Matters of Convenience
Audrey headed down West Broadway towards her favorite shoe store. Words of praise showered upon her at that afternoon’s meeting were echoing in her head. The last author she had signed, a self-help guru who provided spiritual enlightenment to the masses in a non-intimidating page count, marketed in-house as philosophy for dummies, was the current darling of non-fiction Best Seller lists. Audrey was the golden child of the moment at her publishing house.
Wonderful as the meeting had gone, afterwards went
even better. That’s when she was all but
assured that upon the pending retirement of Brandon Murray, who had hired her
and served admirably as mentor, the open position of publisher and vice
president would go to her. She had two
main competitors. The first was Sinclair
Hopkins, a windbag who dyed his hair a ridiculous tar black shade and was one
of the last remaining practitioners in their industry of the three martini
lunch. The second was Patricia McIntrye,
Pat to those who knew her reasonably well.
Like Sinclair she was white, but that was the first and last of their
similarities. He was short, stout, often
under the influence, and known to make inappropriate comments to and about
female coworkers when alcohol rather than discretion got the best of his
tongue. Pat was tall and lean, a
teetotaler with a penchant for signing authors with a feminist bent. She had recently become pregnant, taking
everybody at work by surprise because she was a lesbian who had surpassed her
fortieth birthday by four years. Her
thirty year old lover Adrian was unable to carry a pregnancy to term, so Pat
was artificially inseminated to bring about the family they desired.
In selecting a successor to Brandon Murray, math
declared that Audrey should be the winner.
The money her authors earned surpassed Pat’s and Sinclair’s by a healthy
margin. However the world was not
propelled by mathematics or fairness.
She did not want to believe that race would work to her disadvantage but
acknowledged the likelihood that it would play a hindering role. Sinclair had the most seniority and was a
white heterosexual male in a power structure that could still be described as
an old boy’s network. Even though his
drinking and sexism had become offensive in an increasingly politically correct
climate, plus the fact that he was on an extended losing streak at discovering
successful authors, Audrey still figured the contest was his to lose. So she was surprised and delighted to learn
that he along with Pat was choking on her dust.
The purchase of a new pair of boots would elevate
her spirits even higher. She was meeting
with friends later that night at the opening a posh new restaurant, providing
an excellent venue to show off her latest pair of designer footwear. This was working out to be a great day.
She strode through the doorway of Otto Tootsi
Plohound and took a moment to scan the various sizes, shapes, materials, and
colors posed prettily about. Midway
through the process she spied a familiar face.
“Nadia.”
“Audrey. My God, it’s been ages.”
“Yes it has.
How are things with you?”
“Absolutely wonderful.” Before Nadia reached the seventh syllable of
her reply she had pulled out a series of photographs from her purse. They featured her pride and joy.
“He’s adorable,” Audrey stated automatically before
even taking a good look at the top picture.
“He’s gotten so big since I saw him last,” she said as she flipped
through the stack, aware that her comments were a carbon copy of every
conversation she’d ever had with the mother of a toddler.
“Thanks. Clay
somehow manages to grow more precious every day. I hear things are really looking up for you
at Piermont.”
Audrey was not surprised to learn that Nadia
continued to monitor events at work more than a year after her departure. She had been a workaholic up until her final
day, resulting in her being one of the most respected executives in the
company. What continued to astound
Audrey was the fact that Nadia left to begin with. She had brought about much positive change
during her career while managing to avoid bruising too many egos. It had seemed there was no limit to her prospects.
Yet she walked away from it. Nadia abandoned the income, the respect, the
power and influence she wielded. She
left all of these things behind her for the trials, tribulations and triumphs
of motherhood. The paychecks could be
forfeited thanks to substantial income earned by her husband Carlos. As for other benefits, apparently they did
not matter much when compared to the look of unconditional love found in her
son’s eyes. Nadia insisted that her
first and probably only child not be raised by nannies. She chose to follow the same “if you want it
done right, do it yourself” philosophy in her personal life that had been
advantageous to her career.
“Keep your fingers crossed for me,” Audrey said.
“You know I will.
There is no one more deserving of that position than you.” She was looking in the purse being rummaged
through rather than at Audrey as she spoke.
After pulling out a compact, lipstick, crumbled tissues and a tampon,
she found the cell phone she was looking for.
“Oh, look at the time. I always
lose track of it in here. I have to
run. Let’s do a better job of keeping in
touch.”
“Yes, definitely.”
A kiss on the cheek later, Nadia was off and
running. Audrey took a moment to compare
the version that she recalled from their time working together to the current
somewhat harried, but still flawlessly put together incarnation. Was Nadia happier now? Probably.
Hopefully. Done reflecting on the
state of affairs of Nadia Schwartz-Fernandez, she turned her attention back to
the array of podiatric accoutrements.
She knew that deciding on a purchase for tonight would be a torturous
ordeal, and she was looking forward to every second of it.
“A lovely day for shoe shopping, is it not?”
Audrey turned towards the man who approached
her. He was expensively dressed in a
sharp as a blade Armani suit, clearly not an employee of the store, but someone
who intended to spend plenty of money in it.
“Every day is a lovely one for shoe shopping.”
The man smiled, bringing about deeply etched
dimples. He was handsome in a maintained
sort of way. He had a Bill Dee Williams
circa “Lady Sings the Blues” vibe going for him, complete with requisite
well-groomed mustache. She got the feeling
that nobody was more aware of his good looks than him, and also suspected that
his confidence would be matched by persistence.
“I’m Mitchell.”
“I’m sure you are.”
“I was standing over there and couldn’t help
noticing you. I said to myself
‘Mitchell, you absolutely must go over and introduce yourself to that splendid
looking creature’. I guess you could say
I was helplessly drawn to your radiance.
I’m sure this sort of thing happens to you all the time but I’m pretty
new at being in the presence of a goddess, so you’ll have to forgive me for
being a bit tongue tied.”
“To the contrary.
You’re quite the smooth talker.”
Audrey wished she could grab a shovel to dig herself out from the mound
of drivel Mitchell had dumped on her.
She had heard plenty of scripted dialogue before from guys who lacked
spur of the moment eloquence, but nothing quite as self-indulgent as his little
seduction speech.
“Only when properly inspired. Now are you going to be kind enough to grace
me with your name? Or better yet, with
that plus your company. There’s a quaint
little café around the corner from here.
Perhaps you’d care to join me for cappuccino and biscotti so we can get
to know one another better.”
She took hold of his manicured hands, bringing about
another of his dimpled smiles, this one even more lascivious than its
predecessor.
“I think I already know you well enough. But I’ll make you a deal. I’ll tell you my name if you tell me the name
of your wife.” She pointed out the ring
finger tan line he sported, wedding band no doubt stuffed into his pocket a
minute earlier.
“Okay,” he said.
“I’m not perfect. But I have been
told that I’m pretty damn close. And I’d
be happy to keep a woman as fine as yourself stocked in as many pairs of these
shoes as your heart desires. I’d love to
tend to every single one of your desires, if you know what I mean.”
Audrey let go of his hands as if realizing he was
contaminated by something deadly contagious.
“I can buy my own shoes, thank you.
And if I wanted to run around with another woman’s husband, I’d pick any
woman other than your wife.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, licking his lips to
unintentionally provide another turn-off.
“You don’t know what you’re missing out on. I think we’d be incredible together.”
When her icy glare did not melt by so much as one
cube he got the hint, straightened his Nicole Miller tie for effect, and exited
the store with his shopping bag. It
likely contained either a purchase for his unfortunate wife, for some woman on
the side who had fallen for his sorry rap, or perhaps one for each of them.
He was gone from her mind before he even reached
the door. Wall to wall shoes made
forgetting about fools and their lame come-ons pretty easy to do.
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