Fem Dom (4 page)

Fitz had really got Clem wound up. He knew Fitz was a shit stirrer of Biblical proportions and how he’d gotten his reputation in New York for being a very political animal. Yes, Clem knew he had a formidable adversary in Mr. Kurt Fitzgerald. For the past two years, they’d both jealously guarded their clients and team members. Having to accommodate Fitz under the old man’s instructions was a recipe for disaster. Fitz’s little gameplay moments earlier had got this new working relationship off to an auspicious start. After all, Fitz knew the drill. He just wanted to rattle Clem’s cage in the hope of wobbling his perch a little. If he wobbled it hard enough, Clem might just fall flat on his face.

Clem snatched up Fitz’s bullet points and ripped the document in half without giving it even a cursory glance. He ripped again. And then once again, for good measure.

Back on Dunkirk Crescent in Eden Prairie, Tara slid a tray of unbaked cookies into her piping hot oven and set the timer. She checked the dozen cakes rising in the lower oven and turned down the heat. The kitchen was filled with a deliciously sweet aroma as Tara sprinkled flour onto a second baking tray.

Ding dong!

Tara hurriedly shook off her hands and touched her hair into place, leaving a white dusting of flour on her forehead. She hurried down the hallway towards the front door, curious to know who her early morning visitor might be. Standing there on the doorstep was Lorraine Pink, one of Tara’s few friends.

“Lorraine! Great to see you!”

“Thought I’d swing by as I was in the neighbor…damn, girl.” Lorraine looked at the white powder on Tara’s forehead. “You look like you’ve been snorting coke and sneezed.”

“Huh?” Tara glanced in a mirror. “Oh, crap. I’ve been baking more stuff for the church.” Tara said, genuinely pleased to see her friend but horrified at her unkempt appearance.

“Come in for coffee and please ignore the mess.”

“Mess? Oh
puhleeze!
” Lorraine joked as she followed Tara into the spotless kitchen. “Girl, you don’t know what mess is. Try having two teenage boys living with you. Then you’d know what a real mess looks like.”

Now, Lorraine had something Tara really didn’t have - attitude. It came with the territory of Lorraine just being Lorraine. You see, she was more than just a little bent out of shape when it came to the touchy subject of
men
. It seemed they were either always walking out on her, or cheating on her, or pissing her off in general. Not that Lorraine wanted anyone to feel sorry for her.

“Mmmmm….smells good. I need one those darn cookies.”

Lorraine was a strikingly attractive woman and if Tara felt out of place being a west coast girl, she could only imagine how Lorraine felt being a black woman in a state as white as milk toast. Lorraine sat herself down on a barstool at the island counter and looked around the expansive kitchen with its professional grade chrome appliances all looking as if they’d just been unboxed.

“How are the boys?” Tara shouted, as the noisy coffee grinder smashed up some fresh Colombian beans.

“Spending the summer with their useless piece of shit father, thank the Lord.”

Lorraine was fascinated with the immaculateness of the kitchen and Tara’s obsessive cleaning ability. She ran her finger along the shiny, smooth surface of the pristine granite countertop.

“Well, he can’t be that useless if he’s looking after them,” Tara replied in defense of a man she’d never met.

“Y’know sometimes, I think the only reason you never had kids is that you’re such a freakin’ neat-nik.”

“Double or single?” Tara asked, readying a mug under the spout of the espresso machine.

“I’m good. I don’t want you messing up the world’s most perfect kitchen.”

“It’s no trouble, Lorraine.”

Lorraine looked at a framed photo of Clem and Tara on the wall taken back when they were dating in California. They both looked so relaxed and happy. Lorraine glanced enviously back at Tara.

“So tell me, since when have you gotten religion taking food to the church?”

“Gives me some sense of purpose. St. Augustine’s needs help to supplement their food kitchen.”

“So now you’re Lutheran?”

“Oh no. I just volunteer my baking services twice a week. I enjoy it. Baking’s my creative outlet.”

“You’re a pleaser, Tara. That’s what you are. Clem must adore you. You’re cute and you cook and you’ve got no kids to wear you out and fuck up your quality time.” Lorraine’s voice had a distinct ring of envy to it. “How long have you two lovebirds been married now?”

Tara pushed the flashing blue button on her expensive La Pavoni Italian espresso machine.

“Six years this May,” Tara said, raising an eyebrow at the thought. “Boy, time flies when you’re having fun, doesn’t it?”

“You’re still crazy about him, aren’t you?”

“Hell, yeah! He’s still hot -- muffin?” Tara offered up a warm tray of macadamia nut muffins.

Lorraine took one and pulled it apart. The steamy inside gave off a deliciously sweet, nutty aroma. “You made these, too?”

Tara nodded. Lorraine took a bite and closed her eyes. Tara got back to work.

“Mmmmmm…damn. You make me wanna punch you, you’re so domesticated.”

“Aren’t you teaching your yoga class this morning?” Tara asked, waiting for the La Pavoni to start spluttering steam to froth up the milk.

“Uh-huh, so I shouldn’t be eating all these calories.”

“Sorry,” Tara smiled.

“So, how’s that pretty boy husband of yours doing?” Lorraine asked as she grabbed another muffin and put it in her bag.

Tara huffed a quiet sigh. “Stressed out of his noggin, actually. Either he’s gonna make CEO or get fired.”

“Shit. No pressure there! I’m so glad I teach yoga. Stress free gig, baby. Maybe you should find something to do other than spend every day cleaning and shopping and baking shit. If his ass gets canned you can’t
both
be jobless living in a house this big.”

Tara cupped her mug and sipped the creamy foam. “I’ll be honest, Lorraine, I’m bored to tears. I’ve got to do something useful with my time.”

“Get a job and hire a maid! Jesus, with Clem’s fat salary you could have permanent live-in help, this place is so big. Wal-Mart are always looking for greeters, y’know,” Lorraine joked.

“I think I need more mental stimulation than that, thank you very much.”

“Talking of stimulation…” Lorraine flashed a coy grin, which Tara duly noted.

“Oh, so that’s why you wanted to come by. Who is it
now
?” Tara asked as Lorraine’s grin broke into a broad, excited smile.

“Tara, I swear this man is an angel. Look, you know what I think of the male species. They’re all egocentric assholes but this one is different I tell you. You have to meet him. His name’s Curtis and he’s just plain adorable. I met him at the club and we’ve been dating two weeks now and boy, does he have a body on him or what? O Lordy!” Lorraine fanned her face with her hand in mock sweat. Tara shook her head like she’d heard it all before, knowing how quickly Lorraine got through boyfriends.

“And what’s that face for?” Lorraine asked.

“Let’s just hope this one sticks,” Tara mused. Lorraine jumped off the barstool.

“Well, we were sure getting sticky the other night!” Tara pulled a face as Lorraine broke into a belly laugh. “So, Mrs. Drew. What are you and Mr. Workaholic doing Friday night? Because we all need to go out to dinner and I’ll introduce you to my new man.”

Tara shrugged. “Friday? God. No idea. We never do anything anymore. I’ll ask Clem if he can make it but I can’t promise.”

Lorraine checked her watch and grabbed her bag. “Gotta run. Listen, Clem and Curtis are really gonna hit it off. He’s a big sports nut, too. Call him right now – Friday night at seven. Maybe we’ll do McCormicks.”

As she walked Lorraine to the door, Tara liked the idea of a double date night out on the town though she knew that was unlikely to happen. She and Clem hadn’t had a single date in months, which pretty much guaranteed the odds of Lorraine’s plan for Friday night actually happening were zero to none. Mind you, they were the same odds for Lorraine and Curtis’s relationship lasting more than a few weeks. Problem was, Lorraine had a temper that could be triggered by pretty much anything. Lorraine would never admit that she was ever the problem though she taught yoga to help her relax, which at least showed that she knew she had some issues.

Tara had met Lorraine at yoga class. She loved the fact that Lorraine bitched out loud when things bugged her and didn’t care who heard. It went against the grain of the quiet and polite Minnesotan persona. And it amused Tara that Lorraine didn’t care whose feathers she ruffled. Not that she always agreed with her best friend’s perspective on life and matters. Tara could never be that
Type A
personality. She just didn’t have it in herself.

Not working nine-to-five, not being a soccer mom or attending church religiously every Sunday meant that Tara’s networking abilities had been somewhat limited since she and Clem had moved to Minnesota four years ago. Her drop-offs to St. Augustine’s were just that and she rarely met anyone there who was her generation let alone who she might want to hang out with socially. In all honestly, she was not particularly happy living in the mid-west with her family so far away back in San Luis Obispo but here she was and she really had no right to complain or feel sorry for herself and so she didn’t.

Tara stood in the middle of her fancy kitchen and looked around at her sanctum. She was fortunate to have it so good. It was summertime and the living was easy. It was just her marriage that was looking shaky and to Tara, that meant more than anything else in the world.

Justine put in a call to David Lassiter, a senior planner at Bergenson & Adler who worked one flight down. It was one forty-five precisely, the exact time Clem had instructed her to call.

“David? Hi, it’s Justine. Clem needs to cancel your two o’clock meeting.”

“Cancel it?” David laughed. “It ended over an hour ago. Fitz re-scheduled it to noon. Thought it was weird Clem didn’t make it.”

Justine was not happy. She walked into Clem’s office where her boss was typing on his laptop.

“Just spoke with David Lassiter.”

“Great.” Clem smiled, still engrossed in his work.

“Fitz switched the Rebakor meeting to noon. It’s already over.” Justine stood in the doorway, as it was a safe distance from whatever Clem was going to throw. He pushed himself away from his desk.

“Sonofabitch!”

“Want me to call David and tell him to ignore everything that was agreed? I can schedule a meeting with the two of you for later.”

“And tell everyone Fitz pulled some stunt to screw with me? No thanks. I don’t want the entire agency to know that the gloves are off between me and Fitz. Not good for employee morale.”

“Might juice up the gossip level in the agency though,” Justine smirked. Clem wasn’t amused. “Okay, so what d’you want me to do then?”

Clem pouted, locked in thought. “Fuck it. I’ll let Fitz win this one. Ask David to send up a copy of the minutes. I’ll write the creative strategy before Fitz tries to. I’ll call the prick’s bluff.”

“Got it.”

“And call James Molinaire and set up an appointment for next week. I want to fly to Louisville and get some face time with him. I don’t want Fitz charging down there with his fucking strategy in hand and big dumb toothy smile. That’s the kind of stunt he’d pull.”

Justine went back to her desk and got on the phone. Clem got back to his typing, still irritated. And it was only a matter of minutes before Clem’s irritation level hit red alert.

Ding!

Clem checked his new email message. The subject line said it all:
Rebakor Creative Strategy/Kurt Fitzgerald
.

It didn’t take more than a few seconds of reading before Clem was on his way upstairs.

Clem burst into Frank Bergenson’s office, his face red with rage. Frank was watching the stock market on a large plasma TV.

“Frank! This isn’t going to work. That jerk’s trying to run my account!” Clem stood over Frank’s desk. Frank turned around slowly in his plush brown leather chair.

“Sit down, Clem.” Clem was in no mood to sit anywhere.

“He’s gone rogue -- calling meetings without my consent, writing creative strategy and leaving me out the loop. This is never gonna work!”

“Clem, Clem, Clem. Take a breath.”

“I’m taking a fucking breath, Frank!” Clem yelled. Frank stood up and thumb punched the remote, turning off the TV. He wandered over to the wall of windows that looked down onto the Minnesota Twins spectacular new ballpark below.

“Calm down.”

“He’s pulling this shit to undermine me,” Clem steamed. “He’s just trying to push my buttons. That’s how that asshole operates.”

“Seems he’s succeeding. Your buttons are all pushed.”

“Damn right!”

“Tell me something. Who’s the best ball player on the Twins team?”

“Who the fuck cares?”

“I’m asking you a question, Clem. Humor me. Who’s the best player?” Frank turned and peered over his gold-rimmed spectacles at his fuming account director. Clem’s jaw clenched.

“Joe Mauer,” Clem seethed.

“That’s right. Great pitcher. Wonderful hitter.”

“Jesus, Frank. You gonna give me a speech about teamwork now? You might wanna have that conversation with Fitz instead of me! And I wouldn’t use the Twins as an analogy. They suck.”

“Yes, they do,” Frank chuckled. “You know why? Because the rest of the team aren’t as good as Mauer. You’re my Joe Mauer but I need more players like you on my team to make it successful. Fitz just wants to be more like you. He’s just trying too hard.”

“Trying too hard?”

“They say you can always tame a wild horse but you can’t revive a dead one. He just needs to be reined in a little.”

Clem wasn’t buying it. “You’re having this conversation with the wrong guy! Call Fitz in here. Tell him I’m Joe Mauer and put him back in the dug out. Better still, trade him back to the minors where he belongs.”

“Okay, Clem. I’ll talk to Fitz.”

“Make sure you do,
coach!
”