Chapter Eight
With the drop in barometric pressure, moods all across the Southland turned sullen. There was none of the usual morning gaiety on display as the recently emboldened Julie Baker Predmore, Marketing Communications Specialist, walked into the office, dressed in her pin-striped charcoal suit and white blouse.
“Good morning, Jenna,” Julie said with a lilt in her voice.
“What’s good about it?”
Julie refused to be put off. “Well, we’re living, for one thing. And it’s a good day to be alive.”
“Maybe for you, but my sinuses are acting up, and the heater in my house is broken, so I’ve been freezing my ass off since yesterday.”
Jenna had always held Julie at arm’s length, regarding her as a rival in the manner all-too-common among female co-workers. But, Julie, upon hearing of Jenna’s plight, immediately felt a sense of compassion for her. “I’m sorry about that, Jenna. When will you be able to get it fixed?”
“The repair guy said he’d come out this afternoon, so I’m going to have to take the afternoon off to go home and wait for him.”
Looking at her more directly, Julie noticed that Jenna’s face wore a mask of distress. She was only twenty-nine. But, beneath her makeup and monthly peroxide application, the visible effects of age and a careless diet lurked. Today, the telltale signs of neglect were making a public statement. Julie decided then and there not to say anything about her impending move into Allison Kraft’s position.
“Well I hope you get it fixed and get your heat going before tonight. If there’s anything I can do to help, give me a call. Okay?”
“Thanks, Julie. That’s nice of you.”
“No problem. Take care, Jenna.”
“I’ll try.”
Julie walked to her workstation and dropped her purse on the desk. She stretched her neck and peeked into Spence’s office to see if he looked interruptible. He was sitting at his desk reading the Wall Street Journal, one of his regular morning activities.
She stepped closer, framed herself in the doorway, and knocked to get his attention.
“Yes?... Oh, hello, Julie.”
“Hi, Spence. Do you have a minute?”
“Sure, come in; sit down. I was just reading the latest installment in the continuing saga over the year 2000 time bomb. Can you believe this? Here it is January 1998, and one-third of all U.S. companies haven’t done one single thing to head-off the potential problems that could very well put them out of business two years from now. It’s unconscionable.”
“Do you think that means more business for us?”
“I don’t know about more business. It definitely increases the challenge to succeed with the business we have. There just isn’t enough time left to fix up all the systems out there that will eventually break when they begin to process dates beyond 1999. For some companies at this late date, we have no answers, no way to keep them afloat. It’s a damn shame.”
As has happened so many times before, Julie, hoping to discuss a particular topic with her boss, suddenly found herself unavoidably derailed and switched onto Spence’s intellectual track du jour. She wondered whether to continue to engage in a conversation that was passing over her head with a full head of steam or to change the subject. She decided on the latter.
“I wanted to stop by and thank you for putting in a good word on my behalf with Mike. As I’m sure you know, he offered me Allison’s position in marketing.”
“Right. No problem, glad to do it, although I’ll miss having you around to keep me on the ball.”
“I’ll just be down the corridor, Spence. And I’ll be happy to help you out from time to time. Mike won’t mind, I’m sure.” This seemed right even though she had no idea how much freedom she’d have to tailor her work load with the new position.
“Good. For starters maybe you could suggest a replacement for yourself. You know what the job demands more than anyone.” Spence threw this suggestion out casually but Julie could tell that he felt pangs of desperation over having to find another administrator who would both cater to his needs and put up with his aloof, cerebral style. She thought a moment.
“How about Christy? She could do a good job for you.”
“Do you think so? I don’t know her very well. She seems nice enough, though.”
“Oh, yeah. She’s a good one.”
Julie didn’t know Christy Blankenship all that well either, but Christy stood out in her mind as the best choice from the current SunBurst employee roster. Still, she felt a reservation over this recommendation that could not be comfortably expressed. Spence was late-forties, conservative, with a PhD., while Christy was a gen-X blonde with a high school diploma and abdominal definition. There was a slight possibility of disconnect. But she imagined Christy would want to please Spence for the sake of her own career. So, oddly enough, it might work. Anyway, it was Spence’s decision, not hers. Her work here was done.
“Hope you don’t mind if I start spending time learning the ropes in marketing before Allison leaves.”
“No, go ahead. Learn all you can. If I know you, you’ll be running this company one day.”
That was a gratuitous exaggeration, but Julie liked having her ego stroked as much as the next person. “I suspect it will be a while before that happens,” she acknowledged.
“Well, good luck anyway. And get that marketing department organized while you’re at it.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“I’m sure you will.”
At one-fifteen, Danny decided to check his e-mail. He punched up the program with a double-click of his mouse. Ding.
YOU HAVE 2 NEW MESSAGES.
Danny pressed ENTER and the screen changed. On top of the list of messages in his mailbox, he saw Julie’s Internet address. It made him momentarily weak. The message bore the title, “Notes from the Coast.” With a title like that it must be a friendly letter, he reasoned, and after clicking it open, he anxiously began to read:
Dear Danny,
It was nice of you to write. And no, I haven’t forgotten either. I guess you could say that I’ve been busy — getting on with my life. For a while I was mad at you, really mad. But I’m over that now. The divorce turned out for the best, I suppose. Neither of us had been happy for years, and there’s nothing worse than a marriage that has lost all its meaning. So, your apology is accepted, and I thank you for giving me back the freedom I lost when we were still so young, too young really for marriage and family. Oh, well...
As for how things are going out here — I’m back in school, and currently I have two night classes for my BA program: Sociology and Business Ethics. I’m reading and writing my tail off. Also, I’ve been employed for over a year at a company called SunBurst. It’s a small but successful management consulting firm. I’ve been an executive administrative assistant but I just got a promotion and a raise to join the marketing department. The extra money will help. Everything is so much more expensive out here. But it’s worth it — for me anyway. I love being back here on the coast. Orange County has the most perfect climate on earth, and here at the beach, it’s like heaven!
I started running again. I’m down to 120 lbs. I feel great about that. My social life is somewhat limited because of school and work — and taking care of my little house. (More about that later.) I have a friend named Tracy whom I met at school. She works for a coffee products wholesaler and keeps me supplied with good coffee and good times. I try to keep her from getting into too much trouble. She has a bit of a wild streak, I’m afraid. Just this past Friday evening, we were out at a local place called the South Coast Club (something I never do), and Tracy (she’s also divorced) put the moves on a guy who turned out to be an undercover cop. He was alone in a booth, watching and waiting for an opportunity to make a bust on a couple of druggies. Naturally, she didn’t know about his “mission” until later. Anyway, it all happened real fast. He called in a S.W.A.T. team to arrest the dealers, and Tracy ended up getting mixed up in the whole affair. Glad to say that her cousin Remy was there and he got everything straightened out. Remy is retired from the Navy and he has a lot of friends around here: firemen, policemen, et al. Actually Remy is starting his own business on disaster readiness to help people get prepared for the BIG ONE. But I ramble...
I just wanted to let you know that I’m okay. I’ve bounced back, and for the first time in my life, I feel good about myself. Up till now, there’s always been something pulling at me, making me uneasy. I’m not blaming you, Danny. It’s just the way life goes, I guess. We spend most of our years doing what other people want and need us to do, and we get very little time to make ourselves happy. We did okay, you and I. Our kids turned out great. You were a big part of their growing up; thanks for all you did for them. But, I’m getting too nostalgic...
My house is cute — tiny, but cute. It’s a duplex villa, 1½ blocks from the beach. I got a good deal on the lease because summer was over and the landlord was happy to get a year-round tenant. I can walk to work if I want to. It’s amazing though, hardly anyone walks out here. They drive everywhere — unless they’re out for recreation, that is. Lots of people roller-blade for exercise, not just the kids, and there’s a lot of bikers too.
Sorry the weather’s so bad back in Detroit. I thought El Niño was supposed to mean warmer weather for the Great Lakes. Oh, well — so much for the science of meteorology.
I do remember some of those awful winters we had though, and you’re rightthe kids didn’t mind; they loved the snow. Sometimes I miss not having little ones around. Then I wise up and realize that I’m much better off now that they’re grown up. But I digress...
With the winter weather here most of the natives will be hiding out for a couple of months — except for a few of us. I for one am going to keep up my morning runs — rain or shine! By spring I’ll be ready for a marathon. (just kidding!)
Well, this is a rather long letter, but it’s been a long time since we shared anything at all about ourselves. I’m happy that both of us have been able to come back from that ugly state we were in at the divorce. I do forgive you, Danny and I truly hope we can be friends.
I love e-mail, so please write me back. I’ll see you in cyberspace (I always wanted to say that — I hope you don’t think I’m silly). Kiss the kids for me when you see them.
Best of luck always,
Julie
After reading her salutation, Danny continued staring at the screen, transfixed, the focus rapidly draining from his eyes. He didn’t know quite what to make of her letter. She seemed to be at once completely over him and a totally different Julie. It occurred to him that, if this was the real Julie, her whole life with him had been a sham, a lie of grand proportion. Perhaps her move to California caused her to recall her past life as different than it actually was. Or maybe the salt air out there has warped her mind and turned her into some sort of late-blooming teenager. His head shook involuntarily; he simply couldn’t fathom the change in her.
He felt a sadness too, and a sense of jealous anger. Sadness because there was no indication of love for him in her words. Anger because she seemed to be having more success than he in the dating scene. And what about her new friends? Danny could only imagine that a retired Navy guy with time on his hands was doing everything he could to get Julie into the sack, if he hadn’t actually done so already. Suddenly he felt even more passion and angst about flying out there and witnessing first-hand the goings on which, presently, he could only imagine to be the worst sort of unhealthy promiscuous debauchery. He nevertheless hoped that his own mind was racing ahead of reality, that Julie was still the pure, innocent, under-sexed girl he had married those decades ago. But who knew? She might have fallen into the wrong crowd. And if these two characters were any indication, that is precisely what has happened. What kind of a name is Remy anyway? It sounded French to Danny, and this realization did nothing to allay his fears.
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Danny said, while simultaneously pointing and clicking the cursor on his in box icon to hide Julie’s letter from whomever might be entering his office. It was Vic DeSalvo.
“Danny, have you got a minute?” Vic entered the office trailing a cloud of stale cigar odor. He must have indulged himself at lunch.
“Sure, Vic. Make yourself comfortable.”
Danny’s guest chair let out a creaking sigh as Vic lowered his large frame onto the seat. “How’s the hiring scene looking, Dan?” Vic asked this as though he was about to offer some help or, at the least, express some empathy for the difficulties Danny and his staff were encountering of late.
“We’re making some progress. Three offers going out this week so far, and it’s only Monday.”
“Don’t BS me Danny. I read your reports.” Vic turned suddenly antagonistic, which, Danny realized, was his real reason for dropping by. “Sales has more open job orders going wanting than ever before. The only conclusion I can draw is that your department is not pulling its weight. Take that opening of Cook’s over at Chrysler we discussed last week for example. All they’re asking for is some basic skills and a couple, three years experience. I expected you’d have one or two prospects on the hook for that one by now, especially since there’s a ton of business hinging on these first placements. Plus, you’ve known about this for almost a month but Bill tells me that, when he met with you on the subject last week, you blew him off. You made it seem like he didn’t know what he was talking about. He’s our top salesman, Danny. If anybody knows his customers’ needs, Cook does.”
Winded and visibly agitated, Vic paused his delivery so he could take a few audible breaths. Danny seized the opportunity to launch an impromptu defense. “We’ll have Cook’s people hired before the end of next week. And, I’m sorry Bill got the impression that he did, but I was just trying to clear up the ambiguity in his orders when we met last week. He shouldn’t take things so personally.”
Taking stock of what had just come out of his mouth, Danny realized he had committed his team to something they had only the slightest chance of pulling off. But it couldn’t have been helped. He knew Vic. Nothing less would have been satisfactory. As for Cook, the slimeball must have left here and gone immediately whining to Vic so as to enlist the overfed VP in his personal crusade to blame recruiting for everything — including his own incompetence. Such behavior had no doubt helped him earn his number one salesman distinction.
“Talk is still the cheapest commodity in town, Dan-boy. I want to see results. So, I’m going to hold you to your word. By the end of next week I expect to see two engineers slated for the Chrysler project.”
“No problem, you’ll have them.”
“If I don’t, I’m going to write up a formal evaluation on this whole affair. You understand that?”
“Got it,” Danny said, though he felt like he’d just been railroaded. Plus, he didn’t have a clue where the two engineers would actually come from, or how he’d get them hired by next week. Then, strangely, he sensed that, since he was already in trouble, why not bring up the seminar as well?
“By the way Vic, did you see the travel request I dropped off earlier?”
“I saw it.”
Danny had hoped for more from his probe. “Well, shall I go ahead and firm up reservations?”
“These seminars are a waste of time if you ask me,” Vic said, without hesitation.
“Well, the employment market has changed considerably over the past eighteen months Vic, as I’m sure you know. We could really benefit from this nationwide get-together. If I only pick up one or two tips, it could make a difference in getting more good people on board every month.” Listening to himself rationalize, Danny realized that he, too, could sell.
“Okay, here’s the deal then: You get the Chrysler hires, and you can go.”
“The tickets are non-refundable, Vic. And I have to commit now to get the good fares.” Danny appealed to Vic’s sense of fiscal conservancy.
“All right, all right. Go to the damn seminar. But it better be worth it.”
“I’m sure it will.” If not, Danny felt he could always consider moving over to sales. Nah, he thought. That would be beneath me.
A moment after Vic left, Danny’s phone rang. It was Michele Sullivan. She sounded as sweet as ever over the line.
“How’d your birthday go, Danny. I still owe you a present.”
“It was just another day, really. And how was To-lee-do?” Danny asked, making his disdain for the Ohio port city on the muddy Maumee a little too obvious.
“Great. Marylou and I caught up on old times. We saw a movie and went out to her favorite club by the marina. But I was thinking of you the whole time, Danny. I’m sorry I couldn’t be here to make your birthday special. I’ll make it up to you this weekend — promise!”
Danny should have been pleased to hear all this, but he had quite the opposite reaction. In view of Michele’s enthusiastic pledge, he immediately foresaw great difficulty for himself. He wondered how he might break the news to her that he didn’t share her feelings.
“It’s okay, I don’t celebrate birthdays anymore, anyway. I’m getting too old for that.”
“Nonsense,” she said, girlishly. “After dinner this Friday we’ll come back to my place. I’ll bake you a cake and we’ll...celebrate.”
“All right,” Danny replied, trying to mask his reluctance. “I’ll look forward to it.” But he didn’t. He was imagining Michele going over-the-top on his behalf, showing off her homemaking skills — and more. The way she made it sound, he might find candlelight and scented sheets awaiting him at her apartment on Friday evening, and her son Jason pawned off on his grandparents. And it could turn out to be an even greater challenge than he initially feared.
“Uh-oh, here comes my boss. Gotta go,” she said. “Call me.”
“Okay. Bye.” Danny hung up, simultaneously attempting to erase from his mind’s eye an image of Michele beckoning him from her bed while reclining in a state of pent-up desire and advanced undress.
Partly to help him put such thoughts behind him, and partly for another reason, he clicked the space bar on his keyboard and the star field vanished revealing the e-mail from his ex-wife. He reread it.
Now the trip was definite. In two weeks he’d be there. He’d see his Julie again. But how might she react to him? Would she be glad to see him, maybe give him a second chance? He couldn’t understand exactly why he had these feelings for her again, but he realized that, after putting her on the shelf in order to pursue his own selfish ambitions, he now deeply regretted his past behavior and wished she were still there for him to dust off and take back down again. But he did not want her simply as a friend. That would never do. He wanted all of her. And his combined sense of loss and desire made him ache deeply, as if he were a teenager once more, hormones raging, starry-eyed, and frustrated in love. But time was short. He had less than two weeks to begin turning everything around. He’d have to come up with a plan — and fast. And it would have to work. His whole life depended on it. He had to have her back.