What Pretty Girls Are Made Of (27 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Guaranteed to Reduce Appearance Of

F
or two days, Sally would be at QVC. I was hoping that this would give me some peace. Unfortunately, the quiet time left me feeling empty. I hadn’t heard from Bret in just over a week.

Bradley and Andrea decided that I needed an “activity dinner” to help take my mind off Bret, so we decided to hit up Japanese/Korean barbecue at Gyu-Kaku.

“I’m okay, really, doing fine,” I said with a sniffle and a smile, my emotions betraying me as two big, fat tears rolled down my cheek. “It’s just impossibly hard right now, and everything reminds me of him, even being at work.”

Andrea scooted over to my side of the table and wrapped her arms around me. “We understand,” she said. “We’ve all been through it, and it’s an awful physical pain that you’re feeling. But you know as well as I do that it will go away.”

“I know it will,” I said with a sniffle, “but I’m really surprised that I haven’t heard from Bret. Radio silence. Maybe he’s trying to be the bigger man and respect my wishes, but the girl inside of me wishes he would put up more of a fight, you know?”

Bradley took over as grill master while Andrea listened to more of the same from me.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have just ended it after three months of dating,” I said. “But it felt like the right decision for my sanity.”

“I get it,” Andrea said. “You don’t have to convince us. Look, jobs pay rent, not boyfriends, and it was still a newish relationship.”

“I love you guys,” I told them. “Thank you for being there for me, listening, and cooking my food. I’m doing the best I can right now.”

While debriefing with my friends was helpful, I still found myself reaching for the phone to call or text Bret, especially while I was at work. But then I would remember that he wasn’t my boyfriend anymore. Or I would get a group text from Bradley and Andrea just in the nick of time:

ANDREA:
If you’re reaching for your phone to text Bret . . . STOP RIGHT NOW. Love, the Management.

Bret had effectively chosen a business deal over our relationship, but I missed him terribly and still couldn’t help but wonder where things might have been with us were he still in my life.

He knew about my crazy company—the fundamental problems, dysfunction, lack of ethics—and he used it for himself. Was I overreacting? No. I wasn’t. At least that’s what I would keep telling myself. If his bringing Sally Steele to his bosses would result in the purchasing of our company, then my cheap, abusive dictator of a boss would make loads of money. And that stung almost as badly as losing Bret did.

Another week, and the cloud
of sadness wasn’t lifting. Each day was harder and harder to navigate. Lack of sleep, unstoppable thoughts, confusing face wash for toothpaste (gross!), and the Mongrel only added to missing Bret.

I knew soon I would join the ranks of people who quit with no job at the other end of the tunnel. Jennifer did it, and so many friends had ended their misery in haste because they just couldn’t take it anymore. It wasn’t for lack of trying that I hadn’t gotten another job.

I hadn’t yet heard back from QVC, and as it goes in showbiz, I didn’t expect to. More often than not, you never received a call. I had long given up on hearing back after auditions when I was performing, but in this case, I still had that biting sense of hope and desire.

It was time to shake it up. Stop being scared and make some more changes. Over a cup of self-serve frozen yogurt with an indulgent portion of sprinkles, chocolate chips, mochi, and chocolate-covered Rice Krispies. I texted Madison.

ALI:
You know how many topping options there are at the new frozen yogurt place by my apartment?

MAD:
How many?

ALI:
Tons. Just like in life . . . lots of options. I just hate-ate the crap out of my yogurt and decided to tackle the world. No biggie. Starting tomorrow.

MAD:
“Cup full o’ lonely” no more! Watch out world!

I walked into work the
next day still laughing from the night before and feeling like I really could tackle the world. I did have options—which I had known the whole time, but now I could use them. I really could.

At 3:31 p.m., there she was. The caller ID stared me in the face. If only I could screen and not answer work calls, like I could on my cell phone.

“Thank you for calling Sally Steele Cosmetics, this is Alison.”

“So. What can we do about your organizational skills and bad decisions?” she sneered, her voice inquisitive, even cunning. “If you even know what those are . . .”

“Hi, Sally, how are you?”

“Like I said. What can we do about your organizational skills and bad decisions?”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” I replied. “Can you explain?” I had no idea where this was going.

“Well, had you remembered to send new product to the QVC hosts, I wouldn’t be chasing you down and questioning you right now, would I? It’s like every time you forget to do something I should take dollars out of your pay, since you cost me money. More and more money.”

I took a deep breath. We were clearly going there. But this time, it didn’t pierce my insides.

“Sally. I send new products to the hosts whenever you have a show featuring them. We have been over this. Countless times. We had a discussion the other day about your upcoming shows—there are no new products in them, so you told me not to send duplicates of the old ones.”

Silence. I continued.

“You have to stop searching for something wrong with every little step I take.” I was getting fiery.

But Sally was, too.

“And there has to be some way in Microsoft Outlook for automatic reminders to be sent,” she said. “I mean, you’re the one who says that you’re computer savvy, so you would know better than me.”

Had she not heard a word of what I just said?

I was silent and let her proceed. She did.

“Because when an email comes down requesting my presence for a TV show, perhaps a prompt should come up for you, automatically, every single time, reminding you to send product to the hosts. God, it’s just a waste with you, since clearly you need that reminder after all the time you’ve been working here.”

She grunted and continued.

“So why don’t you tell me right now how you are going to improve yourself. God knows you need to. Give me three things, right now. List them. Go.”

“I’m happy to look at my organizational skills, if that’s what you call them, and get back to you with a new plan of action. Though here’s what you can do to help fix this situation.”

“Great. Do tell,” she drooled. Suddenly she was as sweet as sugar.

“You can take things off my plate. You can start by hiring a store manager.”

She laughed. “That’s such crap, Alison. How the hell would that help
you
? You know what? Don’t answer that, because I just don’t care.”

I knew she would continue with something unpleasant so I opened up a blank Gmail message and started typing everything that Sally was saying, word for word. Kind of like my little proof of her abuse. I knew that after the fact, I wouldn’t remember all that was said and would be thankful I had the transcript.

Shaky, yes, but I definitely had my wits about me.

“Look, Alison,” she said, “we each have our own business here.” She spoke slowly—easier for me to type. “Each of your jobs at my company is like your own business. If you are
incapable
of doing your job,
incapable
of running your business, or
incapable
of doing your part, which it seems as if you are, all you have to say to me is,
‘Sally, I’m incapable of doing my job. I need you to get the intern to do this, or Melissa to do that, because I, Alison, am an
incapable
person
.
”

I think the word “incapable” just replaced “Alicat” as my least favorite word ever. But I was typing it all out, listening to her rant.

“You know,” she continued, “it’s not about money anymore, it’s not about
budget. I keep adding more layers here—look at our web company. Look at the number of interns we have here. Things aren’t getting resolved and you’re not getting everything done. You don’t even know how to do simple tasks. How much more help can I give you? I mean, you have interns. But clearly you’re
incapable
, and so what you now need to do is come to me and tell me what you simply can’t do. I just didn’t think failure was something you’d strive for. Especially with me as your role model.”

I started to sweat and my face became hot with frustration.

Failure?
I thought.
This is such bullshit. Maybe it’s because you’re the role model that all you see is failure! Ha!
I actually smiled
. You set us up for failure because you’re the incapable one.

And then, in my own way, I lost it. “Incapable? Invaluable? Irreplaceable? You’re the bottleneck, Sally, not me. If what I do is so easy . . . you do it, Sally. YOU. DO. IT.”

Because I’m better than this.

CLICK
—this time it was me who hung up the phone.
BANG
—the receiver fell to the floor.

Without thinking, without a word, I grabbed my purse and walked out. It was 4:15 p.m., and I left. It was raining outside— cool, large drops, each sizzling on my scorching skin. My mind was racing.

I spoke my own powerful words, not ones written for me.

I was done.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Gentle and Perfectly Safe

I
would wait until Monday. It was only three days away and she (or Ira) hadn’t called to fire me after my outburst, so I guess I still had my wonderful job. I needed to craft my plan, practice what I would say (spontaneous but rehearsed), and get my head together. I wouldn’t lose it (again) when I told the Mongrel I’d be leaving.

The timing would work out perfectly. Eight business days later, I was leaving to visit Madison anyway (vacation previously approved), so Sally would get seven days’ notice.

Screw two weeks. She’s lucky to have my seven days. Unless she throws me out on the spot!
I probably won’t be so lucky.

Sunday night, I was called to an emergency dinner by my ever supportive brother and advisor. He decided that I needed a “practice quitting session.” Over a glass of wine and rigatoni al forno, he played the chieftain and I played myself.

“Yes, Alison, what can I do for you?”

He sounded ridiculous with a fake woman’s voice. Clearly, he didn’t get any of the acting genes.

“Play it straight, okay?” I said sternly. He motioned with his hands for me to continue. I did.

“Sally, I’m giving you my notice.”

He put his hand out to stop me. “I know you’re happy right now, but you absolutely cannot quit with a shit-eating grin on your face.” I was grinning? I didn’t even realize it.

I started giggling. My smile got larger as I remembered the draft of my resignation letter that I wanted Damon to look over. I pulled it from my bag and handed it to him.

Dear Sally,

What a
dreadful
wonderful experience I had working
for
with you and for Sally Steele Cosmetics. I have
detested
cherished each
second
day with your company, and the
ridiculousness
lessons that I have learned will
never
be used throughout my life.

But
hallelujah
unfortunately, it’s time for me to officially resign from
the slavery
my position here and move on to my next adventure.

You have built a
dysfunctional
fantastic team and it would
make me vomit
be my pleasure to train my replacement,
since you’ll make me
should you want that.

I’m looking forward to Sally Steele Cosmetics’ future successes and thank you again for the
god-awful
amazing opportunity.

Hatefully
, Fondly, Alison

He handed the letter back to me, and with a matching grin on his face said, “Oh, yeah. You’re ready.”

As we walked out of the restaurant, Damon gave me the most important advice of the night.

“Remember,” he said, seriously, “there’s no crying in baseball.”

I awoke early on Monday morning, having spent a fitful night with little sleep. Having resigned myself to unemployment and with the perfect outfit planned, I spent more time on my makeup than I had in a while.

Wearing the same skirt I was hired in, I sat in front of the mirror while painting my face, feeling just as positive as on interview day, but this time wiser and more street-smart. Jill wrote me a good-luck note on a small piece of paper. I folded it up and put it in my shoe, just like the shoe notes we would write to each other at summer camp before a big event.

Sally had a nine o’clock meeting in the corporate office and an eleven thirty meeting outside the office. I aimed to catch her between them. Tricky, but doable.

I stepped outside my apartment and fear hit me unexpectedly. I turned cold, like before an audition. It was hard to breathe, to wade through my nervousness. The shaky feeling came on so suddenly.

It was the longest, most confining elevator ride I have ever taken. The corporate office door handle creaked louder than usual when I turned it. My heels clicked and echoed on the tile floor in the entranceway. Today I would pop the toxic bubble.

I said hello to the girls in the office, chitchatting while entertaining the secret that was almost ready to burst out like a jack-in-the-box.

Marissa complimented my eyeliner. She didn’t know that she wouldn’t see it around much longer. Kimberly said she liked my skirt. She wasn’t aware that it was specifically picked for quitting. It was as if I appeared noticeably more put-together the moment I walked in the door . . . to walk out the door.

I watched the clock: 10:42, 10:43, 10:44, 10:45, and Sally was still in her meeting. Clutching my resignation letter, I waited in an empty cubicle, desperate for the meeting to end.

“Aren’t you waiting for Sally?” Marissa asked me.

“Yes, is she out of her meeting?”

“I think she just left. She went out the back door from the conference room. I saw her by the elevators.”

I ran to the conference room to check for myself. Everyone was still in there talking. Maybe she’d gone to use the ladies’ room, which was right next to the elevator bank. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

I would change up my plan and talk to Ira first.

I sat down in the chair next to Ira’s desk and handed him a sealed envelope. “I’m giving my notice today,” I said bluntly. “I’ve been waiting for Sally to get out of her meeting, and I’m sitting here sweating bullets, so I wanted to come and tell you.”

He opened my official resignation letter. “I also have another copy for Sally.”

He smiled slightly and nodded his head a few times while skimming it. I knew he was thinking of just the right thing to say.

“Congratulations.” He smiled. “I’ve been waiting, hoping that this day would come. Well, not wanting it to come but knowing that it would happen very soon. Good for you, kid. And there’s nothing I can do to fight for you to stay, is there? You know I have to ask.”

“Thank you,” I replied, “but no.”

“You’re too good for this place, anyway. You’re going to do great things. I know it.”

“Will you be a reference for me if I ever need one in the future? Is it weird to ask you that?”

“Of course I’ll be a reference. I know you always think ahead.” He winked then suddenly looked up from me past the glass walls of his office. “She’s out of her meeting. I can see her in the front hallway. Run and catch her, kid.”

I resisted the urge to give him a bear hug and instead bolted out of my chair. The time was now. I took my folder and rushed into the hallway where Sally was standing, talking with Patti.

“Oh,” she said without a salutation, looking at me with raised eyebrows. “I didn’t know you were going to be at corporate today.”

“I’m heading over to the studio, but I had to talk with you first.”

“Well, I don’t have time for you right now. You should know that; you made my schedule. Don’t you know my schedule?”

“I do, Sally, but I need a few minutes of your time and then you can head out.”

“Well, Alison,” she said as she stared at me like I had two heads, “I don’t have a few minutes for you. I guess you’ll have to wait.”

I wasn’t letting her out of my sight without quitting first. “I’ll take three minutes of your time, then, Sally. That’s it,” I said, my hands clenched across my body. Seemingly casual, but not.

I turned to Patti and urged her to leave with my eyes. She wasn’t getting the message. I knew she was wondering what was going on.

“I need to speak with Sally, Patti. Can you please excuse us?” I stepped just inside the conference room so we were alone. Sally followed.

Okay.

Deep breath.

There’s no crying in baseball, there’s no crying in baseball.

“Look, Sally,” I said, “there’s never a good time for this, especially since you’re running off to a meeting, but you need to know that I’m giving you my notice today. I just signed the papers for a new job this morning, and I owe you the courtesy of telling you as soon as possible.” No way would she ever know that I was leaving with no job—as far as Sally knew, I had a fabulous new position waiting for me on the other side of my vacation.

“I have prepared a formal resignation letter, and you can read it in the taxi on the way to your meeting.”

I reached into my folder and took out her sealed envelope. Silently, she took it from my hand.

“My last day will be next Tuesday, and I’ll work out with Ira whatever you owe me for extra days worked and unused vacation days. Thank you for this opportunity,” I said, my voice tempered, even. “I’ve learned a lot.”

Her bug eyes stared me down. She shifted her weight from the right leg to the left and put her hand on the conference table. Her eyebrows arched up and her chin pointed down.

Looking for something to do with my hands, I smoothed my skirt. And waited.

“I was expecting this,” she said quietly. And then her face cracked into a smile.

She threw her head back and laughed. The Mongrel laughed.

She stopped, paused, and reached into her crossbody purse, fishing for something. She pulled out a lipstick. Red. And applied it. Slowly. Then she spoke.

“Well, best of luck wherever you go. I hope you’ll be happy there. I really do,” she said, taunting.

I nodded. “Yes, I’ll be happy.”

I will be happy anywhere but here.

I smiled, stood up straighter, and looked her right in the face. With that, she walked out of the conference room. I watched her go. But before she was completely out of sight, she turned to me.

“That lipstick is a terrible color for you, by the way. I hope you didn’t wear that to your job interview.” She grinned her toothy white grin.

Wow!

I sat down at the conference table for a second and put my head in my hands.

Holy crap, I did it! And I love this damn lipstick color!

Patti appeared at the conference room door, startling me.

“You’re a smart, nice girl with a good work ethic,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll go far. Good luck to you. We will miss you terribly.”

Now it was my turn to look at her like she had two heads.
Did Sally already tell Patti? Word travels fast.
She must have seen my puzzled look.

“I just got off the phone with Sally,” she said.

I nodded. “Well, that explains it. Thanks so much, Patti.”

She walked away, and I heard her mutter softly to herself, “Please, dear God, I am so jammed with work—please let me not have to handle that woman’s calendar while she’s assistant-less.”

Not my problem.

I gathered my thoughts and walked back into Ira’s office.

Ira and I decided that I should wait a few days to send out an email to vendors and colleagues about my departure so that it would be a little closer to my end date. He promised he would take care of what the company owed me. I wanted to believe him, and I was hoping for no trouble in that regard. Fingers crossed.

The phone calls started coming to my office just about an hour after I gave my notice.

It appeared that Sally had left our office building and started contacting my vendors to beat me to the punch. So I gathered the girls at the front of the store for an impromptu meeting to share my news with them.

“You’re leaving us to fend for ourselves!” Carly shouted at me in mock anger. But I could see her sadness.

“I cannot believe you did it,” was Jolie’s response. “So happy for you, darling.” The other artists gave me hugs and we laughed about what it would be like on the other side of hell. I reached for the phone to tell Bret my news.

Alison, you have to stop that.

I pulled my hand back.

No work got done for the rest of the day. Not by me, anyway. My cell phone rang off the hook and my personal email was buzzing like a busy bee. Jill, Bradley, and Andrea kindly arranged for a last-minute celebratory dinner over the best wings, mini hot dogs, and soft pretzels in the city—Blondies on West Seventy-Ninth. I went to bed feeling about ten pounds heavier (worth it for the extra-crispy, extra-spicy wings) but also like a different weight had been lifted. Perhaps my hair was even starting to grow back.

My week of notice was the best week on the job—not because I was slacking off or not doing my work or closing up loose ends, but because Sally was giving me the silent treatment. How mature of her. I heard through the grapevine that she was trash-talking me before I even left—but with me she maintained radio silence.

“Alison thinks I’m upset that she’s leaving but I’m really not” was the line she was using, multiple sources revealed to me. “She’s leaving because she didn’t send products to the QVC hosts.”

I had let Ira know that my last day wasn’t, in fact, going to be the seventh day after notice, but the sixth. He asked me to reconsider, since I wasn’t giving a full two weeks. I said that I would think about it, but that it was unlikely I’d change my mind. Hell no, I wasn’t thinking about it—she wasn’t getting one extra day out of me. I’d be a lame duck and I had a trip (and a new life!) to prepare for. I wondered if I would get a goodbye pizza or party. Since we celebrated everything at the company, I was gunning for some delicious cupcakes.

By Friday, I hadn’t had any celebrations and I hadn’t heard from Sally all week. Ira and Patti stopped by my office. Patti cried—for me, for herself . . . who knows. But she was so sad to see me go.