Tote Bags and Toe Tags (16 page)

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Authors: Dorothy Howell

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Jeez, wouldn't that be a shame.
This whole memorial service was working my nerves big time. Dropping into my desk chair, I leaned back and closed my eyes, letting the delicate scent of Ty's roses wash over me, waiting for the natural therapeutic qualities of the flowers to calm me.
They didn't calm me.
My eyes popped open. I desperately needed a Snickers bar.
I rifled through the desk drawers, the file cabinet, and my purse, but came up empty. Damn. Nothing left to do but head for the vending machine in the breakroom.
Yes, I know I'd sworn not to eat chocolate anymore. But this was an emergency.
I headed down the hallway focusing on the chocolate fix that awaited me, but I couldn't get that whole don't-call-Dale thing out of my head. Okay, so maybe Ruth wouldn't want retired employees at the service, talking trash about how things were back in the day.
But why had Ruth gone off on me when I mentioned Dale? Why had she insisted I not contact anyone in the family?
It was crazy. Like having Dale at the memorial service would cause some huge problem. But what sort of problem?
I stopped in the hallway.
I definitely needed to find out.
I whipped around and went back into my office, pulled out my cell phone, and dialed the number Adela had given me for Dale.
This was better than a Snickers bar.
Almost.
C
HAPTER
16
S
omehow, it was still Monday.
My days of working at Dempsey Rowland, then pulling my evening shift at Holt's, made for a lot of hours in service to others—something I wasn't all that crazy about. So what could I do but compensate by taking longer breaks at Holt's?
I sat at the table in the breakroom, leafing through
People
magazine. Bella sat across from me flipping through
Elle
. Her tropical phase of hair design continued. Tonight, it looked as if a hula dancer were perched atop her head.
Around us, other employees came and went, heating up food in the microwave, eating snacks from the vending machine. A new addition to the breakroom was a television, which sat on the counter near the refrigerator, tuned to a news channel that nobody was watching.
“It's b.s.,” Bella said. “Nothing but b.s., pure and simple.”
At first I thought she was talking about something she'd spotted in the magazine—which, of course, I'd want to see immediately—then realized she was looking at the notices pinned to the bulletin board across the room.
“Training reviews,” Bella grumbled. “Starting today.”
I remembered somebody mentioning that Corporate was cracking down on training, assigning an employee to make sure we attended every butt-numbing, sleep-inducing session they came up with. And now they'd actually done it? Okay, this was really annoying.
The breakroom door swung open and Sandy walked in. She got a soda from the vending machine and sat down at the table with us.
“Have you had your b.s. training review yet?” Bella asked.
“No,” Sandy said. “Your review is tonight, Haley.”
I was having a training review?
“You're on the schedule,” Sandy said, gesturing toward the bulletin board.
There's a schedule?
“Let us know how it goes,” Sandy said.
“It'll be b.s.,” Bella said. “Everything Corporate does is b.s.”
Neither of us could argue with that.
“Look at those women,” Bella said, gesturing toward the television. “When I finish beauty school, I'm going to run my own salon, and you're going to see all the celebrities flaunting themselves with my hairstyles. And then—hey, what the hell? Look at that.”
Sandy and I both turned to the TV. A shampoo commercial was playing. A blonde with super long hair wagged her head back and forth, showing how full and lustrous it was. I'd seen this kind of advertisement a zillion times, but something looked different about this one. Something about the girl with the long hair.
Then it hit me.
“Oh my God,” I said. “Is that—”
“No way,” Sandy insisted.
“Yeah, it is,” Bella declared.
We all sat glued to the TV set, watching the commercial run.
“It
is
her,” I realized.
“Definitely,” Sandy agreed.
It was that girl whose name I can never remember. She used to work here at Holt's and stink up the breakroom with those diet meals she ate all the time. She'd lost like a hundred pounds, or something, dyed her hair blond, ditched her glasses, and quit Holt's. I'd seen her modeling for a clothing print ad not long ago. And now she was in a commercial on TV?
“She looks great,” Sandy said.
“I saw her last week in a Pepsi ad,” Bella said. “She was holding a baby and yelling at her husband.”
“Wow,” Sandy said.
“I hate her,” Bella said.
I hated her, too, of course.
We all just sat there for a few minutes after the commercial ended, jealous and envious but not wanting to admit to it. Then finally Sandy said, “I went shopping with my ex-boyfriend today.”
Like this was supposed to cheer us up?
“Tat-guy?” Bella asked. “You went shopping with him?”
“You two broke up,” I said.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” Bella asked.
“He needed my help,” Sandy said. “He called and said he had to go shopping for clothes to take to Hawaii and didn't know what he should buy.”
“He's going to Hawaii?” Bella asked. “Let me guess, he's taking the new girlfriend.”
“I think it might be serious between them,” Sandy said. “While we were in the mall, he stopped at a jewelry store and bought something.”
“An engagement ring?” I asked.
“I don't know for sure,” Sandy said. “I was carrying the bags and they were kind of heavy, so I sat on a bench to rest a bit.”
“I'm out of here,” Bella declared, and shoved to her feet. “There's only so much b.s. I can take.”
I was with Bella on this one.
“Later,” I said to Sandy, and left the breakroom.
I headed through the store aisles toward the shoe department, my assigned corner of retail hell for the evening. I liked working in shoes—not that I actually performed much
work
while I was there. But it wasn't my fault. Really. The shoe department had its own stock room, so what could I do but spend most of my time in there texting friends and handling my personal business?
Still, showing up in any department didn't seem all that appealing right now. Sandy had mentioned I was on the schedule to meet with the person destined to become known as the Training Nazi—not that I would ever start that kind of rumor myself, of course—so I decided to swing by the store offices and see what was up.
A position in the corporate training department monitoring training class attendance seemed pretty lame to me. I figured they must have hired somebody fresh out of college and stuck them with the job. Major yawner, if you asked me.
Personally, I was proud of my training record. Over the past few weeks I'd managed to ditch five out of the last six training sessions, thanks to my superior training avoidance tactics. I was on a hot streak, and I sure as heck wasn't going to let some corporate newbie ruin it for me.
I walked past the customer service booth and the breakroom, down the hallway where the stores offices were, and spotted—oh my God—Evelyn Croft standing outside one of the offices. She saw me at the same instant.
“Hello, Haley,” Evelyn said softly. “It's nice to see you.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
She twisted her fingers together and said, “I mentioned to you that I was going back to work.”
“Yes, you did,” I realized. “But I didn't know you meant here. At the
store
.”
This is where the
incident
caused by
that certain someone
had occurred, the one that had so traumatized Evelyn that she'd made herself a prisoner in her own home for months. Prior to that, Evelyn had been an assistant department supervisor working in ILA—that's retail-speak for Intimates, Lingerie, and Accessories.
“I'm giving it a try,” Evelyn said quietly.
Oh, great. With that attitude, she wouldn't last two days dealing with customers—and employees.
“Remember what we talked about at your house,” I said. “If you're going to do this you have to be a little more assertive.”
Evelyn drew in a breath, straightened her shoulders, and stopped twisting her fingers together.
“You're right, Haley,” she said, and pushed her chin up. “And that's exactly what I'm going to do.”
“Good for you,” I told her.
“I'm glad to hear you say that,” Evelyn said. She pointed down the hallway behind her. “Could I see you in my office?”
Evelyn had an office?
“You're on the schedule for later, but we may as well do it now,” Evelyn said.
Schedule? We were supposed to
do
something?
“Aren't you working in ILA?” I asked.
“Didn't I tell you?” Evelyn asked. “I'm the corporate training supervisor. It's my job to make sure every employee has completed all of their training, as required by the corporate office.”
Oh, crap.
Evelyn went inside her office and I reluctantly followed. She sat down at the desk and pulled up something on her computer.
“Let's see. According to the corporate log, you—oh dear, this can't be right.” Evelyn looked up at me, stunned. “There's no record of you attending five of the last six sessions, Haley.”
“You're kidding,” I said, and managed to sound surprised.
It was an outright lie, but what else could I do?
Evelyn turned back to the computer, hit some keys, and looked at me again. “That's exactly what it says.”
I leaned across the desk and studied the spreadsheet on the screen. Bright red filled five of the blocks next to my name.
“Obviously, there's an error in record keeping,” I said.
Evelyn frowned. “This presents quite a problem.”
“Not really,” I said, using my what-could-be-simpler voice as I gestured to the spreadsheet. “Just plug in the info that says I attended the classes. Problem solved.”
Yeah, okay, I knew I was taking advantage of Evelyn's demure nature, our friendship, and her first day on a new job. And, yeah, I knew it was awful of me. But, come on, this was five incomprehensively boring training sessions. No way could I sit through them—which was why I'd ditched them in the first place.
Evelyn sat there for a couple of minutes studying the spreadsheet and I knew she was thinking it over, weighing everything I'd done for her over these past months against five training sessions. My spirits lifted a little.
“There's only one thing to do,” Evelyn finally said. “You're going to have to make up the sessions, Haley.”
“What?” I might have said that louder than I meant to.
“It's the right thing to do,” Evelyn insisted.
“What?” I'm sure I yelled that.
She looked up at me. “You told me that if I went back to work I would have to be firm in my decisions. Remember?”
Heck, yeah, I remembered. But I didn't think she'd use her powers for evil—against
me
.
Evelyn rose from her chair and straightened her shoulders. “I'm sorry, Haley, but you're going to have to make up those training classes. All five of them will have to be completed within the next two weeks.”
“
Two weeks?
” I think I was still yelling.
“And because the classes weren't completed as scheduled,” Evelyn went on, “you'll have to take a test at the end.”
“A
test?
” I'm positive I was still yelling.
“If the sessions aren't completed within the designated time period, or if you don't pass all the tests, you won't be eligible for a pay raise, a promotion, or any of the corporate contests or events.”
Oh my God, I don't
believe
this.
Not that I wanted a promotion, and the corporate contests and events were usually pretty lame, but I sure as heck wanted a pay raise.
“That's corporate policy,” Evelyn said softly.
I just stared at her. No way could I sit through five training sessions in two weeks. Some of those sessions were three hours long—some were even longer. I couldn't do it. I absolutely couldn't.
Evelyn burst out crying.
Yikes! What happened?
“I'm so sorry, Haley, to give you this bad news,” she said, tears rolling down her face. “You've been such a wonderful friend to me and now I'm forced to put you through
this
. I should never have tried to come back to work.”
Oh, jeez, no.
“I should have known it would be too much for me,” Evelyn insisted between sobs.
“Don't say that, Evelyn, you're doing great,” I told her.
“No.” She shook her head. “No.”
I dashed around the desk, plucked tissues from a box sitting on the file cabinet, and pressed them into her hand.
“You're handling everything just fine,” I told her as I gently patted her shoulder. “And you're right about the training. I need to do it. Really.”
Evelyn dabbed at her cheeks and continued to shake her head.
“You're doing a super job,” I told her.
She sniffed, getting her tears under control. “Do you ... do you really think so?”
“Absolutely,” I said, giving her my cheerleader wanna-be smile.

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