She's Out of Control (23 page)

I stop for a breve latte, and decide to start fresh with Mr. Atkins after my sugar-filled binge, which has left me with what, I think, feels like a hangover. My mouth is cotton-ball dry, and my skin looks like wedding parchment paper—a sad irony—and I can feel my heart beating. I'm made aware of each thump pulsing through my thin, pasty skin. This can't be good. I grab a bottle of water too and suck down my breve latte like I'm in a decaf desert. Pulling into the parking lot, I see by his Jaguar that Hans has already arrived.

Straightening my shoulders, I head for his office. He's on the phone, and holds up a lanky hand, motioning me in. He covers the phone. “Shut the door.” I shut it and wait while he yells at some-one in a foreign language. Without so much as a good-bye, I think, he hangs up the phone. “I did it.”

“Did what?” I ask, thinking I'm going to hear about a fabulous new deal, or even better, my impending promotion.

“I am sending Sophia home. Made the arrangements early this morning.”

“Does she know?”

“I'll tell her tonight.”

“She's not a dog, Hans. You just can't decide to ship her home like Italy is the pound.” My hands are flailing as I pace the office. Is this what men think? “This is not King Henry's times. You can't rule with an iron fist.”

He leans back in his chair, oozing confidence. “She has no green card. She doesn't have a choice.”

“You've got to be kidding me! She lives with you, takes care of your house among . . . other things.”
Like your marriage
. “So you just send her home without a word?” I bite down on my lip. I've just accused my boss of shacking up. I'm thinking this doesn't bode well for a promotion, and I finger my ear, like maybe what I said can go away. “I'm sorry. This is none of my business. I've had a bad couple of days. I'll be in my office when you're ready to discuss the latest contracts.”

“Wait.”

I turn around and face Hans, and I feel a tear escape from my left eye, followed by another from my right eye. As sure as I stand here, I know that Sophia is no different from me. She must move on without an option. At least I still have my self-respect.

Hans's palms are open to the ceiling. “You were telling me to send her home, were you not?”

I stare at him. “I didn't think you'd listen. Why would you listen to me? Besides, she's a person, Hans. What I meant was, tell her that you don't plan to marry her. Let her start over again and not waste her time. I didn't mean for you to book passage on the
Titanic.”

“That's what I plan to do. Be honest with her. That's what you said and being honest is sending her home.”

“Being honest takes on a different meaning when she's staring at some airline ticket you just handed her. That doesn't give her a whole lot of options. Your plan is to tell her it's over, just like that, and send her on her way?”

Hans sits back in his chair, tosses his feet on the desk, and studies me like a psychologist. He can see my tears, but doesn't want to address them. And why would he? “Your promotion came through last night at the board meeting. Congratulations.” He stands up to shake my hand.

I'm just numb. I don't know how to react, but I know my mind isn't on this supposed promotion.

“Men stink,” I hear myself say.

“Did you hear me? About the promotion, I mean.”

I nod. “Doesn't it matter at all that Sophia loves you?”

“I don't love her. She's always known that.” He straightens some files on his desk. “She needed a place to stay, and I got a girlfriend. But it's over. My wife has moved on, and now I can too.”

I shake my head and lean against the wall for support. People really are cold. That's a stark realization. “I saw Sophia's face at the airport that day, Hans. I don't think she was nearly as enlightened as you think.”

“Do you need some time off, Ashley? You seem quite concerned about my love life when you've just gotten the promotion you dreamed about.”

I feel my head bob up and down. “I think I do need time off. I have a sugar hangover.”

“A what?”

I fling my hand. “Oh, never mind. You wouldn't understand.” And then I jump off the pathetic precipice I've been straddling so carefully. “Sophia deserves better. I deserve better.”

“Take the afternoon off. You're useless to me like this, anyway.” He points his lanky finger at me. “But don't give me that glass ceiling business, Christopher Henway is never in my office in a mental state. It's a way of life for you.”

I nod. I go back to my office, grab the work I need to accomplish, and stuff it into my briefcase. The gift certificate Brea bought me tumbles out, and suddenly rain-forest therapy doesn't sound nearly so ridiculous. I call the spa's number. Incredibly, they have time for me. Yea for a slow economy! It's been ages since I had a spa treatment, and I just feel haggard. There's nothing like slothlike lounging and being slathered in natural creams and potions to make me forget that I am a loser. With a capital
L.

22

T
aking stock of my life is like counting up negative numbers, and I never was very good at math. I bought a house, but it's in several pieces and missing a bathroom, which happens to be the very bathroom I purchased. Yes, I got promoted, but I'm really more my boss's shrink than his employee. Far worse, he's turning into mine. I had a boyfriend, but the lure of a squalid, poverty-stricken third-world country beckoned him away from me. At least my dog loves me, and I'm still a full-fledged member of the Reasons singles group.

I stare at my steering wheel, contemplating my destination when my cell phone rings. I see it's my mother. I look up at the sky.
You know, just kick me when I'm down.

“Hello, Mom.”

“Ashley, where have you been? It's like you live in another country with how much we hear from you.”

I'll admit, I don't see my parents nearly as much as a good daughter should. My mother is like June Cleaver brought back from the vaults. She's like Nick-at-Nite live. I love her dearly, but success to her is a man in the house and a bun in the oven. I'm afraid my advanced degrees and job title will never impress her. She just wants more than that for me.

“I've been in Taiwan and working as usual. But I got a puppy,” I add cheerfully.

“When do you have time for a puppy? Does Seth like animals?” My poor mom, ever worried about the elusive husband who slips through my fingers like tiny sand pebbles.

“I guess he does because he bought Rhett for me. But Seth is in India.” I look at my watch. “Well, he will be by this time tomorrow.”

“I'll never understand you young people, Honey. Why can't you just settle down? You spend more time on planes than in your own home. In your grandfather's day, they had no choice; there was a war. But you kids do have choices. I know your father and I are old-fashioned, but it's just no way to live. I want you to have more than this, Honey.”

“Amen to that. How's Mei Ling, Mom?” My sister-in-law is expecting. How green is my valley.

“She's doing well. She's got that little basketball tummy like Brea. She's happier than a clam and eating like a warthog. I told her she must be having a boy.” My mom laughs in her giddy way. Her grand-motherly days are about to begin. “When will Seth be back? I'd like to have you both for Thanksgiving.”

And here it comes. “He's not coming back, Mom.”

She's quiet as she assimilates this information. “Before Thanks-giving? He's not coming back before Thanksgiving?” Ever the optimist.

“He's not coming back at all, Mom. It's over between us.”

She gasps. “I don't believe that. At your brother's wedding, you two were the talk of the casino.”

“Denial only works for awhile. Trust me on that one.”

“Ashley, Honey, I'm sorry.”

“Thanks, Mom.” And suddenly I'm overwhelmed with the desire to call Seth. Call it a setback, but my dialing finger is itchy. “You know Mom, I'd like to call him before he goes. Just to wish him luck and all.”

“Sure. Sure, honey. We love you. Dinner's at four on Thanksgiving.”

“Can I bring a friend?”

“Of course. Kay's always welcome.”

I open my mouth to explain about Kevin and the food kitchen, but decide it best just to leave that for another day. Telling my mother I'm bringing a Stanford surgeon to dinner is a bit like telling her the wedding's on. And then there's the whole Mensa issue. My parents would probably think that's a monthly visitor.

I say good-bye and dial Seth's number. His sweet mother answers and I'm just about to snap the phone shut . . .

“Ashley?”
Grr. Caller ID.

“Mrs. Greenwood?”

“Seth's gone, honey. Are you looking for him?”

I try to hide my pathetic disappointment. “Of course, he's gone. I guess I just wanted to make sure.”

“He left about an hour ago.”

“I wanted to tell him I made general counsel.”
Not that I ever work currently.

“That's wonderful, darling. He'd be so happy for you.” Mrs. Greenwood's tone changes. “I'm sorry about Seth, Ashley. I don't know what we did to scare him on marriage, but I'm afraid he might never settle down.”

I try to laugh her comment off. “Maybe he'll find a nice Indian girl.” Or perhaps Arin.

“He's missing the chance of a lifetime with you. His father and I know that, dear, but God's will be done.”

“Thank you.” There's such peace in knowing you impressed the parents. That, given the opportunity, they might embrace you into their family. I take solace in the fact that this gentle-hearted woman thinks I'm good enough to marry her son. And I didn't even have to take the IQ test. We say good-bye, and I dial Brea.

“Hello?” Brea's tone is desperate.

“Are you bored?”

“You have no idea. Did you know the same people are on
All My Children
that were on it when we were in high school? I thought
we
were in a rut. But Erica still looks as gorgeous as ever.”

“I feel for her. But she is married in real life. And she runs like this billion-dollar company on the Home Shopping Network. So I guess I don't really feel for her.”

“Remember Edmund?” Brea sighs wistfully.
Every man she ever mentions looks exactly like John.
“Ooh! Ooh, wait a minute. You know, Ash, if I could have this kind of plastic surgery, I would
so
be there. They look fabulous. Where are you? Turn on the TV a minute. Channel 7.”

“I'm in the car.”

She's quiet for a minute. “Did you want to tell me something?”

“And miss the recap of the morning soaps, you mean? Fill me in. My life has nothing on soap operas.”

“I don't know about that. How's the boss?”

“Funny you should ask. He's sending his girlfriend home to Italy. The international affair has ended.”

“Did you have something to do with that?”
Hmm. How would a politician answer this question?

“I'd like to think not.” I slink back against the leather driver's seat. “Why do people listen to me, anyway? I can't even get my own life together, and people are taking my advice like I'm Dr. Laura. Would you take advice from someone overwhelmed by a puppy?”

“Yes. You're very good at looking at the big picture, Ash. That's why people trust you.”

“I'm good at looking at the big picture.” I start to laugh. “Brea, if it was paint-by-number on a four-inch canvas, I couldn't see the whole picture. And I'll prove it.” I clear my throat. “Seth left for India today. For good. Without me.”

I hear the TV click off. “You knew he would.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“So, Kevin was here earlier. Brought me some more ice cream. So we're mourning Seth, why?”

“I'm a glass-completely-empty-with-a-hole-in-the-bottom kinda girl. Give me a chance to wallow, okay?”

“Maybe you make negative things happen with that attitude.”

“Fair enough. Maybe I do.” I look at my watch and speed through a yellow light. My Rainforest sprinkling awaits. “I'm taking the day off and going to get that treatment you bought me. Hans got me promoted to general counsel.”

“In return for what?”

“And you talk about
me
being negative? What do you think? I've suddenly turned into a wanton ambitious vixen?”

“No, I just think it was hard work those first couple weeks, when you never had a day off,” Brea says enthusiastically. “Hard work and solid commitment and rock-hard patents. When all others failed, you were there. You were in Taiwan. You were in Seattle. You were—”

“Are you through?” I ask.

“I'm sorry. I'm sure that's what the secretaries think. I'm happy for you, but not really, because I hate that you keep getting these promotions, and you keep working so hard that you don't have time to meet anybody decent. It's kind of a treadmill, only not the kind that makes you thinner. I thought you and Seth stood a chance because he's just as big a slave as you are.”

“I'm here at the spa.” I find parking right in front. Again, loving the down economy. “It was a perfect gift. Thank you for that.”

“You're welcome. Do me a favor, don't get in there and start thinking about all the patents you left on your desk, or what you should have said to Seth, or that you've stressed me out with your news. Just relax. Can you do that for me?”

I look down at my empty double latte cup. “I can try.”

“He's not wer-thee, Ash.”

We both laugh at the reference to our youth, and Wayne and Garth from
Saturday Night Live
. “I'll call you tonight.”

It's early and I park my TT right in front of Provence in Saratoga. Saratoga is a small, wealthy town surrounded by the mountains that separate Silicon Valley from the Pacific Ocean. I should say wealthier because the Valley is a place where money is entirely taken for granted. If you live here, you just have it. You might not have friends, or time, or serious relationships, but money is the least of your worries. Unless you're looking for a place to live.