Laura Caldwell - The Night I got Lucky

“Right,” I said. “Make you an example for others.”

“Exactly.”

I opened the door and stepped back to let him pass. I wanted to hug him, but it no longer seemed an option. We’d gone past the point of friendly embraces.

“See you,” I said.

He grinned. “Yeah, see you.”

I knew we were both lying.

At Alexa’s building, I asked the cabbie to wait.

“Make it quick,” he grumbled.

The warm weather had brought everyone to their cement stoops, and I had to pick my way past four teenaged guys to get to the buzzer. They stopped their conversation. They eyed me predatorily, as if I was holding the latest video game that featured mass killing.

“Hello, sweetheart,” one of them said under his breath. The others giggled-snide sounds.

“Hello,” I said, with all the primness of an English governess.

I hit the buzzer for Alexa’s apartment, trying to appear efficient and nonchalant, but fear and dread grew inside. I glanced at the cab. I could get to it in ten steps if need be. God, was this what Alexa went through every day?

“Hola,” someone said through the buzzer.

“Hi, uh, it’s Billy Rendall, I’m here to see Alexa, if you could just buzz me in…” I spoke the words so fast, I wasn’t sure anyone could decipher them, but the buzzer sounded. I pushed the door hard, slamming it closed behind me, still under the watchful eyes of the teenagers.

I took the stairs quickly.

Alexa opened the door. “Billy! How are you?” She gave me a quick embrace, which left me flustered and flattered. “Come in, come in,” she said, as if I always stopped by. “I have to show you something.”

The place was much as I’d seen it last time-old, mismatched furniture, a TV with rabbit-ear antennae, toys scattered throughout. The kitchen, viewed from the living room, was tidy, but the Formica tops were yellowed, the linoleum floor cracking.

“Look,” Alexa said proudly. She held out her arm, gesturing toward the corner of the living room, where an old door had been laid across two stacks of blue milk crates. On top of the door, sat a host of papers and pens and, in the middle, a silver cell phone.

“What’s this?” I said, taking a step closer.

“It’s my desk!” Alexa was beaming, as if she’d said, It’s my new Porsche!

“Wow, great.” But I was ashamed. What I had in my life, both before and after the frog, could easily be termed an “embarrassment of riches.” I hadn’t worried about money in years. Alexa, on the other hand, was scraping by, supporting an entire family, and was thrilled about a desk made from a door.

“So you’re working from home?” I asked her.

“I know it isn’t much, but I’m determined to open my own firm, like I told you on the phone, so here…” She moved behind the makeshift desk. “Let me show you.” She picked up one stack of papers after another, displaying them for me. “Here’s my application for a small business loan, and here’s a lease on this tiny office I found if I get the loan. Say a prayer.”

“This is great,” I said.

She held up a two typed sheets of paper. “Then here’s a list of potential clients, and this is a list of people who might give me capital, like Carlos Ortega. Do you know him?”

I shook my head no.

“Well, he’s big-time around here. He used to be an alderman, now he’s into venture capital and real estate. I’m too small-fry for him, but you gotta aim high, right?”

“Absolutely,” I said. “You amaze me, Alexa.”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” But she smiled as she placed the papers onto neat stacks already on her desk.

I couldn’t help but think of Alexa’s clean cubicle, the one I’d inhabit on Monday. “Look,” I said, “I have to tell you something.”

She looked at me. “Of course. God, I’ve been going on and on, and you didn’t come here to see my paperwork. Hey, what happened with your dad?”

“It was really…Well, it was wonderful for what it was. Thanks for asking. But that’s not what I have to talk to you about.”

“What’s up?”

“I demoted myself today.”

“What?” Her eyes went big.

“Yeah, I know it sounds weird, but I asked Roslyn to take away my VP position and give me my old account exec job back.”

Alexa surprised me by hooting and clapping her hands. “Holy shit! Roslyn must have lost it!”

“She was pretty good, all things considered, but there is something else.” I took a deep breath, and plunged ahead. “She said I’d have to take your job. It’s the only opening.”

Alexa’s head snapped a little as if someone had startled her.

“But you know what?” I said, rushing in with my words. “I don’t think I can do it. I told her I would, but now…”

She watched me closely. “Now what?”

“I like you, Alexa. I like hanging out with you.” I paused. She remained stoic. “And I don’t want to ruin that by taking your old position. So forget it. I’m just going to have to look for a new job. I can’t take yours.”

She shook her head. “No, that’s ridiculous. There are no jobs in this town, remember?”

“I know, but-”

“Look, Billy…” She smiled briefly. “What I said on the phone a few days ago was true. I think you did me a favor by firing me. I am going to get that PR firm of my own. I don’t know how and I don’t know when, but I’ve realized how much I want it since I left Harper. So let me do you a favor in return. Take my job. Enjoy it. Really enjoy it, you know?”

That was exactly what I wanted-to take pleasure in my job without the mental machinations of how to slide into a VP spot. “You’re sure?” I asked.

She stood and reached out her tiny hand, squeezing mine. “I’m positive.”

We stood there a moment, our hands touching, and I recognized something in Alexa right then. Here was a friend.

“Hey,” Alexa said, “how about a beer? It’s almost five.”

I shook my head. “I’d love it,” I said, “but I’m hoping I have plans with my husband.”

I saw Chris appear at the edge of Grant Park’s green lawn. He turned his head this way and that. Finally, he seemed to notice me, sitting cross-legged on a blanket, our picnic basket next to me. He paused. He was too far away for me to read the expression on his face, but that pause scared me. I sat up taller and waved. Another pause. I gestured for him to come to me. His body was still.

“Chris,” I called out, waving again.

It felt suddenly as if I were in a bad dream, one where I could feel Chris, I could see him, but he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, see me.

At last, Chris raised his hand slightly. That hand floated up to his chest and sank again. It made an arc in the sunlight. Then he took a step onto the green.

“What’s all this?” he said when he reached me.

“A picnic. It’s a beautiful Friday evening, and I thought we could use it.”

He nodded.

“Sit, please,” I said.

He sank on his knees onto the green tartan blanket.

“I got all your favorites,” I said. I flipped the latch of the wicker picnic basket. I took out the items I’d picked up just a half hour ago-a creamy Tomme de Chevre cheese, delicate rice crackers, star fruit, a long, thin loaf of French bread.

“Nice. Thank you,” Chris said. The formality between us was killing me.

I pulled a bottle of Merlot from the basket and handed it to Chris with a corkscrew. He went to work on the wine, while I set out glasses and plates for the food. I’d purposely brought the silver wine goblets we used as toasting glasses during our wedding. Chris noticed, his eyes locking on them, then rising to meet mine. He gave me a slight grin. He took the wrapper off the cheese. I slid the bread from its paper sleeve. We did this all in quiet preparation for what we both knew wouldn’t be a whimsical, easy picnic in Grant Park. This was a summit meeting.