I'll Be Your Everything (33 page)

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Authors: J.J. Murray

BOOK: I'll Be Your Everything
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“What about it?” Corrine must be put in
her
place, and I’m the one to do it.
“Shari, it’s making me, um, excited.”
Are his jeans crying? They are! “Let’s go back to our house where you’ll have more room.” I grab his hand.
“Yes,” he says. “I have this incredible urge to fill you in on a few things.”
We sprint down that beach to the car, he breaks speed records getting to the house, and he won’t even let me get up the stairs before, well, filling me in, right there on the hardwood stairs.
And at the moment when I think he’s going to split me in two, I look at my ring, shining like a beacon and have some seriously evil thoughts. The wench didn’t get this, did she? Oh, she got her shiny hair, but I got this to blind her with on Monday! Oh, I’m gonna destroy her, and she’ll wish she had never been born!
“Shari?”
Huh? Oh yeah. Tom is making love to me on the stairs. “What?”
“Your nails.”
I extricate my nails from his booty. “Sorry. Just had some things to work out.”
He looks behind him. “I think I’m bleeding.”
“Sorry. Can you maybe ... Upstairs. Now.”
He carries me to the empty bedroom, puts me up against the wall, and we rattle the plaster for half an hour. It’s like I’m riding a pogo stick that will never fall over, and just by holding my hips, he balances me so well we even spin around in a circle before banging to the floor and creaking the floorboards.
And the only thought going through my head is: Corrine is going to get
banged.
Chapter 32
 
F
or the rest of Saturday, we “christen” every room in that house, even the cold basement. I will never look at the Bowflex bench the same way again since it gave Tom the perfect angle of entry. We end up in front of a roaring fire on
my
couch, and I know I lose at least five pounds from getting busy there. And just when I think we can’t possibly get frisky again, he says something or turns a certain way or I make a sound, and we’re back at it.
“Why are we so insatiable, Tom?” I ask.
“I think it’s because we talked for five years without doing this,” he says. “We’re just making up for lost time.”
I do not disagree. I wipe some sweat from his chest. “Got any baby oil?”
“No.”
“Whipped cream?”
He shakes his head.
“Um, pudding?”
He laughs. “Are you hungry?”
I’m not hungry for anything but this man. “I just want to end this night with another first.”
He picks me up off the couch. “I know just the thing.”
He takes me up to the empty bedroom, but instead of slamming me against the wall again, he tells me to wait there. He comes back a few minutes later wearing a pair of jeans and carrying a roll of masking tape and that overgrown Cal sweatshirt.
“Ooh, kinky,” I say.
“Um, no,” he says. He hands me the sweatshirt. “I thought we could ...” He pulls out a length of tape. “I thought we could design our baby’s room.”
Oh man! I cry immediately this time. I put on the sweatshirt.
“This room has been empty long enough,” he says.
I let the tears fall.
“Where, um, where do you want her to sleep?” he asks.
I step into him and bawl. The sex is beyond wonderful, the future we have so bright. But this man just
knows
my every button, and he also knows the perfect moment to push it. After I recover, I kiss him tenderly.
“At first,” I say, “she’ll have to sleep in the room with us.”
He nods.
“But after that ...” I survey the room. “I want her desk, a drafting desk, not one of those school desks, a drafting desk to face the window.”
He hands me the other end of the tape. “About four feet by three feet, I’d think.”
We tape out a rectangle. I look out the window at all the lights. Oh, the things she’ll draw, and if she has half the talent of her father, she’ll be quite an artist.
We mark out her crib and changing table, her dresser, and even an entertainment center, but there is still so much space!
“Books! She has to have lots of books!” I turn to Tom. “Two bookcases.”
Tom has tears in his eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “Lots of books.”
Books. All those recommendations that led to this.
And then we just stand there in that empty room, holding each other until we start to move in a little circle. “Are we dancing, Tom?”
“Yes,” he whispers. “We’re dancing in our daughter’s room.”
Another first for both of us.
We spend the rest of that night in bed and actually sleep for a change. We wake together at six, I take a hot bath alone, he takes a long hot shower alone, and then he gets ready for church. He puts on a sharp blue suit and those fancy black shoes and I almost don’t want him to leave the house! He takes me to my apartment where I put on some black dress slacks and a white blouse, my only “fashionable” clothing, and then we walk hand-in-hand to Brooklyn Tabernacle.
It’s all so romantically ordinary!
We attend the 9 a.m. service, and for the first time in my life, I have a man beside me. I could never get Bryan to attend church, even on Christmas, but here’s Tom standing, clapping, singing, praying, and praising beside me. During the sermon, he holds my hand with his left hand and holds the Bible with his right, and during the altar call, he puts his arm around me.
This is better than bliss.
And when we hold hands and lift them high in the air during the benediction, I realize something powerful.
I’ve already won.
No matter what happens on Tuesday, I have already won.
After eating a few slices of pepperoni and bacon pizza from Tony’s Famous Pizzeria on Fulton, we go back to the apartment. I change clothes and pack a little suitcase, and then we’re off to Great Neck to prepare for battle.
It’s like the calm before the storm, and I feel more confident than I’ve ever felt in my life. We finalize the false information, and if Corrine accepts it all as fact, she will easily sound like the most ignorant advertising executive ever born. We then run our own presentation several times, and when that slide of Carl hits the screen, I still get goose bumps.
“Now we’ll run a Q and A, your first, right?” Tom asks.
I nod. Let’s do this.
“First question. Why black and white, Mrs. Sexton?”
I hesitate. What did he call me?
“You can never hesitate, Shari,” he says. “You know this question is coming.”
It’s just that the name he called me ... threw me. “Ask me again.”
“Why did you choose black and white for this campaign, Mrs. Sexton?”
“Peterson Bicycling is an old-school company with a tradition of excellence. Their bicycles are timeless, and we felt—”
“Keep it all in the present tense,” Tom interrupts. “Makes it immediate.”
I take a deep breath. “We
feel
that black-and-white photography best captures the timeless quality of their product. Those bicycles are built to last. These images will last a long time in the mind of the consumer as well.”
“You’re good.”
Because I’m Mrs. Sexton. Almost.
“Next question. Why old people, Mrs. Sexton? Why not younger people in a more conventional target demographic for outdoor activities?”
“Old-school company, old-school values,” I say, imagining myself in front of the Petersons. “The people in these photographs are full of joy. They’ve survived into their advanced years, and yet they still know the value of an American-made product and the joy it can bring.”
“I’m getting goose bumps,” he says.
I rub my arms. Me, too.
“This product is sold worldwide,” he says. “Why did you choose New York as a backdrop for this ad campaign, Mrs. Sexton?”
“New York
is
America,” I say without hesitation. “It’s where many of our ancestors first arrived.” Just not mine. “New York is a survivor, too. It’s as undefeated as the people who live here. Peterson bicycles reflect that ideal. Solid. Sturdy. Rugged. Tough. Fast. Vibrant. Peterson bicycles make riders of all ages, races, colors, and creeds feel alive.”
“Just one more question, Mrs. Sexton.”
“Yes, Mr. Sexton?” I smile at my future husband.
“How did you come up with all these ideas? I mean, you don’t even have an MBA and have never done anything like this before in your life.”
“To be honest, I told myself, ‘I would never buy this product. ’” And that
is
honest. “And then I rode it, felt like a kid again, felt free, and felt home. It’s just a bike, I told myself, but the emotions I felt were intense. I won’t stand by this product, Mr. Peterson. I’d rather ride it.”
“I wish I had written all that down,” Tom says.
“It’s all up here.” I tap my head. “And here.” I put my hand on my heart. “This simple bicycle brought me love. I could never forget any of this.” I kiss him. “I just hope I can sleep tonight.”
He looks outside. “And it’s already night.”
We’ve worked all day on a Sunday, and we’ve only left this bed to go to church and to eat. “I should be exhausted.”
“And if you aren’t,” he says, “I’m going to make sure of it.”
He leaves the room and comes back with five mismatched candles. “It’s all I could find.”
I smile.
He lights them all and even lights several sticks of incense. “Aroma therapy,” he says.
It does smell heavenly.
He leaves again, and in a moment I hear soft music coming through the walls. He returns and lies beside me. “I’ll have to route some speakers in here.”
It’s just loud enough. India Arie, Keyshia Cole, Alicia Keyes. Nice choices.
“Now,” he says, “I can either talk you to sleep, or ...”
I am so comfortable right now. “Or ...”
“Or I can try to fulfill one of your fantasies.”
He’s already fulfilled so many! “Tom, you
are
a fantasy. Just having you here beside me is enough.” I close my eyes. “Just you, man. You’re the only fantasy I’ll ever need.”
And as we drift to sleep, I no longer hear two sets of breathing or feel the vibration of two hearts. I only hear one person breathing, one heart beating.
Bliss.
“Just you,” I whisper. “Always, only, just you.”
Chapter 33
 
W
e wake before the birds have stirred and before the sun has even started to glow.
Today will be a
huge
day.
I collect all that I brought to Great Neck, and Tom drives me to my apartment so we can shower together, I can change my clothes, and we can eat some frozen waffles with tons of butter and syrup. After I turn on my phone, we listen to a few of Corrine’s
thirty
voice mails to me, each shriller than the one before, the last the most civil: “I know why you’re not answering your phone, Shari. We will talk about this on Monday morning, oh yes, we will.”
I am so not scared.
I should be amped and hyper, but I’m not, mainly because Tom communicates with touches and smiles, a hug or two, and several kisses.
We’re not all talked out. We’re just resting our gums for what’s to come.
Tom drives me to work, kisses me, and I get out carrying my tote bag, my original notes shredded and packed into a freezer bag. It’s so ordinary, so domestic, this scene. A man dropping off his woman at work.
Okay, the confetti in the freezer bag is kind of strange.
“Where will you be?” I ask.
“I might just circle the wagons for a bit,” he says.
“I wish you could be there.” I do. I’m about to make a scene.
“It’ll be just as fun to hear you tell it secondhand,” he says. “I like your voice, remember?”
Yeah. “Bye.” Another kiss. “Keep your phone handy.”
“I will.” He nods and merges into traffic.
To conserve my energy, I decide to take the elevator. I smile the entire time. I’m actually happy to go to work today.
When I leave the elevator, I go straight to Tia. “Morning, sexy,” I say.
“She is already here,” Tia whispers.
I feel a tinge of queasiness in my stomach, nothing to worry about. “Did she say anything to you?”
“No.” She fidgets with her hands. “What is going to happen, Shari?”
Fireworks in November, maybe some rockets’ red glare and some bombs bursting in air. “You may want to get a better seat.” I show her my ring.
“Tom?” she says.
I nod.
“Oh, to have your life for one day.”
I squeeze her hand. “You have to be my maid of honor.”
She smiles. “I will accept this honor.” She looks to her right. “Will it be loud, Shari?”
Fireworks, rockets, and bombs are always loud. “Yes.”
Tia smiles and claps her hands. “I will move closer then. I do not wish to miss anything.”
I take a quick breath and exhale. “Wish me luck.”
Tia shakes her head. “You have the most luck of anyone I know. I will wish you a louder voice.”
I strut to my desk and sit, shooting a quick glance at Corrine, who wears an almost normal navy business pantsuit and a white blouse. She’s even wearing sensible shoes, a pair of black flats. She has her elbows up on her desk, her chin resting in her hands.
She almost looks like a normal boss. Almost.
Instead of removing my jacket and booting up my computer as I normally do, I just sit there spinning idly in my chair. Hmm. Maybe I should start this show.
“Good morning, Miss
Cross
.” Oh, that felt
so
good. “How are you feeling this morning?” I spin to face her. “You look no worse for wear.”
Corrine grits her teeth, which is not a pretty sight. “Get over here.
Now.
”
“I prefer to stay at my desk if it’s all right with you,” I say, not whispering at all. This isn’t a day for whispering. This is a day for shouting. I want everyone at MultiCorp to hear this today.
“Shari, I
said,
get—”
“I’m staying here.” I squint. “Your breast seems almost back to normal, Miss Cross. I’m so happy for you. Or did you just add stuffing to the other one? I’ll bet that’s what you did. And I don’t smell any vinegar. You clean up nice.”
She rolls
her
chair around to me for the very first time. Hey, another first. She works her jaw and lips, but I hear no sounds.
“What’s up, Miss Cross?” I ask brightly.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to pull here, Shari,” she whispers tersely, “but I will—”
“I’ve been working, Miss Cross,” I interrupt. “You know, developing an idea, researching, coming up with a plan, immersing myself in a product, following through, taking a business trip that’s strictly business.” Except for the part at the hotel. That was pleasure. “You know, other than the traveling part, everything
I
have normally done for the last five years that
you
have taken full credit for. I’d say you have won ten, no eleven of your fifteen accounts solely because of me.”
“Lower your voice,” she whispers.
I shake my head. “It’s too quiet in here. Mondays should be loud, don’t you think? I think folks need it louder on Mondays so they can wake up from their weekends.”
Corrine looks around. “You think you’re something, don’t you?”
I lean closer and widen my eyes. “Yes. I do.”
She leans closer. “And you think you can just go into that meeting tomorrow all by your little self and win that account?”
I feel a twinge of doubt, but only a twinge. “Oh, I’m pretty confident I’ll win. Tom is a tough nut to crack, but I’ll be all over him.” I stare a hole in her nose. “Tom, um, likes me to be all over him.” I lean closer. “And I really like him to be all over me.”
She does the chin twitch and mouth quiver trick again. She is so entertaining. Oh, here come the hands. They flutter so beautifully in the air. Today she may achieve liftoff. “What have you done, Shari?”
I smile. “Your job, Miss Cross. And a whole lot better than you ever could do it on your best day. Now, do you want in on what I’m doing, or do I go to Mr. Dunn and tell him how much help you’ve
not
given me? I mean, Miss Cross, why, taking vacations to Australia and Hawaii when you should be working on winning another account after screwing up LA, why, that is tantamount to treason.” Oh, it’s so much cooler to
say
that line to someone else. I blink several times. “It’s also tantamount to termination, don’t you think?”
“You ... you ...”
“Me ... me ...” I say. I finally get to mock and echo her out loud today. Bliss, pure bliss.
“You will
never
get into that meeting tomorrow, Shari. You know that, don’t you? Mr. Dunn won’t let you anywhere near that meeting. Understand? You’re not at all qualified.”
There’s that twinge again. I roll my eyes. “But, if they don’t let me into that meeting, you’ll never work here again, Miss Cross. You may never even work in advertising again, not that you ever worked in it in the first place.” I wave my ring under her nose. “Like my ring?” I admire it. “It’s platinum. Tom gave it to me.”
Corrine blinks. “What?”
“You know, Tom. Magic tongue. Large package. Such soft, soft brown eyes.
That
Tom. We’re skipping the engagement and going straight to the wedding. Long-term relationships with superficial people just don’t suit us.” Well, shut my mouth! Corrine’s mouth is shut! Another first. I wish I had brought the camera.
“You ... you ...”
“Me ... me ...” I say again.
“You are so fired,” she says. “Give me your notes and get out.”
I could just toss my freezer bag onto the table and leave, but I’m not budging yet. “You want all my carefully made, detailed, deeply thought-out notes that you first dismiss and then claim as your own brilliant ideas?”
She sucks in her breath. “They belong to MultiCorp, not you.”
A tiny twinge. “You know, I took a lot of unpaid time last week. Four out of five days, actually.” The Tuesday when I was here but wasn’t is causing me yet another twinge of doubt. “That’s when I made all these notes, so technically I was working on my own time, so technically, they don’t belong to anyone but me.”
She sucks in her breath again. There must not be enough oxygen in here today. “G–give them to me, Shari.”
She actually stuttered. Wow. “Or what?”
“Or ... or ... I’ll have you prosecuted.”
Though this scares me, I’m ready for this. I shrug. “Fine with me. Then I’ll get to tell the world all about you. And the entire story will be in court documents. They keep those around for a long time, and sometimes the whole mess makes the newspapers, the radio, and TV. Oh, and the Internet. Can’t forget the Internet! Miss Cross, your name will be all over those documents, the newspapers, talk shows. You’ll be famous.” I sigh. “However, you may never even
work
again. But, if you want to take that risk”—I put my face an inch from hers—“you go right on ahead.”
Corrine jerks back, and several of her tresses fall out of place. Is that sweat on her upper lip and nose? Eww. “Please, Shari, just ... give me what you have.”
She just said “please.” Another first. And she’s relenting already. I am playing this woman like a drum. “For old time’s sake, Miss Cross?”
“Fine. Yes. Whatever. Give them to me.”
I shrug, reach into my tote bag, and pull out the freezer bag. I place it on my desk. “Here they are.”
She won’t even touch the bag, as if it’s a freezer bag full of poop. “What’s this?”
Your lentils, Cinderella. Hey, I get that part of the original Cinderella story now. “You asked for my notes, and these are my notes. I shredded them so they wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands. Tom’s been snooping around.”
Her mouth drops open. C’mon, where’s a fly? I’d settle for a stray dust particle. “What do you expect me to do with these?” she asks.
“I don’t know.” I stand. “Get a magnifying glass and put them back together, I guess.” I smile. “It will be like putting together a great big puzzle.”
She reaches for my arm. “I need to know what you know, Shari.”
I look down on her. Man, whoever did her weave left some big gaps of scalp. “Didn’t you just fire me, Miss Cross?”
“You’re ... you’re unfired. Please, Shari, I’m begging. I’ll convince Mr. Dunn to get you into the JAE program.”
This conversation is going in a wonderful new direction. I could just sit down and start feeding her the lies, or ... No. Tom’s circling the wagons. He’s waiting for me. But I have so much else to say! “You know that Tom and I talk, right?”
“What’s he got to do with anything?”
I bend down. “He has told me everything evil that you’ve ever said about me for the past five years. You think I’m stupid? Who’s stupid now? You think I’m a lesbian? I’m marrying
your
man. You think I’m naïve? You’re the one who thinks I’m in love with you. You think I’m a field slave. Well, you know what, I’m proud to be a field slave. I’m no house slave like you.” Did I leave anything out? Oh yeah. “You also thought I was easy to keep in my place.” I stand tall. “I ain’t in my place no more, Missy Ross.” I laugh loudly. “You have to be the dumbest Harvard graduate who ever lived.” I whip out my phone and hit the speed dial. “Tom?”
Corrine’s mouth is wide open again. Here, fly. Come here, fly.
“Yes, Tom. I’ll be right down.” I snap my phone closed, and Corrine jumps. “Good-bye, Corrin-cula.”
“What did you call me?” she asks.
I step around her. “You know, Dracula. Corrin-cula. You have this little fang. You ought to get that fixed.” I look around the office. Everyone is listening. I see Ted nodding and Tia dancing. Even Mr. Dunn is visible? He’s out of his cave. Nice. “Bye, Miss Cross. Doing business with you has
not
been a pleasure.”
I walk over to Tia, who’s doing some salsa moves. “High five?”
She slaps my hand. She picks a piece of paper from her desk. “This is my resignation!” she yells, and I jump. I didn’t know Tia could yell. “I am out of here!”
“You sure?” I whisper. “You only have a month to go till retirement.”
“Ah, I was going to call in and use all my vacation days in December anyway,” she says. “You still have a job for me, right?”
There’s that twinge again. “Um, right.” I hope.
I look back and see a grown woman, a Harvard graduate, sifting through the confetti on my desk. Why isn’t anyone clapping? Why isn’t anyone else celebrating with me? I know Ted has alimony and child support to pay, but he could at least stand up for me. I sigh. They’re all scared. Poor little rabbits. I used to be like you, but today, I am no longer a rabbit. I am a lion, and I am invincible.
Tia stands in front of me, her coat already on. “I am ready.”

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