Hard Place, page 2
“Be good,” I tell the girls once more before kissing them goodbye. I dig my sunglasses out of my purse as I go down the steps of Dad’s one-bedroom apartment and into the parking lot.
It’s a hot August day and I’m sweating by the time I get to my car. My air conditioning is on the fritz and doesn’t stay cool for very long. If I’m moving with the windows down, it’s not much of an issue. But when we get stuck in traffic…my poor babies.
Leaving earlier than usual today helps me avoid traffic, and I get to the downtown office right on time. I’m nothing more than a glorified telemarketer, collecting research data for the city’s largest PR firm. I was only a semester away from graduating with my own degree in public relations when Mom’s health took a turn for the worst. I took time off to spend it with her, and then I got knocked up with the twins before I could make it back.
I still plan to go back to school…someday.
Grabbing my ID badge out of my purse, I hold it up to security and pull into the parking garage. My spot is as far from the elevator as you can get, but who am I to complain? I get a covered spot every day of the year.
“Morning, Miss Harper,” Nicolas, one of the security guards says when I make it to the lobby. It’s eerily quiet in here this morning. “You’re here early.”
“Too early,” I laugh. “I am not a morning person.”
“One good thing about getting here early is the coffee is fresh.”
“Oh, good point. I didn’t think of that. I’ll definitely be needing a cup or two this morning.” I yawn again as I get into the elevator, going up twelve stories. The office is quiet as well. If I weren’t so tired, I might appreciate this moment, and the breathtaking view of the early light shining down on Lake Michigan.
I set my purse down at my desk inside my little cubicle and head into the break room to get coffee. I’m going to need a lot to get me through the day. Even though I was exhausted last night, I couldn’t sleep. After tossing and turning for hours, I got up and went back into the kitchen to drink the rest of the wine to help me sleep.
But then I remembered I was getting up earlier than normal and there would be a good chance of still being drunk when I finally stumbled out of bed. I’ll go to bed early tonight and make up for the lost sleep…I say now.
I suck down another gulp of coffee and fire up my computer, pulling up today’s assignments. I have to go through handwritten responses to a survey and input the data into a computer program for an analyst to go over. Today’s survey is about people’s responses to a particular ad set the firm put together for a fast food chain.
Sounds fun, doesn’t it?
Two hours later I get up to pee, get more coffee, and to walk around and try to wake myself up. It’s very easy to fall asleep while doing this riveting work even when you’ve gotten a full twelve hours of sleep.
“Hey,” I say to Angela, who’s refilling the coffee. Coffee does go fast around here. “How’s your morning going?”
She looks up and wrinkles her nose. “I’m on phone duty today.”
“Ugh, fun.” I give her a sympathetic smile. “There’s nothing like getting yelled at by strangers bright and early in the morning. Though truthfully, I’d be annoyed with me too if I called myself at nine in the morning.”
Angela laughs and turns on the coffee pot. We both stare at it, waiting for that first drop to come down, giving us hope we’ll make it through the rest of the workday without passing out at our desks.
“Hannah, Melody, and I are grabbing drinks after work,” Angela starts. “Want to join?”
“I wish I could,” I say honestly. Because I do wish I could go out for drinks with my work friends. A majority of the employees working the “research floor” at the PR firm are my age or a little younger. This is an entry-level job that doesn’t really require much skill other than computing data into a program. “My kids are starting at a new school and orientation is tonight.”
“School starts already? I feel like it used to start later when we were kids, didn’t it?”
“I think most public schools around here start a little later. This one’s a private school.”
“Oh.” Angela’s eyebrows go up, and I know she’s wondering how the hell I can afford to send my kids to private school. We’re not close, but she’s enough of a friend to know I struggle financially. Hell, most the people working this menial job struggle considering the shit wage we get paid. “Well, that’s exciting. I think?”
“Yeah, it’s a great school with intense lessons but will prepare them for the next years. Remember when kindergarten was just finger painting and playing house?”
“It’s not anymore?”
“Not even close. I was looking over the kindergarten standards last night and it’s just crazy what they expect these kids to do by the end of the year.”
Angela nods and looks from the coffeepot to the clock on the wall and back. Ever since I had the twins, I’ve dedicated my entire life to them, like any halfway decent mother would do. But since I’m on my own, it’s even harder to find time to go out and do anything remotely adult. I talk about them too much, but I feel like I’ve forgotten how to talk about anything else.
“Well, maybe next week then.” She sets her coffee cup on the counter next to the pot, still watching it fill. “We’ve been trying to get out at least once a week. August starts the unofficial end of summer and it’ll be too cold to go out sooner than we know it.”
“Ugh, you’re right. I’m still trying to recover from that last Polar Vortex. I am not ready for winter.”
“I question why I live here every winter,” she laughs. “But I love this damn city too much. You’ve been here your whole life too, right?”
“Yeah. Born and raised.” Chicago has its good and bad qualities, but it’s home. The neighborhood I’m currently in is less than ideal, but I’ll get us out of there and into somewhere nicer. A big-ass house on North Orchard Street in Lincoln Park is goals, but I’ll gladly settle for a third-story apartment along the lake.
Angela and I both get more coffee and go back to our desks. I squeeze my eyes closed, hoping if I give myself a ten-second break I’ll be able to open my eyes back up and focus like a boss.
On this boring-as-hell project.
I’m close to dozing off again when my desk phone rings. I can tell by the lit-up number flashing at me that the call is coming from my manager, Veronica Marshall’s office.
“Hello?” I answer, cradling the phone to my ear with my shoulder.
“Good morning, Harper. Can you come into my office when you have a spare moment, please?”
Always fearing the worst, my heart skips a beat with fear. “Uh, sure. I’ll be right in.” I hang up, pulse increasing, and think back to the last few weeks. Did I do anything to piss anyone off? I don’t think so, but you never know.
I’m a hard worker but have a bad habit of getting a little chatty when I’m standing in the break room, or even when I pass by someone’s desk. I like to talk, and I don’t get out much.
Running my hands over my messy hair, I get up and feel like all eyes are on me as I walk through the row of cubicles and toward Veronica’s office. My mind is racing the whole time, going over every and anything I could have done to get myself into trouble.
The office door is closed, and I knock before reaching for the doorknob.
“Come in,” Veronica calls, and I take in one more shaky breath and twist the handle. Veronica is on her computer, furiously typing away at what I’m going to pretend is a passion-filled email to her lover.
It’s a weird thing I do. I make up little stories to distract myself with, though sometimes I get so into my own stories I go home and write them down and give them alternate endings in a top-secret notebook that not even my girls know about.
“Close the door behind you and have a seat,” she tells me, not taking her eyes off her computer. My heart rate speeds up even more, and I can feel sweat starting to collect in beads between my breasts. I picked a great fucking day to wear this pale yellow, silk top that’s less than friendly to sweat stains.
My throat gets that closed-up feeling, and it’s all I can do not to shake as I sink down into a dated, yet comfortable, plaid armchair. A full minute passes before Veronica looks up from her computer. She has a faint smile on her face, furthering my suspicion of her emailing a lover.
“I just got started on performance reviews,” she begins, sending another wave of anxiety through me. I wasn’t always this gloom-and-doom, but the thought of getting reprimanded at work is, well, awful in its own way, but puts the fear of God into me that I could easily lose my job.
And then I wouldn’t know what I’d do.
“Your file surprised me.”
“In a good way, I hope.”
She laughs. “Yes, in a good way. You’re smart, dedicated, and driven, too much so to be working a tedious job like you are now.”
“I, um, always intended on going back to school and finish my degree, but it’s hard with my kids being so young,” I ramble and reach up to my neck, taking a little lemon-shaped charm between my fingers. It was a gift from my mother when I graduated high school. Life gives out its fair share of lemons, she’d tell me. Just remember to turn them into lemonade.
Veronica holds up her hand, silencing me. “I get it. I have three boys, all grown now, but I remember just how it was. The boys’ father and I divorced when my youngest was only four, and for the next ten years, it was just me and my boys.”
Leaning back in her chair, she eyes me up and down again. “Most people who take this job spend a year or two getting experience under their belts and then move on or up.” She looks up at the ceiling, literally meaning people here move up one more floor to be an intern or assistant with the hopes of being hired on full-time as a publicist. “You remind me of myself,” she starts again. “Which is why I’m willing to break my rule of don’t play favorites and help you out. Well, if you’ll take my help, that is.”
“You’ve captured my interest,” I tell her and let out a breath. I give the little lemon a squeeze and put my hands back in my lap, feeling a little better. I’m not getting fired or yelled at or even scolded. “But I’m not quite following.”
“Mr. Harding is in need of a new assistant, starting tomorrow. The last three assistants who have worked for him have gone on to be hired full-time by the firm.”
Mr. Harding built this company from the ground up. Rumor has it he will be retiring within the next year and getting to pick his brain while bringing him coffee or organizing his schedule would be more educational than sitting through an entire semester of marketing and advertising classes.
“It would be more hours than you’re currently working, but you would get a significant pay raise, be paid salary and not hourly, get two weeks paid vacation your first year, and you’d get benefits plus a handful of other incentives, like a company car to ensure you’re able to run errands for Mr. Harding.”
I blink rapidly, too stunned to let the information sink in. “And I’d start tomorrow?”
“Yes, Mr. Harding’s assistant was in an accident last night.”
“Oh my God, is she okay?”
“He, and I was told he’ll make a complete recovery but had some sort of awakening and doesn’t want to work for corporate America anymore.” She rolls her eyes.
I nod and look past Veronica, squinting from the bright light coming through the large window. I used to dream of having an office like this, with a big desk, stark and modern decor, and huge windows that look down on the busy city below. She’s the head analyst here and is in charge of all of us “researchers” on the twelfth floor.
It was the thing I wanted most in life. Get the job and be successful in my career. I thought that’s all I needed to be happy. I’d be making good money, traveling the world, well, maybe not the world, but I’d escape the cold Chicago winters to Vegas or Miami. And of course, I’d have a super-hot, equally successful fiancé by now and we’d be happily planning our over-the-top wedding.
But things didn’t quite go according to plan, obviously. Though now I know without a doubt there is more to life than working. There are more important things than having my name on a silver nameplate tacked to the door of my office.
Yeah, it’s important to make money since you can’t really live without any, but at the end of the day, it’s who you go home to that counts. I used to think that my career would define me, and it wasn’t until having my own children that I realized a thing can’t define you at all. You can quit your job and get another. You can switch fields and take your career in a totally different direction.
It’s not definite or defining.
“Need time to think about it?” Veronica asks.
“Yes, I mean no.” More money means paying off debts. And paying off debts means being able to put money into savings and not having to live paycheck to paycheck. And being able to take two whole freaking weeks off and still get paid…sign me up! “No, I don’t need more time,” I clarify. “I’ll take the job.”
3
Alex
Maybe I’m getting old.
Another late night with a woman I didn’t know turned into an early morning at the office. My bed was occupied last night, but my house still felt empty.
I felt empty.
Truth is, I’m over the whole one-night-stand thing. It was fun in the past, but now I find myself craving something different…something more. Which is ridiculous, I know. I don’t have time for a relationship, and even if I did, finding one person I’d want to spend forever with—who’d want to spend forever with me—seems overwhelmingly daunting.
I suppose it’s cliché to say coming from a broken home has left me doubting any sort of romantic relationship will last in the end. On the outside, it looked like we were living the dream. Rich, all smiles in family photos, and living in a big-ass house in one of the most expensive neighborhoods in Chicago.
But behind closed doors, it was a different story. Dad got violent when he drank, and I felt it was my job as the only other male in the house to protect my mom and sister. Mom, more concerned with impressing everyone at the country club, turned a blind eye to everything and didn’t give a shit what happened to me or Nicole.
Mom and Dad both had affairs, and their marriage was nothing more than a hollow sham. It wasn’t sacred. It didn’t matter.
True love isn’t real, which is what led me down the path of meaningless sex and one-night stands.
And as I laid there in my bed last night, listening to the woman—Monica, maybe? Or was it Mandi?—get into the shower, I found myself anxious to get my ass up in just a few hours and drag it to the office. I enjoy my work, and while it doesn’t fill the void inside me, it distracts me from it. It’s pathetic if I think about it, so in turn, I don’t.
I bring my hand to my forehead and let my eyes full shut. Is the sun always this fucking bright? And whose genius idea was it to not put blinds or curtains up on these floor-to-ceiling windows?
Blindly reaching out, I feel for the phone on my desk. As soon as my fingers touch the cool plastic, I remember that Jason isn’t here today.
Fuck me.
I’d call for an intern to come in here, but I don’t know the extension to reach them. Jason always did it for me. I in no way considered Jason, my former assistant, a friend, but after working together for the last three years, we developed a good rhythm. I’ve been at the office a whole three minutes and already need him, but I’ll never fucking admit that.
What I will admit is that I need coffee. I can sit here and grumble about it, or I can get my ass up and get it myself. Before I get up, my office door opens and I look up, narrowing my eyes.
Everyone in the office knows not to come in here without knocking. But who walks in isn’t just everyone.
“Hello, Father.” I plow my hand through my hair and lean back in my leather chair. “And to what do I owe this pleasure?” We’ve had a rough relationship over the years, and working together has made it either better or worse, depending on the day.
“Where is the proposal for the Huntington project? I was supposed to look over it this morning.”
Ah, fuck. Jason always brought projects and proposals to my father’s desk.
“It’s…it’s….” I sit up and open the top drawer of my desk. I spent a week on this proposal and it’s fucking gold. The clients are going to eat it up. “Fuck. Jason always took it.” I open the middle drawer and find the folder in a neatly organized stack. I pull it out and flop it down on the desk.
“You need to get your shit together,” Dad grumbles. “I’m supposed to be retiring within a year but maybe I should push it back. Again.”
“I can handle the company.”
“Can you? Because you look hungover and sloppy.”
I look down at my designer suit. It’s perfectly fitted, and I’m in impeccable shape, thanks to a rather strict gym routine and diet, which I completely strayed from when I was sucking Jello shots off that hot blonde’s stomach last night.
“We have a reputation to uphold here,” he reminds me, as if I forgot it from the other million times he’s mentioned it. It pisses me off…mostly because he’s right. “Put some drops in your eyes, get a coffee, and be on time for the client meeting this morning.” Dad grabs the file off my desk. “And find yourself a new assistant.”
I slide the bill over to me and stick my credit card inside the little leather folder without even looking at the cost of lunch. We had two bottles of three-hundred-dollar Champagne, and three appetizers, and I lost count of all the dessert ordered.
But I just landed us another multi-million-dollar account.
“I’m excited to work with the best PR firm in the city,” Mr. Johnson says, shaking my hand.
“We’re going to do great things for your company,” I assure him. “I look forward to what the future holds.” We exchange more bullshit pleasantries on our way out of the restaurant, stepping out onto the busy sidewalk of downtown Chicago. The sun is low in the sky, but the air is holding onto the heat with a vengeance. I’m already looking forward to cool, crisp days of fall.
