A Life More Complete (3 page)

“Yeah. Dinner, after work?” I mumble,
breathless from his kiss.

“Good, I’ll see you then,” he says as
he climbs into the 4Runner.

I hop into my little Volkswagen
Cabrio and put the top down, since my hair is held firmly in place. I swing
through the drive thru of McDonald’s picking up the usual, two coffees, one
black, the other with two creams and a Splenda and this morning, a chocolate
shake. The lady at the drive thru gives me that disgusted look I always get
when I order a chocolate shake at 7:30 in the morning. I want to respond to her
sour, repulsed face with, “Piss off, bitch. How’s it any different than
ordering a hot chocolate? No one seems to frown upon that.” But I don’t. I
plaster a fake ass smile on my face and hand her the money.

My car flies into the parking garage
at record speed barely missing the arm of the security gate at its entrance. Being
late makes me anxious, but no matter how hard I try I can’t get it together to
be on time. Here I am over thirty minutes late and aimlessly looking for a
parking spot. By now I have inhaled three-quarters of the chocolate shake and
my mood has changed drastically. Being late and combined with traffic makes for
serious road rage, which translates to just plain old rage. Suddenly I feel
like I want to kick someone in the teeth.

I finally come across a spot. “Thank
God,” I mutter as I put the car in park. I throw my laptop bag over my shoulder;
grab the coffee and what’s left of the shake. I head toward the elevator as
quickly as I can manage. The coffee is bouncing around as I carry it close to
my body, menacingly sloshing out of that little hole you’re supposed to drink
out of. Suddenly I hate coffee more than usual.

I punch the elevator button with my
elbow as I grip the cups tightly just waiting for the moment when the coffee
finally falls in love with my jacket and jumps out of the cup. I hear the gears
turn and the lurch of the wire as the elevator makes it way up from the ground
floor. The doors slide open and it’s practically filled, with
clean-shaven-suit-wearing men with vacant stares. The smell of cigarettes,
cologne and coffee overwhelm the small space and I want to gag. I wriggle my
way into the small spot available directly in front and no one moves to make
room.
Who said chivalry is dead?
When
the doors close, I zone out.

The elevator dings and I’m out and
rapidly making my way toward the conference room.

“Morning Maggie,” I say as I blow
past her sitting behind the reception desk.

“Hey, Kristin,” she says and trails
off when I don’t stop to chat. Normally I would’ve stopped, but unfortunately
for her I’m late. Really late, now.

The conference room is buzzing with
conversation and I notice immediately that my boss, Ellie, is absent from the
overly large table. But my partners in crime are there, staring at me from
their chairs awaiting the coffee that is now ridiculously late. I lean down and
peck both of them on the cheeks as I hand off their coffee.

“Good morning.” I smile and flop down
next to them. I suck down the rest of the chocolate shake, which is now just
chocolate milk, totally proving my previous point.

“Why the hell are you so late and on
your day to pick up coffee?” Melinda asks.

“I overslept and then I got caught in
traffic.” I roll my eyes trying to force my story home. It’s only a partial
omission of the truth.

“Whatever,” she says rolling her eyes
back at me before taking a long drink of her coffee. Before she can speak again
Bob jumps in with his two cents.

“You did not oversleep,” he accuses
with such force I want to defend my lie entirely. “You never oversleep. In the
six years I have known you, you have never once overslept. If by “overslept”
you mean you were shacking up with Ben, then that I believe.” He glances at
Melinda and I know the two of them are about to gang up on me.

“Agreed. Why can’t you just admit
that’s what you’re doing? We don’t care, well I think Bob cares because he
secretly hoped Ben was gay, but other than that we don’t care.” Bob laughs at
this statement and shrugs his shoulders. We all know it to be true, Bob has a
huge crush on Ben.
   

My BlackBerry vibrates on the table
and silences them for a few seconds. It’s a text from Ben.

Ben: Have a great day at work. I miss you already and you’re right...My
boss is an asshole. Working too hard already. Shoulda called in sick
.

I beam and text him back quickly.

Me: At least your boss is hot as hell. Mine is a menopausal control
freak. Miss you, too. See you tonight.

When I finish they are both staring
at me with intent and even though I love them both dearly I don’t want an early
morning lecture regarding my sex life.

I met Melinda and Bob when we were
all hired six years ago to comprise a new public relations team at Ellie Regan
P.R. We became inseparable, all of us having nothing better to do than throw
ourselves into our entry-level jobs, booze it up after work and enjoy each
other’s company. They are my family and we tease and torment, laugh and cry,
love and hate each other with such potency it’s no wonder everyone else in the
office avoids us. Both Melinda and Bob are Southern California natives and they
pretty much embody everything you imagine that to be. If I met either of them
on the street I probably wouldn’t even consider talking to them. They are
completely out of my realm of reality, but that’s what makes our friendship so
bonded, so different.

Melinda is the epitome of a
California girl. She’s from Laguna Beach. Her family, so wealthy that I can’t
even begin to fathom the amount of money, yet she sits next to me at our monetarily
amazing job that doesn’t even cover the rent on her Los Angeles high rise
penthouse. She is overly blonde, overly skinny, overly tanned, always over the
top. Her boobs are fake, along with her nose and excessively plumped lips. She
bears an uncanny resemblance to a Barbie. She is manicured, pedicured, bleached
and waxed on a regular schedule. She is the total opposite of me. The first day
we met she ran her index finger down the length of my nose, taking me by surprise.
“Oh my God! I wish I had known you when I got my nose done. Yours is so perfect
and cute. Damn it!” Those were the first words she said to me and to this day
she still stands by them. In spite of all of these things, she’s caring and
kind, but when crossed or backed into a corner she can turn on you rather
quickly. And something no one would know by her outward appearance, she will
always be the smartest person in the room. When I say smart, I mean crazy
smart, like solving-quadratic-equations-long-division-in-your-head-knows-every-U.S.-President-in-order
smart, which sometimes leads to a battle of wits with anyone who is willing to
challenge her. But she can play dumb to beat the band. I adore her.

Then there’s Bob. The only man I know
who can make premature gray look as sexy as George Clooney. It suits him at twenty-nine
years old, along with his strategically grown stubbly beard and fitted designer
suits. He’s tall and thin, but muscular, a natural runway model and a total
disappointment to women. Melinda and I love to watch the faces of women when
they realize he’s gay. All he has to do is utter a few simple words and their
smiles drop away, along with all their hopes and dreams of finding the ideal
man. In my eyes he is the ideal man. He wants nothing from me except friendship
and he loves me regardless of my mass of faults. He’s funny, crass and vulgar. Bob
is everything to me, a father, a brother, a best friend and he makes me feel
safe. He can throw a punch better than any straight man I know. I witnessed him
knock out a guy twice his size at a club one night, because the guy got a bit
too fresh for Melinda’s liking. He’d do anything for the two of us and we feel
the same.

Ellie bustles into the office, all
flowing red hair and file folders. For once, I’m happy she has arrived. Her
suit is too tight around her middle and she’s flustered like always. She’s a
micro-manager who loves dissecting news articles depicting public relations
disasters and she loves, loves, loves to be in control. She is, for some reason
inexplicably terrifying. I remind myself again for the thousandth time not to
think badly of Ellie. Not only is she my boss, but she also took a chance on a twenty-two
year old with no experience or connection to her company. She hired me and I
like to believe it was because of my great interview, but I think it had more
to do with my mention of being from Illinois. Ellie is from Indiana and her
eyes lit up when I told her. I think she was looking for a protégé to mold into
a mini control freak like her. I never conformed and as much as she liked to
come down on me, she knew our little team was her ticket to catapult her
company beyond her vision. She started the company at eighteen and has kept it
running for thirty plus years, but had never seen the success that Melinda, Bob
and I brought. We landed a gold mine six years ago and didn’t even know it.

Ellie begins the meeting with a
schedule of events that need promoting and continues on to the nightmare of
dividing and conquering the new client list. This seems to go on for hours and
I zone out. Dropping my phone twice with a loud clatter on the table warrants
nasty looks from Ellie and a slight laugh from Bob. I mouth “sorry” to Ellie
but she seems unfazed by my ill-fated attempts to feign interest. It doesn’t
concern me. There will be no new clients assigned to Melinda, Bob or me. After
six years our little group should have been disbanded, we should be independent
of each other taking on our own clients, traveling alone, being lonely. Yet our
clients became so accustomed to having at least two of us present at press
junkets or grand openings or interviews that we remained intact. We branched
away somewhat, each of us having someone that worked only with one of us, but
we always bounced ideas off each other and treated the clients as a whole
rather than belonging to one person. Ellie dismisses the meeting and I realize
an hour has passed and I have no idea what went on.
Whoops!

“Melinda, Kristin and Bob I need you
to remain behind. We have some business to attend to and I want your full
attention.” All three of us stare at Ellie. She’s tapping her pointed toed pump
on the ground as the rest of the group shuffles out the door. The annoyance is
evident as she sighs heavily.

 
“Okay, here’s the deal. I received an
email this morning from Debi Miller, Kathy’s assistant, of Green Pea Baby. I
guess there was some backlash from her customers regarding changes to her
products that she failed to mention. Some chemical additions in efforts to save
money on production. Customers have had awful reactions to the changes and are
now emailing and forwarding pictures to her of their broken and burned skin. And
in Debi’s words, Kathy “lost her shit” and shot off a mass email to every
customer on their email list. She claims that it could ruin the company. Not
only did she send the email, but also she turned into a screaming lunatic
outside her Calabasas store.” Ellie pulls her hand through her hair and shakes
her head. She thrives on this shit even though she wants everyone to think she
can’t handle a minute more.

Green Pea Baby was one of our first
clients. We worked for hours on end with Kathy to promote her product. She had
created baby shampoos and washes in BPA free plastic containers using only
natural ingredients. We pushed the product into the hands of every retailer who
would take it. She opened her store in Calabasas with a lavish party and seemed
fit to enjoy her early retirement. But recently cracks began to show in the
façade and to say I’m surprised she “lost her shit” would be a lie. She wanted
to create a product she could be proud of and it never really mattered if it
went very far. This was our first lesson in knowing your clients. We assumed
everyone wanted wealth and success. She was a prime example of how wrong we
were.

“Bob,” Ellie addresses him harshly
causing all three of us to whip our heads around to stare at her. “Work with IT
and figure out if there is anything we can do about the mass email. Liaison
with Green Pea’s IT department if needed. Melinda, type up a statement
regarding the changes in the product after you meet with Debi Miller. She’ll be
able to fill you in on the changes that have been made. This will be hitting
the news soon, so make sure the statement is ready when the calls come in. Kristin,
I need you to meet with Kathy and find out how serious the damage is. Meet her
in the Calabasas store. And Melinda, email the statement to Kristin, because
she’ll need to do some damage control. All statements need to match in order
for this to be seamless. We need this to blow over, Kathy needs this to blow
over.” That’s Ellie for you. She doesn’t even come up for air. She thrives on
this kind of shit and her day has been made.

Ellie slams the door behind her as
she exits the conference room with such purpose that I fear for anyone standing
in her way. Before the door even closes Melinda laughs.

“Can’t we just have a normal day at
the office?” she giggles. “Most people get to take an hour lunch, eat sushi,
drink a beer, play solitaire. Not us.”

Before I can answer her the bell on
my phone sounds alerting me of a notice on my calendar. “Shit,” I mumble to
myself. As I scroll through the calendar. “Today’s Trini’s interview with
Hollywood Reports
and I never got the
list of “don’t ask” questions to the interviewer. Also, one of us needs to be
there. She’ll never make it on her own.” I reach for my milkshake, knocking it
into my lap by accident, spilling the small amount that is left onto the crotch
of my pants. “Damn it,” I say as Melinda instantly hands me a Tide stick from
her purse. I smile at her gratefully.