The Position (7 page)

I nod and try to smile. Moving my computer to the drafting table, I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the window. I’m wearing a loose sweater and a frumpy skirt, my shapeless, scraggly hair drooping over my shoulders, my stupid pink ears poking out through the strands. What an idiot. Jude Lazarus would never flirt with a woman who looked like that. No one would.
 

If, in fact, Travis is right and I actually do have a smoking body, I can’t blame anyone for not noticing it. I tell myself I’m not that teenage girl struggling to survive anymore. I’m a legal adult. I have a job in a high-powered architecture firm that is known all around the world. Someday I’ll even have a real home of my own. My life is moving forward.

In other words, it’s time for a change.
 

After the call, Lazarus rushes out to a midday meeting and I slink into my depressing hovel to type up the notes. The hours pass and I don’t even break for lunch. By quitting time, my back hurts from sitting hunched at a desk and my eyes burn from squinting into a computer screen for hours.
 

I’ve finally finished up the notes from the morning’s Skype call, which I’ve cross-indexed in the database and integrated into a chart I know Lazarus will like, when I hear the husky peal of a woman’s laughter. I look up to find a very tall, very slender woman with a dark bob sitting in Lazarus’s desk chair. She’s wearing a knee-length black dress that fits her like a glove, showing off her large breasts in a way that somehow manages to be more classy than slutty. Lazarus is leaning against his desk, arms folded over his chest, a goofy smile on his face.
 

Celestina. I just know it.

They speak in low tones so I can’t hear what they’re saying. But then I see Celestina lean back in the chair, slip out of one of her expensive-looking black pumps, and run her foot slowly up Lazarus’s thigh. There’s a smug smile on her face, the look of a woman who knows the vastness of her power. With a jolt of jealous electricity I watch her foot slip over his crotch. Lazarus grabs the sides of the desk as her dainty little toes move up and down, stroking his growing bulge. He leans his head back with pleasure and closes his eyes. I can’t breathe. I’ve imagined it a million times. Lazarus caught up in a moment of ecstasy. Fingers of heat move up my thighs and into my own crotch. He’s so beautiful. And I so despise her.

Suddenly, I’m overwhelmed with the urge to get out of there. Before I can even think, I bolt up so fast my chair tips over. Lazarus throws a quick glance my way and takes Celestina’s foot in his hand, stopping her. My upper lip is damp with sweat. My head is spinning and I see bursts of bright lights behind my eyes. I don’t know if I’m under the spell of jealousy or desire. Or both. I close the computer and grope clumsily for my purse. I would exchange twenty years of my life for a private way out of this stupid little office.
 

I stumble through Lazarus’s chic office hoping against all hope that they ignore me. But I’m just not lucky that way.
 

“Mickey, I have someone I want you to meet.” Lazarus is all smiles. I stop, trying desperately to hold it together. With a phony smile frozen on my face, I look at them both. Hot blood burns in my cheeks and I feel short of breath. “This is my girlfriend, Celestina.”
 

Celestina shameless eyes me up and down, as if I were a sable coat she was considering buying. She gives Lazarus a look of approval, as if I were just the kind of assistant she forced him to get. The unthreatening kind.
 

“Celestina,” Lazarus goes on. “This is my assistant, Michaela.”
 

“Nice to meet you,” I say a little too loudly, feeling a trickle of sweat beneath my sweater.
 

Celestina doesn’t say anything. Instead she gives me a slight nod, as if it were all the energy she was willing to expend on someone as insignificant as me. Then she turns to Lazarus with a heavy-lidded, pouty face.
 

“You will make us miss our reservation,” she says with her husky, Spanish accented voice. “And I am tired. I want a glass of wine.”
 

Lazarus nods and offers Celestina his hand. They head for the door, the happy couple holding hands, ready for a night of fancy restaurants and fabulous sex. I feel a sour pit in my stomach as I linger by his desk, waiting for them to leave. At the last moment, Lazarus turns distractedly and calls back to me.
 

“Nice work today, Mickey.”
 

I watch them disappear down the hall and hear Celestina’s throaty laugh. It’s almost as if she were laughing at me. Michaela Clark. Miss Unthreatening, smart, practical, here-for-the-kicking, idiot of the century. And I’m fed up. I’ve been shackled to this loser image long enough. There is power in me. There has to be. I felt it yesterday in the bathroom with Travis. It’s one thing to be smart and tenacious and strong. But beauty and sex have a different allure. A power all their own.
 

I just need to set them free.

Chapter Eleven

 
The sun is still hovering over the mountains and the sky is streaked with pink. My bike chain falls off before I even clear the downtown streets and it takes me ages to fix it. By the time I reach Liz’s cute little rental house, the streetlights are kicking on. I know that Travis is in Boulder visiting a few of his college buddies this weekend and I’m hoping Liz is home.
 

A frizzy-haired redhead answers the door, releasing a waft of garlic and olive oil smells into the air. The girl appears to be surgically connected to her cell phone and she doesn’t even stop yammering when she sees me waiting on the porch. In fact, she barely acknowledges me.
 

“I mean, I like him,” she drones on, looking at me but not really seeing me. “But I’m not sure I like *like* him, you know? I just don’t know…”
 

“I’m looking for Liz,” I say loudly, interrupting her.

She doesn’t flinch. Her eyes are glazed over and a million miles away. She drifts away from the door without a word to me, leaving it standing open. I wait to see if she’s gone to get Liz, but no one comes.
 

“Hello?” I call inside. I step into a little entryway with a secondhand Japanese stool and several pairs of women’s shoes in a tidy row. “Liz?”
 

Finally, Liz appears with a wooden spoon in her hand. “Mickey! What the hell?” She looks surprised and very happy to see me. With a wide grin she throws her arms around me. “Come inside! Have you eaten?”
 

I follow her down a short hallway of polished hardwood and into an unexpectedly spacious kitchen. It’s very neat and nicely decorated; the opposite of Travis’s kitchen, which is always full of dirty dishes and pizza boxes. The garlic smell intensifies and my stomach grumbles. A pot of pasta sauce simmers on the stove and a colander of spaghetti sits steaming in the sink.
 

“Actually, I’m starving,” I admit.
 

Liz drags me to the table and pulls out a chair. It’s a cheap but attractive dining set that screams IKEA. “Sit, sit, sit!” she insists, patting the chair. “I hate eating alone and Travis is out of town until Monday.”
 

“Why don’t you eat with your roommates?” I ask, looking around for the annoying redhead.
 

“Screw that!” She waves a dismissive hand at me. “I don’t like eating alone, but I do like to enjoy my food.” She grins and heads for the cabinets to fish out a couple bowls. “You like pasta?”
 

I settle into the chair and smooth the frumpy skirt over my legs. “What’s not to like?” When she sets a heavenly smelling bowl on the table in front of me, I give her a gracious smile. “Thanks, Liz. This is really awesome of you.”

She glides around the kitchen, fetching napkins and a bottle of Merlot. Every time I look at her, I’m struck by how pretty she is. Her silky blond hair, the thin, athletic body. She’s a classic Boulder girl.
 

“Is there something you needed?” she asks, pouring us each a glass of wine. “Or did you just come to hang out?”
 

“Kind of both,” I say. I’m feeling weirdly embarrassed and Liz can tell. She settles into her chair at last and gives me a joking look of suspicion.
 

“What are you up to, Mickey?”
 

I’m quiet for a moment. I take a long drink of the wine; it’s cheap and full of bitter tannins, but I like the wave of calm it sends through me. It’s silly that I should be nervous about this. But there’s something about embarking on a big change that makes me feel unsettled. Like I’m not going to be me anymore. Or even worse, what if it’s a hopeless cause and I’m just irredeemably ugly? But I fight back the fears and take a deep breath.
 

“I’m tired of being ugly,” I blurt out.
 

Liz puts down her glass and cocks her head. “You’re not ugly, Mickey.”
 

I let out an impatient sigh. “Come on, Liz. You know what I’m talking about. I mean, it was you who mentioned spending my money on a pair of contact lenses.”

“Yeah,” she says, “because you have a beautiful face. It’s just that you hide it behind those horrible glasses.”
 

The mention of them makes me self-consciously push the glasses up my nose. I grin, as much at myself as Liz. “I got them in the ninth grade.”
 

Liz practically spits out her wine. “Get out of here! How can you even see with those things? Your prescription is probably miles worse by now!”
 

This isn’t exactly a news flash. Seeing is kind of tough for me. But since there has never been enough money to deal with the problem, I just make do. Hell, you can adapt to anything.
 

“You said you have a friend…?”
 

Liz puts a hand over mine, like a reassuring old lady. “Just leave it up to me,” she says. “I can get you a really good deal. When should we go?”

I’m heading for the cliff and ready to jump. I don’t want to waste any time. “Tomorrow?”
 

“Great!” She takes a messy bite of spaghetti, slurping shamelessly, and then wipes her mouth. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but, since we’re changing it up a bit, how about you try some new clothes?”
 

I frown into my wine. “I can’t afford it.”
 

Liz shakes her head. “Well, you can’t keep wearing those. You just can’t. Why don’t you borrow some of mine?”
 

My eyes flick to her shirt. It’s pretty and form-fitting, with a funky, artsy pattern on it. I’ve never allowed myself to get too worked up over fashion, but I have noticed that Liz’s clothes are always unique and beautiful.
 

“Seriously?” I stammer. “You would let me borrow your clothes?”
 

Liz’s mouth is full of spaghetti but she nods enthusiastically. Then she takes a long sip of wine and gives me an earnest look.

“But listen to me, Mickey,” she says, lowering her voice and leaning over the table. “Be careful of that guy, Jude Lazarus. Seriously. You’re better off not catching his eye.”
 

I bite my tongue and try not to let the infatuation show on my face. *Why else would I do all of this if not to catch the eye of Jude Lazarus?* “Don’t worry,” I mumble into my glass. “I can handle him.”
 

“Okay then!” she exclaims excitedly. “I’ll drive us out to the mall tomorrow!” She picks up her glass and holds it in the air. “To my friend Mickey,” she announces, “and her transformation into a swan!”

Chapter Twelve

I’m in the bathroom longer than I expected. For some reason I’m riveted to the mirror, staring at my reflection. It’s like I’m saying goodbye.
 

I study every detail of my physique that I’ve tried to ignore throughout my years of survival. It couldn’t be a priority to think about the way the tops of my ears poke through the stringy, shapeless strands that fall to my waist. I was in denial about how the goofy, oversized glasses always slid down my nose so that I unconsciously tipped up my chin to look around me. And, until recently, I didn’t mind the baggy, secondhand clothes I picked up at the Salvation Army. They weren’t shabby or dirty or threadbare. In fact, they were good quality clothes. It’s just that they were ugly as sin.
 

Finally, Liz pops her head in. “Let’s go, Cinderella! Get a move on!”
 

I startle and tear my gaze from the mirror. Like all big decisions in life, I’ve discovered, you have to set your sights ahead and go full throttle. And God forbid you look back. I grab my bag and head out the door.
 

It’s still early and the mall isn’t crowded yet. Everyone is still lounging around, enjoying the Saturday morning. But Liz is a ball of energy. She stops at every shop window pointing out cute outfits she thinks would look good on me, prefacing everything with, “I know you can’t afford it right now, but…”
 

When we reach the optician, she pulls me along row after row of attractive frames, grabbing a pair now and then and handing them to me to try on. But my eyes have gotten so bad that I can’t really tell what any of them look like. I can only gage it by Liz’s reaction, which is anywhere from excited to enthralled.
 

The doctor is an Asian woman with a thick bun who smells like Chanel. She’s gentle and patient, and doesn’t scold me too much for waiting so long to update my prescription.
 

“These kinds of things can get very expensive for a family,” she says kindly. “I’m sure your parents were doing their best with what they had.”
 

I think about the way my father would hiss at me whenever I asked him for money, even if it was just five dollars for a school field trip. His philosophy was that kids existed for years working in factories and in the fields. Since child labor is now outlawed in this country, he felt that children didn’t contribute a thing to the world. And if he was going to give me a cent, I was sure as hell going to earn it. But I didn’t tell the doctor about my father. No one knows about him or my mother. They’re ghosts that no one can see but me, and I am forever haunted by them.