Part 17 (1/2)
”Mom? You know those come off with a little makeup remover and a cotton pad?”
”I'm not taking them off.”
”Why not?”
”I spent $180 on that makeup job and I refuse to wash my face until I get my money's worth.”
Since neither Courtney nor Brett could make it to the wedding, I've had to wait till we got home to get them together, and now we're in one of the horseshoe-shaped booths at Piece on North Avenue. While I should be wolfing down their trademark white pizza and slyly building my case about why Courtney and Brett would make a perfect couple, I'm making a scene.
”That is such horses.h.i.+t! HORSEs.h.i.+T!!” I pound the table so hard that our microbrews slosh out of our gla.s.ses. ”So that b.i.t.c.h-that breast-pumping, nanny-trouble-having, divorcee LYING b.i.t.c.h told you I turned down the job?”
After almost a year, Corp. Com. has decided to reinstate my position and relaunch my old product line. Since I'd been laid off, I should have been first in line for consideration. All my old AEs a.s.sumed I'd come back, but Kathleen told them I'd rejected their offer.
”Courtney, she never called me.”
”She probably couldn't reach you.”
”I'm home twenty-three hours a day. And if I'm not around, I have caller ID, voice mail, and call-waiting. Even if she called and didn't leave a message, I'd have a record of it. She didn't call, end of story.” For some strange reason, Courtney likes Kathleen and tries to make excuses for her. ”Face it, Court. She lied.”
”Are you sure you never talked to her? I just can't see that she'd-”
”Um, h.e.l.lo? We're having dinner at a freaking pizza place instead of Morton's. I'm drinking BEER and not martinis or champagne. For G.o.d's sake, I'M CLIPPING COUPONS in an effort to conserve money. Don't believe me? I've got one in my bag right now.”
I notice the stricken look on Courtney's face and try to speak in a calmer voice. ”I don't mean to take it out on you, and I'm really sorry, but does someone concerned about saving thirty-five cents on a can of Friskies strike you as the kind of person with the luxury of being choosy? The last thing I'd do would be to turn down a well-paying job, even if it meant sucking up to Kathleen.” Suddenly I'm struck with an idea. ”Court, give me your phone. I'll call her right now and tell her I'm still available. I promise I'll be nice.”
Courtney blanches and toys with a stray pizza crust. ”I don't think that's a good idea.”
”Why not? I can prove to her that I'm still as much of a go-getter as I ever was.”
Courtney won't look me in the eye. She takes a bite of her pizza and chews it at least a hundred times before swallowing. ”She already hired someone.”
THAT b.i.t.c.h.
I grit my teeth. ”May I ask exactly who was more qualified to do my job than me?”106 ”I'm afraid to say.” Courtney shrinks in her seat.
”Come on, tell me. I'm not going to get mad at you.”
”Don't you believe her,” Brett interjects. ”She has a long history of killing the messenger.” OK, so I may have yelled at him once or twice for giving me bad news when we worked together at Midwest IR. But when his tech team couldn't deliver the solution I sold in the time they'd promised and the lost commission was the equivalent of an upscale SUV, what did he expect?
”Vroom, vroom, what'd you say, Brett, vroom, vroom? I can't hear you over the roar of my new Range Rover, vroom, vroom.” I pretend to steer the car I SHOULD have been able to buy had his team not been comprised of ham-fisted Luddites.
”I'm never going to live that down, am I?”
”Not in this lifetime,” Fletch replies.
”Will you just tell me already?” I huff.
”OK, OK. She hired...Taggart.” Courtney winces as if she's antic.i.p.ating a blow.
”Taggart? What's a Taggart? Wait a minute, is Taggart her goofy, bucktoothed sister?”
”Yes.”
”Wasn't she one of those weirdo, home-schooling, hippie moms? She has something like seven kids, doesn't she?”
”She has four.”
”And how is she going to educate a stable full of rug rats, work an incredibly time-consuming job, and churn her own organic b.u.t.ter at the same time?”
”Kathleen got her permission to work from home,” Courtney whispers. She's slid halfway under the table at this point.
I whip out my cat-food coupon and wave it at Courtney. ”This! This is what I have to resort to because some bulgur-wheat-eating, hairy-legged, ber-breeding RELATIVE got the job that should have been mine?” I bang my mug down on the table so hard it shatters, causing our server to inquire if I wouldn't prefer sitting in the shouting section.
Oh, terrific, now pizza joint waitresses are making fun of me.
Brett interjects, ”Jen, I didn't mention it because I a.s.sumed you wouldn't be interested, but your cat-food coupon is a cry for help.” Brett flicks a stray shard of gla.s.s off his sweater. ”Clearly. Julie has an open position on her team.”
”Which one was Julie? I thought you only worked with the Joshes,” Fletch says.
”Julie joined Midwest IR a few months after I left. She runs my old division.” And probably not nearly as well as I did.
”Lizzie quit to move to San Francisco, so Julie needs another marketing person. The job is still the same as when Lizzie worked for you-mostly writing Web site copy and monitoring advertisers' traffic stats. The base is about $50K plus quarterly bonuses. Do you want me to talk to Julie about you or are you looking for more?”
”A $50K salary is WAY less insulting than I used to believe, especially since it's about $50K more than I make at the moment. Honestly? It sounds like a G.o.dsend.”
Brett asks, ”Would you feel weird working a coordinator's job in the department you used to run?”
”Probably, but I guarantee you it would be less uncomfortable than the conversations I've had with my student loan officer lately. Brett, you're awesome. Thanks so much.” I lean over to hug him.
Fletch pops his head under the table. ”Courtney, crisis averted. You can come out now.” He turns his attention to Brett. ”Looks like you may finally be forgiven, vroom, vroom.”
”I so nailed it,” I tell Brett. We're sitting in his corner office doing a postmortem on my interview with Julie. If nothing else, my cute outfit should guarantee me the job-I'm wearing a fitted taupe jacket with a swirly skirt and matching camisole with spectator slingbacks. Sure, add a flower-strewn hat, and I'd fit in perfectly at the Kentucky Derby, but since I'm not applying for VP, I figured a less traditional suit would be appropriate. ”Seriously, it could not have gone better. After all, I created the product-the portfolio management tool was my baby. I decided on the level of interactivity, the features, even the colors on the interface. How could I not be the perfect person to write marketing copy about it?”
”How'd you explain your willingness to accept a lesser position?” Brett asks.
”I told Julie my life was different now. I'm married, I have dogs, I have a whole new set of responsibilities. I said I don't want to spend sixty hours a week in the office.”
”Which, because I know you, is a lie.”
”I figured if talked up my work ethic too much, she'd worry I was bucking for her job.”
”When will she make a decision?”
”A couple of days. But she's going to say yes, I'm sure of it.”
”Cool. By the way, have you, um, spoken with Courtney lately?”
”Of course, Brett. I talk to Court all the time. Was there something specific you'd like to know?” A bright pink flush spreads across Brett's cheeks. ”You're blus.h.i.+ng! You like her! Oh, that's darling! I knew you guys would connect. You have so much in common like your triathlete compet.i.tion things and predilection for Dave Matthews.107 It just so happens she asked me to give you her number.” I root around in my purse until I locate her digits. I place her business card in front of Brett.
”Thanks, Jen. I owe you.”