Caching In (6 page)

As much as I hoped Lauren did the same thing, I secretly hoped she hadn’t. If she did, Chelsea would run with open arms to Daniel and I foresaw them ending up in an unfaithful marriage, of which I’d stand up as Maid of Honor at the wedding, dreading the speech I’d have to lie through my teeth to manage getting through. I perked my ear in an effort to not miss her response.

“I’m sorry. I missed you. It won’t happen again. When can I see you?”

He leaned into the counter. “I can’t see you anymore.”

“What? Why?”

Please don’t tell me my best friend is that stupid. I didn’t know what Daniel possibly had that made her compromise herself and put her into such situations. If it was the sex, I’m sure she could find someone better.

Just as Daniel started with his reply, a customer approached the counter. Shit! I could get the scoop from her later. I anticipated her heart breaking into a million pieces and I reminded myself to try and be as sensitive as I could to help pick them up. What did I say, though? Here was a relationship I didn’t support and wanted to end, yet the very ending of it meant heartbreak for my closest friend. A shitty situation indeed.

I finished with my customer in under two minutes, but Daniel already left. While I missed his exit, I couldn’t miss Chelsea choking on a cry as she ran into the break room, her hand clasped to her mouth. I glanced over at my manager, Daryl, who only nodded in approval of my running after her.

A customer approached the window as I placed the “Next Window Please” sign in front, drawing a grunt. Oh well, jerk off. I had other things to tend to. I raced to the break room, swinging the door open to be greeted by a bawling Chelsea with her head on the table, and a combination of seafood and coffee in the air. Reheating seafood in a public microwave should be illegal.

“Chelsea, are you okay?”

She lifted her head up, her stick auburn hair a static mess, pieces sticking to her cheeks, her face blotchy from the tears. “Of course I’m not okay. You should be happy, though. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” She clonked her head back into her arms.

Great. Yes, I wanted their relationship to end, and obviously though I thought she didn’t get it, she really did. And she got it
so
good I couldn’t even comfort her. I had an obligation to try. I tiptoed over and pulled a chair out. “Chels, I didn’t want
this
. I never wanted to see you heartbroken. I’m sorry if I acted like a jerk about it. Is there anything I can do?” Were these the words people said in these situations? What did Chelsea say to me when I found out about Josh? I guess the difference came in strength and esteem. I never stood for it. I never would have even dated Josh if he were involved with someone else, and Chelsea walked right into it. She was the perfect case of “I told you so,” but I’d be an asshole to say it.

I listened to her sob for about five minutes, no words coming out. When the door opened and someone tried to come in, I waved that person away. They could wait to eat. Finally, I went in for the comfort move and began to rub her back. Her crying began to slow, replaced by soft coughs and snorting to pull the snot back into her nose. The least I could do was help with that, so I excused myself as I went to the counter next to the refrigerator and grabbed some paper towel that sat out. I turned, and Chelsea stared straight at me, her lips stuck together, her eyes puffy and tired.

“What is it, Chelsea?”

As she said the next two words, the napkins dropped to the floor. “I’m pregnant.”

----------

I didn’t ask Chelsea any of the things I wanted. I didn’t ask her how she could let something so stupid happen. I held back the question of if she even used a condom this entire time with him knowing he had another girlfriend. I bit my tongue when I wanted to yell at her and ask her how she planned on raising a baby without the help of the father because Lord knew Daniel wasn’t going to step up. I wanted to ask if she told Daniel already. But, I didn’t ask her any of those questions; instead, I did what I thought I should do and simply wrapped my arms around her, letting her sob until the tears soaked through my shirt. An “I told you so” or “What were you thinking?” didn’t seem appropriate at the time, as much as the verbiage repeated itself in my head. I certainly would ask the questions at some point, but right now I needed to be her friend. I wanted to tell her about Seth, about how I met this man who seemed incredible and I couldn’t wait to spend time with him. Many moments the topic danced on my vocal cords, ready to burst out and tell her all about him. I held back because any happiness on my end would upset her. A good thirty minutes passed before she composed herself enough to return to work. No one asked me questions, but I figured a few of the gals must’ve figured out what was going on. Everyone knew Chelsea was dating someone, and she burst into tears the second Daniel left.

The rest of the day went easier than expected. We both went about our business, helping customers and doing our job, ignoring the situation at hand. Chelsea finally approached me at closing time. “So, are you going to talk to Daryl about your promotion soon?”

“Why bother?” I said, clicking through the screens to log off my computer. “I’m not getting the promotion anyway.” Whoever designed our computer system was a whack job. Why did it require me to log in and out of five programs every day? Programmers didn’t understand the concept of simplicity.

“You don’t know that. Besides, you’ve been here for years, you work your butt off, I don’t think you’ve ever called in sick, and the customers love you. He’d be stupid not to promote you.”

“Well, I really don’t think it’s going to happen, so why put myself through all of the hassle?” I shut the monitor off.

“I don’t understand you, Ally.” The cash flipped through her fingers as she counted her drawer.

“What does that mean?” How could my best friend not
understand
me?

Chelsea marked down her place in her count and continued. Holding a fifty dollar bill in her hand, she said, “You bust my balls about Daniel all the time, yet you don’t have any when it comes to your own life. Why don’t you grow a pair and talk to Daryl already about the promotion? You know as well I do you deserve it.”

I couldn’t stand the analogy. I got the point she tried to make, but I couldn’t “grow a pair.” The whole saying irritated me. “Just because I deserve something doesn’t mean I’m going to get it. I deserved a fair shot at love, didn’t I? Look what happened with Josh.”

“Get the hell over Josh and move on. What happened while you went treasure hunting, or whatever you call it? You never told me how that went.”

“It’s called Geocaching,” I corrected her. “I met this guy named Seth. I’m supposed to call or text him tonight to set up a date.”

She dropped her money on the counter and started clapping like a cheerleader. “Yeah! Good for you, Ally! See, everything is starting to fall into place.” She picked the money up again. “You need to talk to Daryl. Now.”

“No, I don’t.” I wasn’t in the mood to be shot down, not before talking to Seth about our date. I couldn’t be more excited to tell her all about him, like a grade school girl gushing about the new guy in class.

“I’ve got fifty bucks that says you do.”

“Screw your fifty bucks. What’s fifty bucks? I don’t need your money.”

Chelsea stuck her bottom lip out. “Please? Come on, do it for me. It’ll make me feel better.”

She didn’t need to play her breakup and pregnancy cards against me so soon. Low blow, Chelsea, low blow. I wouldn’t admit it, but she did make a point. Being a teller was fine, and most days I enjoyed it, but when did I get to move up? When did my time come to shine? If I couldn’t succeed at love, I should excel in other areas, right?
Something
good must be out there for me. I let out a humph and snatched the money from her. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

She smiled and added, “That’s the bank’s money. I’ll get you some of my own.”

----------

The door to Daryl’s office remained shut, as always. He never followed an open door policy. Most days, he hung back behind that door doing who knows what. Throughout the day, he made appearances, crossing his arms over his chest as he paced at a crawl behind each of us. After a few laps, he settled on a place to stand, straightened his tie, and moved his hands to his hips. Observation of the team typically lasted around five minutes, and he’d head back to his office and shut the door again.

The marquee on Daryl’s door was a badge he wore proud and flaunted as often as he could. He loved the title “Branch Manager,” although I didn’t know what made him stop there. Didn’t he crave to be Vice President of the entire bank? He reached branch manger and just stopped.

I already claimed the fifty bucks, so I straightened my blouse, smoothed my skirt, and after inhaling a deep breath, exhaled as my fist met the door.

“Come in,” his voice boomed through the door.

It always felt awkward being the one to open his door, but I placed my hand on the silver, round knob and turned, considering for one last second to back out. As soon as I opened the door, the only option I had was entering.

“Miss Couper.” He didn’t look up from his desk, simply stated my name. His focus lay on a pile of paper, and he seemed to be initialing in different areas. Besides his computer, the paper, a pen holder with simply two pens, and a framed picture of his two girls, who I believed were teenagers, sat on the desk. His divorce became final about a year ago, and his wife got custody of the girls. Daryl appeared outwardly to deal with it okay, never offering information about his personal life. The only reason I knew anything about his divorce was because he let it slip out at the bank Christmas party in December. I asked if his wife planned on attending, and he growled, stating she was now his
ex-wife
and he couldn’t be happier (though I doubted that to be true).

The walls of the office never sat well with me. Painted deep burgundy, with the dark desk and black frames on the wall, the space felt so enclosed. I became borderline claustrophobic in Daryl’s office. Two rounded chairs sat in front of his desk, of which I welcomed myself to the one on the right. At first, I placed my hands on either side of the chair, and then in my lap. On the sides, I thought it gave the impression I ran the show, which I didn’t, yet, and on my lap, it seemed more respectful.

“Daryl, er, Mr. Bell.”

“Daryl is fine. What can I do for you, Ally?” He asked, bringing down the tone of the conversation to a more personable one.

I scratched the back of my neck and cleared my throat. “I wanted to talk with you about the personal banker position that just opened up.”

His eyes left the paper, finally making eye contact with me. “Sam’s old position?”

“Yes, Sam. When he left, I thought you’d be filling it, and probably internally. I thought maybe -”

He pulled his glasses off and set them on the desk. “You thought what, Ally, that you’re right for the position?”

When he said it like that, it came off as demeaning. “Yes, actually. I think I’m a perfect fit.”

He grazed the sides of his lips with his thumb. “Why is that, Ally? Please enlighten me on why you are the best person for the job.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

This was the reason I didn’t want to come in on a whim. I hadn’t prepared. Asking for a promotion was no different than interviewing for a job. I needed to come prepared, fully able to give all valid points on why he should promote me over anyone else. Now the moment to prove myself presented itself, and because I let Chelsea talk me into it, I was destined to fail. “I … well, I’ve been here a number of years as a teller, and the customers really like me. I’ve never been late, and I’m pretty certain I’ve never called in sick, either.” I reiterated everything Chelsea said to me. Original.

“And this qualifies you?”

“There are other things, too.”

“Like what?”

Like what? Shit. Like what? I hadn’t done any cold calling, and while the customers liked me, I wasn’t the best at up selling. Some of the tellers sold additional services up to twice a week, and I was lucky to once a month. I wasn’t qualified for this. What was I thinking?

Daryl capped his pen. He tapped it once on the desk before placing it back in the holder. “Ally dear, if you want to be a personal banker, that’s wonderful. I’m glad you want to move up in the ranks and better yourself. Not many out there want the same. However, if you’re going to be a banker and work with people on a more personal level, you need to be quicker on your feet. This is more than just developing relationships with customers. This is a
sales
position. You must be ready to sell at all times and help bring in business. I could care less about upgrading a checking account or if you open a savings account. We need the big sells. The IRA’s, the CDs, the credit cards. You need to bring in the clients willing to give
us
their money instead of the bank down the street.” He stood up, and walked behind me. His hands met the back of the chair, my hair moving slightly as he slid his hands across the back. “Promotions don’t come easy around here, Ally. You have to work hard for things you want.”

A swallow caught in my throat. Was he suggesting what I thought? In all the years of working for Daryl, I never once imagined him to be the bottom-sucking-scumbag that would sexually harass a woman. No. He didn’t mean the ugly thoughts that clouded my mind. “I don’t think the position calls for any extra schooling, but if there are any classes or seminars you want me to take, I’m more than willing to put in the work.”