Slim Chance (18 page)

“Please be quiet. It hurts less when you’re quiet.”

“I’m worried about you.”

It was the longest conversation we’d had since he came home from Baltimore…no, Buffalo? I’m sure he knew something was up.

When I got home there was a message from Pruscilla to call her immediately. Normally, if I wasn’t feeling well, I wouldn’t have bothered, but since she probably really was starting to worry, I called her back. My plan was to return to work Monday, provided I was up to it.

“Pruscilla?”

“Who’s this?”

“It’s Evie. Hi.”

“Oh. Hold on.”

After about five minutes on hold, I hung up. Two minutes, fine, but five? Rudeness of that caliber is unacceptable, even when it’s coming from your boss (
Cosmopolitan,
July: “The Dos and Don’ts of Office Etiquette”). About an hour later, she called me back. I was in the middle of a nap, and barely picked up on time.

“Hello?”

“Evelyn, I’m going to keep this short—”

“Thanks for calling, Pruscilla, but you really don’t have to worry,” I reassured her. “I’m fine. I just had a bit of a personal crisis this week, but I’m dealing with it now and hope to be back on Monday,” I said. I glanced over at the closet. The Clothes of Shame were still in there, waiting for me. I hadn’t been able to deal with them yet. “Ummm…let’s say Monday afternoon, just to be safe,” I added.

“Monday afternoon is fine, and remember to please bring a box. You’ll be clearing out your desk.”

Oh God.

“What did you say?”

“You heard me. We’re letting you go, Evelyn.”

“B-b-but
why?
” I stammered idiotically. “What did I do?”

“What
haven’t
you done is more like it. For starters, you haven’t shown up. And since that was an essential part of your job, Evelyn, we’re terminating you.”

This wasn’t happening. “But didn’t you get my message? I told you I needed a few personal days.” Maybe the voice mail was down or something. She couldn’t fire me for technical problems, could she? That wouldn’t be fair.

“I got your message. You already used up all your personal days.”

“So why can’t you just dock my pay?”

“If you prefer to look at it that way, fine. From now on, we’ll be docking your pay. Every day for the rest of your life. So don’t bother coming in anymore.”

Since I felt the tears coming on anyway, I figured I might as well try using them to my advantage. “I thought we were friends, Pruscilla,” I wept. “After what we’ve been through together this year, with your surgery and our weight loss and my engagement. I thought we were finally connecting.”

“That’s not going to work, so give it a rest. We haven’t connected and you know it. I don’t know why, but you don’t like me, Evelyn. You never did. It’s no secret.”

A woman like her, who could probably count all the friends she’d ever had in her entire life on one hand…was she really rejecting my olive branch?

“That’s not true,” I said.

“You know, I saw something in you, Evelyn. That’s why I hired you. You have a creative spirit, but you haven’t done a thing with it. It’s best we all just go our separate ways. If you think about it, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

“But I want to stay,” I whimpered. “I haven’t done anything wrong this time, at least not professionally speaking.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? And in case you’ve forgotten, you were on probation….”

“Yes, but only until the beginning of March,” I reminded her.

“No. Permanently. Until I was satisfied that you were committed to changing. And since that certainly never happened…”

“But I
was
sick.” Sick in my heart.

“You can’t change your story now. If you were legitimately ill, then you’ll have to produce a doctor’s note to that effect. If you can, then you’ll receive your salary for those days you missed. If you can’t, then your final paycheck will reflect your absence.”

It was a good thing I told Bruce I had a headache—now I’d be able to get a note from that doctor. But it was dawning on me that what I really needed was a lawyer. Or rather, the threat of one. Maybe they’d reconsider if they thought I was going to sue.

“If you think I’m going to take this lying down…” I began tentatively.

“Evelyn, please,” she sighed. “Be gracious. For once, just be gracious and accept what I’m telling you.”

“But…”

“But nothing. You don’t think we have grounds for this? It’s not just your most recent sabbatical, you know, though that was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. We’ve been tracking your Internet usage, too, since you got it back. You spend at least two hours a day on personal matters that obviously have nothing to do with work. Unless…” I could hear papers rustling in the background. “…unless you’re going to try and tell me that online mah-jongg and…what’s this? Oh! And the message board at Oprah.com have something to do with cosmetics marketing research.”

“I’m
outraged!
This is a
complete
invasion of privacy. No. It’s worse—it’s a deliberate smear campaign. And entrapment! It’s entrapment, too! They can’t do that!”

“Don’t flatter yourself. It’s a new company policy that’s been in effect since January. KW now randomly spot-checks employees’ Internet usage and e-mail correspondence. Apparently, there have been some problems with corporate espionage.”

E-mails, too? God, she’d probably read all the horrible things I’d written about her to Morgan. I’d be mortified. Pruscilla was never really as bad as I made her seem, she was just anal about work stuff, and I found it entertaining to dislike her. Half the time I felt more sorry for her than anything, so the last thing I wanted was for her to see what a backstabber I’d been after she’d given me, like, fifty chances to shape up. It was all just too awful. How would I ever be able to face her again after this?

Well, enough was enough. The embarrassment wasn’t worth it. At one point, you have to ask yourself, what’s worse: losing your job or losing your self-respect? The answer for me was clear. And I certainly wasn’t going to beg to keep a job I never really liked in the first place at a fascist corporate conglomerate like Kendra White. Especially since it obviously wasn’t working out.

“You know what, Pruscilla? I’m not coming in on Monday. You can keep whatever’s in my desk. Because I never want to see that horrible place again!” I yelled into the receiver, and slammed it down.

The silence in the bedroom was deafening. I sat there, stunned, and tried to figure things out. What was I supposed to do now? Without a job, the collection agencies would tear me to shreds within a few months. Bruce was going to kill me. My mother was going to kill me. Hell,
I
even felt like killing me. Because who was I kidding? I knew I deserved it. I deserved to lose my job.

Suddenly, I remembered the box of Turtles sitting in the back of the pantry. Bruce’s dad had given them to me for Easter. He was pretty much oblivious to everything going on around him, so he probably hadn’t noticed I wasn’t eating chocolates anymore, let alone gooey, caramel-smothered, pecan-filled ones. It was sweet of him, though, since the old me really did have a thing for them.

At the time, I was irritated that Bruce wouldn’t just let me toss them in the trash. Now, in my hour of need, I prayed that they were still there. I ran into the kitchen, certain that Bruce
had found them at some point and devoured them. But there they were—hiding behind the cans of fat-free soup. I ripped through the cellophane and tore open the box. Twenty-four perfect little milk-chocolate blobs stared back out.

I ate every one.

A
nd then there was the whole matter with Jade.

I was afraid to go to the gym, not that I really felt like it anyway, and also afraid not to. At first, I was dying to know where Jade was at in all this, what he thought about everything. But the more I thought about it, the less I cared what he wanted. Even though I’d be horribly insulted, I was praying he’d changed his mind about me. The worse thing would be if he hadn’t. Should I bother letting him down gently? Or maybe the best thing to do would be to never, ever see or talk to him again. Not that I didn’t trust myself around him. It was just that I knew if I saw him, it would remind me that I was the most horrible slut on the face of the planet.

My only moments of peace came when I told myself that it had never really happened, that I’d imagined it all, like some sort of extended TV dream sequence. But at least on
Dallas,
everybody woke up and resumed their normal lives. I seemed to be stuck in the nightmare indefinitely. The days passed by in a blur of sleep and tears.

There wasn’t even anybody I could call for support—I hadn’t
told anyone but Morgan, and she was out of town again with Billy. On the upside, the agony of it all was enough to make me not care so much that I’d lost my job and was teetering on the brink of financial ruin. All I could do was lie in bed and cry. Of course, Bruce didn’t have the faintest idea what was going on.

But I could tell his patience was wearing thin, and he clearly didn’t believe the whole headache thing anymore. Most of the time, he pretty much just left me alone, and I was happy with that, because it was all I could do not to break down and tell him everything.

On Saturday night, he went over to his parents’ for sister Wendy’s graduation party. Personally, I think graduating from an all-girls college is something one wouldn’t necessarily want to draw attention to, but whatever. It’s her life. At least I got out of it. Come to think of it, Bruce didn’t even ask me if I wanted to go.

When he came home, he crawled into bed and woke me up.

“Evie, my mother’s sending out the invitations on Monday. I can’t hold her off any longer.”

“So?” I mumbled from under the sheets.

“So…what should I do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Should I let her do it?”

“Are you trying to tell me something?” I asked him.

He turned on the light. “I think maybe you should start seeing someone,” he said.

I rolled over and squinted at him. Did he know? Was he trying to trap me into telling him about Jade? “What do you mean, ‘I should start seeing someone’?” I asked him in a panic. “You think we should have an open relationship?”

He stared at me as if I were mad and shook his head. “A
psychologist,
Evie. I think you need to see a psychologist.”

“I don’t need a shrink,” I snapped. “I’m just having normal pre-wedding jitters.” It wasn’t a total lie—a lot of my current
problems could, in fact, be chalked up to nerves (
Bride,
April: “Are You a Runaway-Bride-To-Be?”).

“This stuff has gone way beyond that. And not that I’m complaining, but you haven’t even been to the gym. In fact, you’ve barely gotten out of bed since Wednesday. You’re obviously not yourself.”

Ohmygod. Was he getting suspicious?

“If you don’t agree right now to let me make an appointment for you,” he continued, “then I’m going to tell my mother not to send them out.”

“I’m not crazy, Bruce,” I said, trying to sound like I believed it. “Maybe not. But you’re well on your way.”

An immediate concession was required.

“I got fired.”

“What?”
he sat up.

I nodded. “That’s why I’m freaking out.”

“Oh, Evie, no. This is bad… This is
really
bad.”

“I know that, Bruce,” I sniffled.

“When?”

“Yesterday, when I got home from the doctor. Pruscilla called….” I said, then instantly regretted it. Why didn’t I tell him I got fired on Tuesday? That would have explained my weirdness all week.

“Shit. What are you going to do?”

“You mean, what are
we
going to do…” I corrected him.

“Evie, you have to find another job. Right away,” he said. “You’ll start looking tomorrow.”

“I
can’t,
Bruce! I can’t go out and find a job just like that! It takes time. And I don’t know where to look…” I coughed through the tears. “I can’t…I can’t…. I don’t know what I want to
do
with my life….”

He breathed out deeply. “Okay, okay…forget the job for now. Maybe you need a little more time. But Monday morn
ing, I’m making an appointment for you. You’re going to see someone. And that’s that.”

“Fine,” I cried.

In the morning, Bruce went out to get us some breakfast, and I pounced on the chance to empty the closet. It was only a matter of time before he saw that losing my job had nothing to do with losing my mind, and then he might start to wonder. And I didn’t need any shrink to tell me that getting those clothes out of this apartment would be therapeutic.

After a quick shower (I hadn’t had one in three days), I was ready. I opened the bag and pulled out the suit. Although it was crumpled up in a ball and smelled like smoke, it still looked pretty good. The thought of actually wearing it, however, made my stomach churn. Even though it was the only summer-weight wool suit I had in a dark color besides black, I was beginning to sense that no amount of dry-cleaning would ever get it clean enough. I stuffed the suit back in the bag.

Enough was enough. I would throw it out. Throw the suit out and start my life fresh. Bruce and I could never be happy with this suit hanging in my closet. I grabbed a big black garbage bag from the kitchen and tossed in a couple sections of the paper and an empty milk carton, for a realistic effect. I brought it into the bedroom and shoved the suit bag into the bottom. Although in the past weeks I’d probably cried enough tears to fill the East River, I squeezed out a few more and vowed they’d be my last.

“What are you doing?”

Bruce was standing right behind me.

I spun around, wiping my eyes.

“What’s that?” he asked again. He was holding a bag of bagels from our favorite place and two big coffees. “Why are you crying?”

“I…I didn’t hear you.” My heart pounded deafeningly in my ears.

“So?”

“How long have you been standing there?” I asked, and tried to laugh.

He put the stuff down on the dresser and looked into the bag.

“I was just about to clean out my closet.”

I guess he didn’t believe me, because he reached down into the bottom and removed the bag. He opened it, and looked at me.

“You see? I was cleaning out my closet. Just doing a little cleaning! Ha, ha!”

“What’s wrong with this?” He took the jacket out and looked at it. “It smells like smoke.”

“That’s why I’m getting rid of it. It reeks,” I said, making a face. “And I know how much you hate smoke….”

He must have felt something in the pocket because he reached in and pulled out the demon thong. And the bra that matched.

“Why are these in here?”

“I don’t know?” I offered.

“WHAT THE HELL IS THIS SHIT DOING IN YOUR POCKET?”

It was too much. I broke down. I sobbed hysterically. Bruce stood there stiffly, waiting for me to compose myself.

After what felt like an eternity, I took a deep breath and said, “It’s…what you’re thinking.”

“It better not be,” he whispered.

I stared at my fingers.

“Who?”

How could I tell him? I shook my head.

“WHO?”
he screamed, and slammed his fist on the dresser. The coffees tumbled over onto the floor.

I couldn’t say his name. “My trainer.”

He kicked the wall three times, hard, and stormed out of the room. Seconds later, the front door slammed.

I crawled back into the bed, vowing never to leave it again.

When I woke up, I heard Bruce on the phone in the living room, yelling.

“I told you, the wedding’s off!”

Silence.

“No! I don’t want to talk about it. You think this is embarrassing? Just be thankful you didn’t send the invitations out. I’m hanging up now!”

More silence.

“Thanks. I know. I’m sorry. No. No! I’ll be fine. But you’re going to have to back off on this for now, okay? And could you tell Dad?”

Fine? How could he even anticipate being fine?

He stomped into the bedroom and turned on the lights.

“Pack a bag and get out. I don’t care where you go.”

“Bruce—” I sobbed. “Bruce. Don’t…”

“Just get out,” he said, and left.

What else could I do? I put Granny Fulbright’s engagement ring on the bedside table, packed a bag and got the hell out of Dodge. I called Morgan from the cab and left a message telling her I was on my way. Going to Mom’s wasn’t an option. And maybe I’d somehow be able to fix everything before she found out. Maybe Bruce wasn’t serious. He was just angry. Furious. And rightfully so. Calling off the wedding was a perfectly natural reaction for a man who just found out his fiancée had slept with someone else. Wasn’t it? He’d probably cool down in a few days. Or maybe not.

I waited for three hours in the lobby of Morgan’s building. The doorman took pity on me, and let me sit inside because it was pouring. Happy young couples came and went, chatting amiably about where to go for dinner. Wasn’t anybody in this city single? I wished upon every smug one of them the misery I was now experiencing.

Finally, just when I thought I’d have to seriously consider getting a hotel room, Morgan and Billy swept in with their suitcases.

“Evie?”

I ran up and hugged her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “What happened to your hair?”

“I tried to call, but your cell wasn’t on. Did you get my message?”

She shook her head and looked lovingly at Billy. “We just got back from Atlantic City.”

“Oh yeah,” I said.

“Hey, Evie. How’s it going?” Billy said.

“Fine, I guess.” I really hadn’t anticipated this. Having a nervous breakdown in front of Billy was not what I’d envisioned.

“Come, come upstairs. Billy, take this,” she said, handing him my bag.

“Thanks,” I said weakly.

“So what’s going on?” she asked as we rode up the elevator to her rent-controlled two-bedroom on the twelfth floor. For her twenty-fifth birthday, Morgan’s mother had bribed a Realtor to get her into the building. “Is Bruce out of town again? Do you want to stay with me? I thought he was finished with all that for the summer.”

“I just wanted to see you,” I said, hoping she’d know immediately that I was lying.

She squeezed my hand. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve got something to tell you.”

It was already past eleven, but she put on some coffee anyway. Billy went into the bedroom to change.

“You’ll never guess what happened,” she began excitedly.

“What?” I couldn’t have been less interested. Why wasn’t she asking me about me?

“I won at roulette! Over $5200! I put $150 down on black 13, Billy’s birthday. And it came up!”

“Wow. That’s great.”

“I know,” she gushed. “Can you believe it?”

“Good luck must run in your family.”

“Yeah right. My mom’s husband’s the one who won the lottery. But I have another theory—our
men
are lucky. Without Billy, I never would have picked 13!”

“Imagine that,” I said. “Listen, Morgan…”

Billy emerged from the bedroom wearing boxers and a T-shirt. He was pretty built. I’d never noticed before. No wonder Morgan was having such a hard time cutting him loose.

“Did you tell her?” he asked, sitting down at the kitchen table.

“Yeah,” I said flatly. “Pretty amazing. Lucky 13.”

“No,” he laughed. “Not that.”

“I was waiting for you,” Morgan smiled at him.

Billy grabbed her hand and kissed it.

“Evie…there’s something I have to ask you. Something important…”

“Spit it out, Morgan.”

“Okay, okay!” She took a deep breath. “Will you be my maid of honor?”

The air conditioner hummed. They stared at me.

“Did you hear me? Billy asked me to marry him, and I said yes!” She held up her left hand to show me the ring.

“Uh… Oh, God! I’m…I’m so
happy
for you,” I squeaked, and started crying. Sobbing, actually. There was no pretending these were tears of joy.

Billy looked at Morgan nervously. She motioned for him to leave and he dutifully obeyed.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“I got fired….”

Morgan rolled her eyes. “Well that sucks, but can’t you at least be happy for me right now? I don’t mean to be a bitch, but—”

“…and Bruce found out about You-Know-Who. He called off the wedding.”

Her eyes widened in horror. “Oh, shit! I’m
so
sorry, Evie. I didn’t mean…”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I sighed, waving off her apology. “But he kicked me out. And I don’t want to stay with my mom. I haven’t even told her. So would it be okay if I…”

“Of
course.
You can stay here as long as you need. Wow. I’m really sorry, Evie. I can’t believe it.”

Billy popped his head into the kitchen. “Um…sorry, but I’m going to go down and get a paper and some milk for tomorrow.” He probably wanted to get as far away from this conversation as possible.

“Okay,” Morgan said, and blew him a kiss.

“God, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be such a downer,” I told her. “I’m happy for you, Morgan. I really am. Billy’s a great guy.”

“Yeah, I know. Tell me what happened, Evie. I’m just so…in shock, I guess. Are you okay?”

“You know what? I don’t feel like talking about it right now. I’m completely drained. It’s been the worst weekend of my life. Make that the worst week. I’m sick of crying and I’m sick of talking. So I want to hear about you now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Whenever you feel ready to talk about it, you just tell me.”

“Fine. So how did he propose?”

“Well,” she began cautiously, “when we got there, the suite was filled with flowers. White, red and pink roses…”