he’s back with Caroline for good and I can shove off, never mind?

“How’s Caroline?” I ask, almost before I can help myself. “Fine, as far as I know,” he says.

They’re together then, I think.

“But I haven’t seen her lately,” he says.

Lately? What does this mean? He’s being infuriatingly vague.

“What have you been up to?” he asks me.

I think about the Maximum Office break-in, and me and Mike. “The usual, too. Except for the temp job.”

“That’s good,” Kyle says. He stares for a minute at his shoes. I’m so rattled, I can’t think of another thing to say. Is he with Caroline or isn’t he?

“I’m here to see Barbara Keinan,” he says before I can speak.

“We have a ten o’clock.”

“Er, right. Well, I’ll call her for you.” I can’t seem to get my fingers to work properly. They keep wanting to punch all the wrong numbers. Since when does Kyle have this effect on me? I’m so nervous, I can feel my heart pumping hard in my rib cage.

“Ms. Keinan, Kyle, er, Mr. Burton is here to see you,” I say, before I realize that my headset is still unplugged. Hastily, I plug it back in, only to hear Barbara Keinan shouting “Hello? Hello?”

“Ms. Keinan, Mr. Burton is here,” I say again.

“Show him into the conference room.”

“Right this way,” I say to Kyle. I go in front of him, acutely aware that he has a full view of my back as I walk, my slightly wrinkled gray wool pencil skirt and my not-so-small run in my pantyhose that’s creeping up the back of my knee as we speak. My heels, new ones, Mary Janes with nearly three inches of stiletto (I couldn’t let the Manolos I bought for Mike go to waste), teeter slightly on the thick office carpet.

I give Kyle a quick backward glance, but his expression gives nothing away. We meet Barbara Keinan halfway to the boardroom.

“Kyle,” she says, shaking his hand like they’ve known each other forever. “Good to see you. Can Jane get you some coffee? Tea?”

“Coffee would be great,” Kyle says.

I squint at Kyle. The last thing I want to do is get him coffee.

I’m so angry, I fill the mug too full and manage to splash some on my skirt and on the toe of my right shoe.

“Ow,” I say. The coffee is scalding hot — as usual. Jean Naté insists on it being practically boiling at all times.

Inside the boardroom door, I try to steady myself, walking carefully into the conference room, too-full coffee mug in hand. Just as I’m almost to Kyle, I hear Barbara ask, “I haven’t seen Caroline in ages. Not since our reunion. How is she?”

Almost at this exact moment, my heel catches on a snag in the carpet, and I feel myself teeter off balance. In my haste to right myself, I overcompensate and the jerking motion sends coffee out of the mug and over my hand, which causes me to yelp and drop the mug. I watch in horror as it shoots straight down like a missile onto Kyle’s knee, toppling over, and spraying scalding droplets of dark coffee over his gray wool pants, onto the top of his leather shoes, and sploshing the entire left leg of Barbara Keinan, who is wearing (until then) spotless Donna Karan cream-colored pants. The shocked look of anger upon Barbara’s face tells me that I probably won’t be serving coffee to anyone else anytime soon.

“I am so sorry,” I squeak, too late. The thunderous look Barbara sends me says it all.

I am positive I’m fired, but Jean Naté tells me otherwise later that afternoon. “You’re very lucky to still have this job,” Jean Naté tells me later when she finds me in the bathroom with my blistered hand under the tap. “You’re lucky that gentleman was so agreeable. Barbara was ready to fire you on the spot, but he convinced her that wasn’t a good idea.”

I’m beginning to wonder what it will take to get me fired around here.

“But, we had to put that incident in your employee file,” Jean Naté says. “One more screwup, and I’m afraid you’re gone.”

When I get home, I’m not sure who I should be mad at, exactly, but I’m mad. Even walking through my front door and seeing Vishnu clothed is not enough to brighten my mood, nor is seeing the huge bouquet of pink and yellow roses on display in my kitchen.

“They’re for you,” Ganesha tells me. “From some guy.”

The card says, “I hope my misplaced knee didn’t get you fired. Sorry. Kyle.”

He’s
sorry?

He thinks one flower arrangement (even if it is an expensive and tasteful one) is going to make up for his behavior? Oh no. Not by a long shot.

While I’m considering whether or not I should dump out the flowers, my phone rings. I let the machine get it. It’s Kyle.

“Look, Jane, I am so sorry about today. I hope you didn’t get in trouble, and well, I just wanted to tell you that. OK? I’m sorry. Really. And I think we should talk, because there are some things we need to sort out. Please call me, OK?”

The sound of his voice, contrite, so perfectly
nice,
sends me off. Why should he sound so nice? Why? He’s not nice. Nice guys don’t make out with you one night and get together with their ex-girlfriends the next.

“You should really talk to him,” Ganesha advises me.

For once, I decide she’s right.

It’s pouring down rain outside, but I run out wearing only my work clothes and a raincoat, forgetting my umbrella and deciding I don’t want to go back for it. My hair is soaked almost instantly, but I don’t care.

I am going to tell Kyle how I really feel, Caroline be damned. I’m going to tell him that he can’t just go playing with a girl’s feelings this way. He can’t go kissing a girl, then getting back with his ex-girlfriend, then sending her a giant arrangement of roses. He is the king of mixed messages, and I plan to tell him so.

Outside Kyle’s apartment building, I lay on his buzzer hard.

“Jane!” he says, surprised to see me. I must look like a drowned rat, dripping water on his welcome mat.

“Surprised?” I ask him.

“Well, I was expecting the pizza guy,” he says.

“Is she here?” I ask him, pushing my way past him, and into his apartment, leaving wet footprints on his hardwood floors.

“Who?”

“You know who,” I say. “Caroline.”

“Right, about Caroline…uh, I think we should talk,” Kyle says. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“I bet you are,” I snap. After doing a sweep of his apartment, I discover he’s in it alone.

“You have every right to be upset,” Kyle says. “I’d just like to explain.”

“I bet you would, but first, I have a few things I want to say to you.”

“OK,” he says. “Do you want a towel first?”

“No, I want you to shut up and listen,” I say. I push back my wet hair from my eyes and poke him once in the chest. “Sit down,” I command. He sits.

“First of all, you can’t just send a girl roses and think
everything’s
going to be fine. I know your mother and I think she raised you better than to go around toying with one girl’s feelings while you plan to get back with an old girlfriend,” I say.

Kyle makes a movement to speak, but I shush him with a hand.

“I’m going to finish this, whether you like it or not,” I say.

“Two, you could have just
told
me you and Caroline were getting back together instead of bringing her over like some sort of sick surprise to my parents’ house,” I say. “Are you
that
insensitive or just
that
dumb?”

Kyle flushes red. “Right, you’re…”

“Nope, not finished,” I say.

Kyle turns a shade redder.

“And
finally,
I want to tell you that getting back with Caroline is a mistake, a big one, because she doesn’t appreciate you and takes advantage of you, and she’s self-absorbed, and, frankly, you can do a million times better. Despite the fact that you’re an insensitive jerk sometimes, I think you’re a good guy and you deserve better than a woman like Caroline.”

Kyle is looking at me with a half-smile on his face.

“What’s so funny?” I ask him. “Nothing about this should be funny.”

Kyle’s smile grows bigger. I’m perplexed, my anger fading away into puzzlement. “You better not think of laughing at me,” I say.

“Are you finished?” he asks me.

“Yes, I guess so,” I say.

“Good, because I have some things I want to tell you,” Kyle says, getting up and affectionately pushing a clump of wet hair off my forehead.

“One, I acted like a royal jerk, and I am very sorry,” he says. “Two, I didn’t mean to bring Caroline to your parents’ house.

“And, three, Caroline and I are
not
back together.”

Gap Customer Relations
100 Gap Online Drive
Grove City, Ohio 43123-8605

Jane McGregor
3335 Kenmore Ave.
Chicago, IL 60657

April 11, 2002

Dear Ms. McGregor,

While we are sorry that you have not been successful in your job application at our Gap stores, we can assure you that Gap does not discriminate against people who hold college degrees. Many of our employees have college degrees or are currently earning their college degrees, and we in no way discriminate against potential employees based on education level, race, age, religion, or creed.

In regards to any other job application questions, I refer you to the individual store manager.

Sincerely,
Kelly Joy
Gap Customer Service Representative

P.S. I am afraid we do not offer special discounts to the unemployed.

15

W
hat?” is all I can manage to say, because I think I have forgotten how to breathe. “What do you mean you and Caroline aren’t back together?”

Kyle puts his hands on my arms and draws me closer to him.

“She
wanted to get back together,” Kyle says. “I didn’t.”

“But she was draped all over you at the barbeque,” I say.

“Well, that was before I told her we definitely weren’t getting back together,” he explains.

“But why?” I can’t imagine Kyle not wanting to get back together with Caroline. She has a perfect body — everything about her, except her personality, is perfect.

“Because she is self-absorbed and because she does take advantage of me, and because she only came back to me because she’s broke,” Kyle says. “I didn’t even know she was coming home. She called me from the airport because she didn’t have enough money for a cab and her parents weren’t home.”

“But, I thought…”

“And, most importantly, I didn’t get back together with her, because I’m crazy about you.” He pauses. “In fact, I think I’m in love with you.”

My ears start ringing.

“Love me?” I echo. “Love me as in love-me-like-a-sister love me, or love me as in I-want-to-see-you-naked love me?”

“I definitely want to see you naked,” Kyle says.

“So that speech I just gave…” I say.

“Was totally pointless except that it told me you were crazy about me, too.”

“Oh,” I say, feeling sheepish.

“Jane, you’re the most dynamic and complicated and most contradictory woman I know,” he says. “And, if you weren’t so busy trying to build a wall around yourself so no one can hurt you, you’d realize I’ve had a crush on you for years.”

I am stunned.

“It’s your turn to say something,” Kyle says.

“How about we stop talking?” I offer, pulling him closer for a kiss.

About fifteen years of repressed attraction is unleashed in a wild, sweaty groping that amounts to us knocking down two pictures from his wall as we tumble into his bedroom.

I pull away first. I am out of breath, my heart pounding wildly in my rib cage.

“Are you sure you’re not just looking for an easy lay?” I joke.

“You’re anything but easy,” he tells me.

He presses me against the wall, kissing me as he undoes my shirt buttons, one by one. He runs his hands up my back, and down again, and I can think of nothing but what his hands feel like: strong, assured. I feel like eating him alive, and wonder why it is I’ve never been willing to admit how attractive he is, how perfect. He’s holding me now, holding me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist. We’re moving toward the bed as he whips away my shirt and tosses it on the ground behind us.

It is much different than with Mike. Sex with Mike was awkward because I was always preoccupied with putting on a performance. It was what sex looks like under garish fluorescent lights. Sex with Kyle is shimmering and liquid, like the reflection of a swimming pool. I realize I’ve been afraid to go here because it means something different. It is not squalid sex with Ron. It is not scrapbook sex with Mike. It is something with higher stakes.

I’m on my back and he’s kissing me, licking me, from my neck to my belly button, causing little shivers down my stomach. I have my hands on the zipper to his pants, and for a split second, I wonder what Todd is going to make of all this, and then I decide that I don’t care. All I care about is what’s going to happen next, because nothing in my mind is working except the most primal parts, and I don’t even have time to think about sucking in my stomach, or pushing out my chest, or worrying about my A cup demi-bra.

Kyle reaches over to the nightstand for a condom, and I try not to think about all the other times he’s done that. I take it from his hand and put it on him myself with my mouth — a parlor trick I picked up in college. I only do this when I really want to impress somebody. It took months practicing on a zucchini to get it right.