She's Out of Control Page 4

  “Isn’t that in Africa where they do that?”

  “I’m just telling you what she said.”

  “Is she coming to Bible study this week?”

  “She said she’d try to make it, and that she missed us all while she was down there, but she was very anxious to speak to you.”

  “That’s what my dream meant!” I exhale and place my hand to my forehead.

  “What dream?”

  “The missing Marc Jacobs pump. It’s Arin, and she’s come back to claim Seth. The striped heel belongs to her. It fits her, not me and my big fat size-9 foot! I’m the ugly stepsister!”

  “What on earth are you talking about?” Kay puts down a rust-colored leaf and stares at me. “No, wait. I don’t want to know.” She holds up her palms in surrender. “I’m starting to understand you, and this makes me nervous because no one should really understand you unless they need mental help. It’s Brea’s job to understand you. I just have to live with you.”

  “I gotta go!” I rush off the couch and into the bathroom. Turning on the shower head, I wait until the warm steam fills the room and step into the sweltering tile cubicle. Okay, Lord. I know this is about Your timing and all, but do you really mean for me to live here forever? I’ve been so patient. Nine months, Lord? Three years, really. You couldn’t wait ten more years to bring back Arin? What if Seth looks at her and all his old feelings come back? Remember? That sad little crush he had, making him even older and balder than his years? I know the crush was short, but it was intense, Lord. So what is this about?

  God answers with the steaming shot of water out of the shower. Ah, the silent treatment. I should be used to it by now.

  There’s a pounding on the bathroom door. “Ashley, telephone!” Kay shouts.

  I towel dry and find the cordless phone on the just-waxed hard-wood hallway. “Hello.”

  “It’s Seth, Ashley.” My towel-wrapped self slinks to the floor.

  “Hi, Seth.” His voice calms me and reminds me that I have dated him longer than any other woman. Seth and I were meant to be. The shoe dream was just a little nightmare, a little case of preengagement jitters, nothing more. Yet, there’s a niggling of discomfort. “Is everything okay, Seth?”

  “I can’t do Friday night this week after all. Maybe next Friday.”

  He sounds disappointed. But not nearly disappointed enough. “Why not?” My tone doesn’t even try to hide my emotion.

  “I . . . I . . .” He’s stammering. Not a good sign. “I can’t do it because your gift won’t be ready yet.”

  “It’s only seven in the morning. Did the store call you? How do you know my gift isn’t ready?”

  “What store? No, Ashley. It’s nothing like that. We’ll do it next week, okay? I want you to be really surprised.”

  “I might be going to Taiwan next week, so I hope I’ll be here for the big surprise. What about Saturday night with my boss, is that off too?”

  “I can still do that,” Seth tells me. “Your gift just isn’t ready, that’s all. And I want everyone to see you get it, so I’m inviting friends. Okay?”

  I’m picturing myself as the ring slides onto my finger. I’m envisioning the awed look on every friend’s face. “I’d love that. But I can’t just show up on Saturday, Seth. Not without my . . .” I catch myself just in time. I’m praying for some of God’s peace right now. Granted, none of it is deserved.

  You know, I’m just not okay if God’s will isn’t the same as mine in this one little area. I can’t help it. It’s not just about being married. I’m over that whole fiasco. It’s just that I am desperately in love with this man, even though I should know better. But when I see him looking at a little kid at Sunday school with his tender eyes, or taking in another out-of-work dot-commer, he just takes my breath away. This man has a heart of gold, and I want to embrace it for the rest of my life.

  “Can’t show up without your what?” Seth asks.

  “My boyfriend,” I say enthusiastically. “You know how Hans is. I want him to know I’m taken.”

  Seth laughs. “Of course I’ll come and protect you. I promised Arin I’d help her move some stuff on Saturday afternoon, but we’ll be done by then.”

  “Arin?” I croak.

  “She’s back in town. She says she’s dying to talk to you, so you should call her if you get the chance. She called here looking for you last night.”

  I’ll just bet she did. “Why can’t her Dr. Kevin help her move?” I ask, putting a bit of emphasis on the word doctor.

  “He’s on call this weekend. Arin was thrilled you led him to the Lord, by the way. She had nothing but praise for you. I told her I knew you had a missionary heart in you all along. Under that Ann Taylor exterior.”

  My missionary heart, as Seth puts it, is about ready to explode. “Did you two talk about anything else besides me?”

  “Just your present. Arin loves the idea.”

  “You told Arin about my surprise?”

  “It’s a surprise for you, Ashley. Not Arin. You sound like you’re disappointed someone else knows, but they’ll all take part in the celebration afterwards. You just wait.” He’s nearly panting, like I should be excited he’s talking to the size-2 blonde he had a crush on. Before she dumped him for the rain forest trip.

  “I’ve got to get to work. So will I see you at Bible study this week?” I ask.

  “Absolutely. I’m picking up Arin. She doesn’t have a car now that she’s back in town.”

  I can stand no more. “Seth, why are you picking up Arin? She found a way to get herself on a free trip to Costa Rica. I think she can get across town.”

  “Are you jealous, Ashley?”

  Now, what kind of stupid question is that? “I just think if you’re dating Arin, it’s one thing to pick her up. If you’re dating me, it’s another. If you two show up together at Bible study, it sends a message.” Of course, I regret this statement immediately. Because I sound whiny and pathetic, and even if I am, I don’t want to sound like it.

  “You and I have been dating for nine months. I can’t have friends?”

  “Of course, Seth.” Sure you can have friends, as long as they’re not size-2 blondes with fluttery lashes and big, innocent eyes. “I’ve got to get to work.”

  “Don’t be like this, Ash. Arin and I are just friends. You’re not the jealous type. What’s up with this?”

  Does he really want the evaluation? Or just for me to shut up? “Friendship wasn’t what you wanted with Arin ten months ago, Seth,” I accuse, hating myself in the process.

  “You went out to dinner with the German Romeo last night. That’s okay, but my giving a sister-in-Christ a ride to Bible study has ulterior motives?”

  “Hans is my boss. And don’t pull that sister-in-Christ business with me.”

  “But you trust yourself with Hans. You just don’t trust me with Arin.”

  No, quite frankly I don’t trust any man with Arin. I’ve seen her operate. I inhale deeply. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’m sorry. I’ll see you later. I have a patent to rush.”

  “Fine. I’ll call Arin and tell her to find herself another ride to Bible study. Maybe she can hitch a ride with your ex-boyfriend, Dr. Kevin Novak.” Seth clears his throat dramatically. “Oh, but he’s Arin’s ex, too, isn’t he? Hmm. It seems I’m not the one with the friend/ex issue here, am I?”

  Grrr. “Seth, that’s not fair. Kevin was never my boyfriend.”

  “Look, I don’t want to fight. It’s way too early in the morning, and this is a ridiculous fight, Ashley. You either trust me or you don’t. You know how I feel.”

  No, I really don’t. I haven’t heard “I love you.” I’ve heard things like, “You’re very special to me,” or “We have such a great bond and friendship. And my personal favorite: “You’re the only woman I know like you.” Note to males: None of these mean a thing, because we women know you are intentionally avoiding the three little words we really want you to say.

  “Maybe we can d
o lunch one day this week,” I offer, my white flag waving limply over the phone line.

  “That would be nice.”

  We say good-bye. Gone is my thrill over the “surprise.” Life will never be what I want it to be. Perhaps my expectations are too high. Perhaps any expectations are too high.

  I know one thing. I’m buying half of Kay’s house. I want something of my own, and if it’s a dash of granite with 1920s plumbing and a hefty mortgage, I’m fine with that for now. A baby would take away from my clothing budget, anyway.

  5

  When I walk into my office, I feel like Dolly Parton in that old movie, 9 to 5. The admins are glaring at me, like they know I had dinner, and who knows what else, with the boss. Maybe it’s just my own guilt after talking to Seth. You know, the explosive inner turmoil of The Telltale Heart? Details from last night’s bad decisions are polluting my mind. I shouldn’t have gone to dinner with Hans. I could have been with Seth. Instead, Seth was on the phone with Arin. In fact, I practically handed him over with a big, red bow. Besides, I lied toHans . . .

  As I reach my office I lift up my chin. “Any messages?” I ask Tracy, my new admin.

  “Nope. Nothing.” Tracy is the office honeybee. She spends her mornings gathering the nectar of gossip, and in the afternoon she spreads her pollen with glee. She’s one of those women who is married but doesn’t look married. She wears a ring: a great big tacky thing, but also has huge implants and wild, permed hair. Glossy scarlet will forever be her lipstick color, and flirting her native tongue.

  Tracy’s the type of married woman who goes to nightclubs without her husband and dances into the wee hours. While I try to understand her, I really don’t. She’s very sweet, but she only reminds me of my own failings. It’s amazing that her husband is willing to put up with that behavior, but Seth is too afraid to put a ring on my finger. Tracy’s presence is like a daily slap in the face, reminding me that I have no idea what a man wants.

  “Hans has a big patent in the works, so I’m going to need you to help me pull some files this afternoon.”

  Tracy salutes at me, and sits down at her desk to a hefty chocolate muffin. The disparity in Tracy’s small stature and the size of that muffin reminds me yet again that life isn’t fair, and that Arin-style sprightly figures are all you ever see on reality television. Where, I ask you, is the reality in that?

  When I get into my office, I pull up my e-mail, intent on not allowing my social life to dip into the success of my workplace. I need some coffee.

  There’s an e-mail from Hans, and I cringe at the sight of it. He probably changed everything about the patent after I did the work. Opening the message I forget to breathe.

  To: AStockingdale@gainnet.com

  From: HanstheMan@gainnet.com

  Re: Last Night

  Ashley, just wanted to thank you for our quiet dinner last night. I think we accomplished a lot. I still have your discarded clothing. Will bring with me. See you at work. H—

  Oh man, I’m in trouble. I’m in big trouble. I can’t go to dinner at this man’s house on Saturday. With or without Seth, Hans thinks there’s something between us. At least I think he does.

  Who knows with a man like him? Hans emanates sensuality like a liquor commercial, so much implied, but nothing really said. I’m too clueless for this type of subtle communication. I need an engineer. Someone to just come out and say, “Look, I’m trying to seduce you.” Which, of course, an engineer never would say. And I like that feature. Being romanced with a little science fiction, or an hour of Game Cube, this is my world. I’m comfortable here.

  “Ashley.”

  “Ah!” I clutch my startled chest. “What did you want, Tracy?”

  “Hans wants you in his office.”

  I’ll bet he does. “Okay, thank you.”

  Tracy comes in and shuts the door behind her. “Is he . . . you know . . . as sexy as he seems? The girls and I have a little pool going on.”

  Clearly, my church girl reputation has not followed me to this job. “Hans lives with a woman. If you’re really interested, you should ask her, though I don’t know why you would be.” I laugh lightly. I don’t want her to think I’m judging her. Even if I am a little. “I’m actually engaged to be married to an engineer.” Ack. There it is again. Look how easily I’m suddenly lying. They say it’s hardest the first time. Soon, I’ll be telling them I’m a former Miss USA and only working for the enjoyment factor since I’m independently wealthy. I should also add that I’m a poet, which Brea will vehemently deny.

  “Hans is the kind of man,” Tracy wiggles her badly-in-need-of-a-pluck eyebrows, “who’s too good to say no to.” She comes closer. “Where’s your ring?”

  I pull my hand under the desk. “It’s getting fitted. It’s a recent engagement.” Oh, I so hate myself right now. This is bad reality television at its finest, and I’m the scheming, low-down girl you root against. I don’t know how I ever thought I’d get away with that whopper in the first place.

  “We were all just talking about how we’d say yes to Hans in a minute. He only goes for you educated types, though.” Tracy crinkles her nose. “To each his own, I guess. Plus, we gals think you have more of a German facial structure, so maybe he finds that attractive.”

  “A German facial structure?” I’m thinking this isn’t necessarily a compliment.

  “You know, not ugly or anything, but just . . .” She holds her fists out in front of her. “You know, squarer. Solid.” Tracy obviously sees my dismay. “Not that that’s a bad thing. I mean, it’s sexy to a lot of guys.”

  “Can you get these patents filed for me?” I hand Tracy a bundle of folders. “Cross reference them by their product name and their category, which is on the side of the folders.” That ought to keep you out of trouble for a while. I pick up the patent I worked all night on. “I’ll be in Hands’s, I mean Hans’s, office if you need anything.”

  I make my way across the office floor, and I can feel that all eyes are on me. It’s like my skirt is in my pantyhose. It’s an ominous moment for me, because I’m never thought to be “that” kind of a girl. I’m a thirty-one-year-old virgin, for crying out loud. The fact that I’m being seen as seductress would be comical if it wasn’t so eerily creepy. I knock on Hans’s door, and he opens it, lifting his wheat-colored eye-brows at the sight of me.

  “Ashley,” he oozes. “Here’s your coat.” I turn around and see the admins huddled in a knowing circle. “You girls get to work!” Hans yells, and they scatter like cockroaches in the light.

  You know, I have a theory, and why I was too desperate to notice it here before I took this job is beyond me at the moment. When a company hires half-dressed secretaries, it’s usually a good sign that the CEO has issues. A “normal” CEO doesn’t allow his company to give off that kind of a message, which really says, our company can be bought for a price, so name it. Sweeping my gaze across the room, I realize that Gainnet’s image reminds me of bad politicians vying for the gaming lobby: guilty and sleazy.

  “Thanks for my coat.” I look Hans dead in the eye, hoping to tell him that I’m not afraid and that I’m not available. But inside I’m just praying, Help me, Lord. Help me, Lord. I’m in way over my head. All the while I suspect my lies are probably keeping me from any divine protection that might have been otherwise available.

  “Don’t rush off now. I want to talk to you about the patent. What I’ve seen so far, just last night, is genius. I know you started here as a simple patent attorney, but it’s clear you’re general counsel material, and I don’t want to let another company figure that out first.”

  I let my guard down a bit and sit in the proffered chair in Hans’s office. “Yes, I was offered the position of general counsel before I left Selectech. I didn’t take the job for personal reasons.”

  “We haven’t had a general counsel here at Gainnet, but with our revenue growing by such leaps and bounds, I think it’s time we brought counsel in-house. Would you be interested in the job if
the board approved such a position?”

  I can feel the blood rising in my cheeks. “Absolutely!” By now my face is hot and red. “I’m just about to purchase half my room-mate’s house, and the title would help immensely on my loan apps.”

  “It’s more than a title I’m offering. It’s an increase in your stock options, which would also help financially.” He pauses for a moment. “Did you say you’re purchasing half your fiancé’s house?”

  “Not my fiancé, my roommate.” Okay, major blunder. Lying seems so easy on TV. They don’t show all the other lies that have to accompany the first one.

  “But I thought you were getting married.”

  “Well, I am, but just not presently.”

  “Are you going to have kids?” Yes, this is an illegal question, but Hans cares little for American proprieties.

  “We’re not sure yet about children. We’re still working out the details of the wedding.” Like, whether we’re actually having one.

  “These are things you have to think about as a woman with a career. Plot your course, as they say.”

  “Right.” I’m like a Pavlovian dog at the moment, salivating over a job that hasn’t even been created yet. Kay is right. No job is worth my self-respect. Do I have any of that left? “I’d like to have a bushel of kids,” I suddenly blurt.

  “Really?” Hans clasps his hands together on his desk. “I have four of them. Lot of work and money, those kids.”

  “You have four? I thought you only had two.”

  “Here in America, I only have two. They’re from my marriage, but I was young once.” He winks. “I have two that were born when I lived in France as a bachelor. I never see those kids, but they cost me a bundle.” He whistles. “They’re getting ready for college.” He chuckles here, and I can’t even force a smile. Ewww, is all I can think. He has kids as old as Sophia the nanny.

  “Well, back to work,” I say brightly. “I’d be happy to talk to you about the general counsel job when you have more time.”