Cosmo's Deli (2 page)

Carefully checking her reflection from every angle, she is pleased. At this morning's weight and her usual five feet three and a quarter, Renny isn't rail thin, but in this dress no one would call her fat either. Renny stalked this dress—originally priced at $275—for two months at Saks, waiting for it to go on sale. It was definitely worth the effort.

It's not that Renny isn't attractive. With her big brown eyes, long wavy chestnut hair, the right outfit and attitude, she has no problem pulling off attractive. It's just that these stars line up for her on rare occasion. Most days, Renny wears a well-worn cloak of disarray with frizzed hair and faded make-up.

Taking out her blow dryer and setting her hopes on a good hair day, Renny contemplates her birthday plans. After work she is meeting her two best friends, Gaby and Sara, for a celebratory dinner. The three of them met twelve years earlier as freshmen at Syracuse University. Inseparable during school, they all chose to move to Manhattan after graduation, sharing a one-bedroom apartment in their early years after college. They are meeting tonight at Volume, a hot new Manhattan eatery where the food presentation is even more beautiful than the pretty models pretending to eat it.

With a final spritz of hairspray, Renny stuffs her blow dryer back in the drawer of her vanity and checks the clock sitting on top.

Eight forty-five.

“Shit!” Renny exclaims. “I can't be late for work again.” Rushing around her apartment, she debates her transportation options.

Cab. No good. After paying the Hunan Park delivery guy last night she has only a dollar and a MetroCard left in her wallet.

A trip to the cash machine cancels out the time saved by the cab.

The only option is the subway and being late. Being temporally impaired, Renny always seems to be living life down to the last minute and usually twenty minutes past that.

Quickly she throws herself together and is at the door of her apartment. She takes a quick scan of her stuff–briefcase, keys, shoes and make-up case for quick application on the subway.

“Oops, almost forgot the laptop!” Renny dashes to the kitchen, shuts it down, and stuffs it in her bag.

The phone rings.

She debates answering, but instead lets her machine to pick up. Anyone calling during the morning rush deserves to be screened. The familiar voice of an elderly man emanates from her machine, his consonants blending to sound as if he's clearing his throat, giving hint to his Eastern European heritage. “Khello. Khello…Cosmo's Deli? It's Mendelbaum, vere the hell is my tea and pineapple danish? You're late and I'm vaiting!”

Renny glances at her watch.

“Auch, damned machines!” he yells. A banging noise and the obvious fumbling of a phone reverberates through her apartment, followed by a loud click and a dial tone.

Renny lets the apartment door close behind her and heads off to take her place among the masses.

***

Bobbing and weaving through the morning crowds like a punch-drunk prizefighter, Renny ducks into the deli across the street from her office. There is no way she can face a meeting with Val without an extra jolt of caffeine.

As she reaches the counter, Elsay, the owner of the deli, greets her. “Renny, what can I get for you on this beautiful morning?” Elsay is a Middle Eastern man in his early forties, a thin black mustache stretched above his mouth. As usual, he wears a powder blue button-down shirt, black slacks and a white apron.

“Just black coffee and a buttered roll,” Renny answers.

“I have fresh oat bran poppy brioche,” he offers. “Or how about a slice of double blueberry loaf?”

How can someone get so excited over bread, she wonders? “No thanks, Elsay. Just black coffee and a buttered roll. I have to be in a meeting in a few minutes.”

Grabbing the items from the stacks on the counter he “tsk, tsks” under his breath while putting them in a bag. “Always black coffee and a buttered roll. Is so boring. Today is your birthday. You should live a little.”

“How did you know it was my birthday?”

“A good business man knows everything about his customers.” He winks.

Renny's banter with Elsay has become a staple in her morning diet over these last few months. The fact that he has a crush on her, however unrequited, doesn't bother her at all, especially since it always ensures her a better place in line.

Renny reaches for her wallet and her stomach sinks. She doesn't have enough cash. Luckily, Elsay waves her off, giving her the bag. “No, no, this morning is on the house. Happy birthday.”

A heavyset man in line behind her yells, “Hey, Elsay, how come I didn't get nothing free on my birthday?”

Elsay snaps, “Be quiet! Or I spit in your decaf.” He gives the fellow an evil glare and the man is silent.

All smiles again, Elsay leans over the counter toward Renny. “So how about I take you away this weekend for a romantic rendezvous?”

“And ruin the professional relationship we have? No way.” She winks and heads toward the door.

Elsay yells after her, “Professional relationship is boring too, goes good with black coffee and buttered roll.”

***

The offices of Heffner, Wilde and Cooke occupy three floors in one of the many high-rise buildings in midtown Manhattan. The twelfth floor is for the executives, the eleventh floor is where the art department and creatives do their thing, and the tenth floor is for the rest of the staff.

Renny works on the tenth floor and this morning she navigates the maze of cubicles like a well trained lab rat, her face set in a Lomanesque expression of one continuing to work long after the job has lost its excitement. Internally the tenth floor is known as the “pee-on” floor. That's because the tenth floor is always the target when something goes wrong and the executives need someone to piss on because they're pissed off. Renny has been splattered on several occasions.

Just outside of Renny's small windowless office sits Lucy, the unpolished twenty-three-year-old assistant she shares with five other marketing analysts—the vague title Renny holds and detests.

Lucy hangs up the phone as Renny approaches. “You're late.”

“Good morning to you, too.” Renny grabs a stack of folders from the out box on top of Lucy's file cabinet.

“What's so good about it? Did you know that if you travel the subway every day for a year it takes two weeks off your life expectancy? Twenty-six years and you've lost a whole year just because you rode the subway. The only thing I don't know is whether they were talking about one way or round trip.”

“Where did you hear that?” Renny asks.

“I read it.”

Lucy is convinced she knows everything, which is amazing considering she's never ventured out of New York's five boroughs. Instead, she credits her tidbits of knowledge to something she's read; even more incredible since Renny's never seen Lucy read anything other than the
Post
and the
National Enquirer
.

“What are you looking for?” Lucy asks, as Renny rummages through the folders.

“My copies.”

Lucy grabs the stack from her. “It's not in there. The copy machine's broke.”

“So use the one on the executive floor.”

“I'd have to go upstairs for that,” Lucy whines.

“Did you do the Fenway letter for me?”

Lucy shakes her head and starts to type.

“Lucy, I need that this morning.”

She keeps typing as if Renny weren't there.

“Lucy!”

Stopping, Lucy looks up at her and blows out a petulant puff of air.

“I told you I need that this morning,” Renny says. “Look outside, the sun's up, the subways are packed and everyone is drinking coffee from little cardboard cups. What does that tell you?”

Lucy rolls her eyes.

“It's morning and I need that letter!”

Sighing, Lucy reaches for papers in her box. One by one, she holds up various items, each with a different denomination of money clipped to the front. The smallest amount is a ten-dollar bill. “Let's see, I have letters for Mark, Mr. Wilde's football pool, and a product analysis for the accountants to go over. Everybody gives me stuff today that they needed yesterday.”

Then Lucy holds up a sheet with no money clipped to it as if it were the tail of a dead skunk. “This must be it. I think you forgot something.”

“This is nuts,” Renny grumbles, pulling out her last crumpled dollar bill. “I thought we were friends.”

“This isn't personal, it's business.” Lucy quickly snaps the bill from Renny and clips it to the paper, sniffing, “A buck. Are you shitting me?”

“It's all I've got.”

“I'll take it, but I usually get at least ten.”

“You should get fired,” Renny warns.

Lucy shrugs, because that possibility is out of the question. In the land of pee-ons, Lucy is the only one with an umbrella. She has worked at Heffner, Wilde and Cook for five years and has dirt on everyone, twelfth floor included. Renny wonders what it is that Lucy knows that allows her to keep her job and her attitude.

“Get it to me soon, please,” Renny says heading towards her office and plunking her stuff down on her desk.

Lucy calls out. “I'm so glad you used the magic word. Oh, by the way, Val was looking for you.”

Renny nods. “I have a meeting with her at ten.”

“They moved it up to nine. She said to send you in there if you ever came in.”

Renny looks at her watch. Nine twenty-five.

“Shit!” Renny charges back into the hallway. “Why didn't you tell me right away?”

Lucy shrugs and types, the only sound coming from her the cracking of gum and the jingle of bracelets.

She grabs a stack of folders from her office and races out past Lucy.

“You might want to rethink the shoes,” Lucy calls.

Renny looks at the commuting sneakers still on her feet and debates whether she should change shoes and be even later or just go as is.

As is wins. Renny charges toward the elevators.

***

In the elevator Renny tries to shake off the feeling of doom that has taken hold of her bowels. “It's just another meeting,” she whispers. A meeting she is twenty-five minutes late to.

And Val despises tardiness.

Doris, Val's assistant, smiles at Renny as she rushes down the hall. “They're expecting you, Renny. Go right in.”

Renny manages a smile, wondering how Doris, one of the nicest people ever, has endured working for Val for the last ten years. A slightly graying woman in her late fifties, her tall frame is stylishly dressed and her desk is always immaculate.

She hesitates at the closed wooden doors leading into Val's office, suddenly realizing what Doris said. “They? Who else is in there?”

“Lance.”

“Lance,” Renny says with distaste. The name itself slithers across her tongue. One of the doors snaps open, making Renny jump.

“There you are,” Val says dryly. “Well, come in. It's about time you joined us.” As always, Val's short jet black hair is neatly slicked into place. Muscled legs peek out from under a dark pinstriped skirt that falls just above her knees. Her white blouse is crisp and smooth as though even wrinkles know not to mess with Val.

Renny walks in and finds Lance sitting next to Val's desk. They exchange polite nods and Renny takes the other seat by the desk. The furniture in the room is sharp and angular, giving the office a cold edgy feel.

Renny looks at Lance. He joined the company a few months before her. At first they were friendly, even flirtatious. Renny had to admit that for a brief time she actually considered him as a romantic possibility.

That is until they worked together on the Magic Razor account. He screwed her by deliberately making a last-minute change in the date of their meeting with Val and not telling her. Lance presented their ideas as his own. He got all the credit and Renny got a lesson in watching her back.

“Now that we're all here, let's get to it.” Val takes her place behind the large steel desk that dominates the room. The sunlight glares through the window behind her hitting Lance and Renny in the eyes. Renny struggles not to look away.

“As you both know, we've lost several accounts over the last six months, leaving our bottom line in the crapper. The partners are looking to me to turn things around and I am looking to the two of you.”

Renny's innards twist as she silently prays that this doesn't mean she'll have to work on another project with Lance.

“There are two ways we can beef up the bottom line, bring in new business and layoffs,” Val pauses. “I plan on both.” She gets up and paces around the room. “A few weeks ago, Mr. Heffner had dinner with Walt Cedar, the CEO of Cedar Foods. It appears that they're in the process of starting a new snack chip division. Their first product will be potato chips slated to come to market early next year. They want something fresh, but according to Heffner, the old man hates change. They're making the round of presentations next week. And so one week from Friday, at eleven, they'll be here with their ad agency reps in tow. That doesn't give us much time, but we are going to take this potato chip from conception to birth. They need a product name, a campaign plan, and a long-term marketing strategy. That's where you two come in.”

Lance starts, “You want us to work on this…”

“…together?” Renny finishes.

“Not exactly. I'm quite aware that there's no love lost between the two of you, but now we're all going to benefit from your shared contempt. I'm going to loosen the leash on this one, giving you autonomy. Let's hope I don't regret it. Each of you will devise a different strategy and all the elements that go with it, with my input of course. As long as the idea is up to snuff, you'll each have the chance to pitch it to the client yourself.”

Renny is stunned. She's never been given the opportunity to present by herself. This could be her big break.