Georgia on Her Mind(7)

“Casper obviously doesn’t seem to appreciate all you’ve sacrificed for them, and Chris showed you how much your love means to him today. He forgot your name, Macy.”

“He did, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did.” Lucy reclines against the back of the couch, plate in hand, and reaches for the TV remote. She stops on the latest installment of The Apprentice.

“Luce, hey, do you mind?” I point at the TV with my chopsticks. “I don’t need a reminder.”

I wonder if Donald would fire me. Better yet, fire Roni Karpinski. “Veronica, you’re fired.” Hmm. I feel a little better.

Sigh. But my life is not a reality TV show. It’s worse. Seeing my name on that Casper org chart dropped from the manager box into the slush pile of staff names was painful and humiliating, then running into Chris with Kate…

I wonder if I should call him and sort this out. What if he’s with her? I can’t bear it. I won’t call. Makes me look desperate. If he’s got something to say, he can come say it.

In the midst of my mental and spiritual debate the phone rings. Lucy answers and hands it to me with her eyes popping, her finger over the mouthpiece.

“It’s your boss,” she whispers.

“You don’t have to whisper, Lucy.” I yank the phone out of her hand.

“Hi, Roni.” Maybe she’s watching The Apprentice, too, and is calling to apologize.

“Macy, it’s Mike Perkins.”





Chapter Four




Oh. Yeah. My boss. “What can I do for you?”

“Sorry to call you at home, but you never came back to the office—”

“I had to take care of some things.”

“Mmm-hmm, right. Listen, Pete Miller called from Atlanta. He needs technical help with his Web software upgrade. He’s crunched for time on an e-business launch.”

“I tried to send him Tim Sorenson last month, but he refused. Didn’t want to pay for on-site support.”

“Well, he’s not refusing now. He’s demanding.”

Figures. “The schedule is full for the next few weeks, Mike.”

“Wel-l-l-l, Jillian booked you on the 7:15 a.m. out of Melbourne.”

I spring to my feet. “Me? Seven-fifteen!” My plate of moo goo gai pan tumbles to the floor. Lucy fumbles with her plate trying to catch mine and tips the carton of wonton soup.

“Roni and I decided you’re the best one to calm Pete down. Do a little company campaigning. You can install W-Book. Get him excited about our new product.”

Company campaigning? The company that just demoted me? This is s-o-o-o Roni. Mike rattles off the trip details while Lucy mops up soup and fried rice and peas. Stunned, I listen to his instructions, confirming them with a series of “Mmm-hmms.”

By the time we hang up, my stomach is in tiny knots. I haven’t been on-site in aeons. But hey, it’s like riding a bike, right? You never forget. Wanted: a three-wheeler.

I pen a mental checklist of to-dos: pack, pay next week’s bills, print out my e-ticket. Oh man, my laptop is at work.

I give Lucy the lowdown. “Macy, why don’t you tell him you can’t go?”

“Of course, why didn’t I think of that? And when he fires me, can I move in with you after I sell the condo?”

“Right. Happy trails.”

Yeah, just as I thought. We continue discussing the weirdness of my day as I finishing cleaning up, taking our plates to the kitchen.

“Mace, I’m so sorry about today. I’ve been praying for you,” Lucy says, retrieving a can of carpet cleaner from under the kitchen sink. She grabs a clean dish towel and heads to the living room.

“Thank you, Lucy.” I peer at her through the pass-through. Where would I be without her friendship? She’s in there cleaning up my carpet as if it were her own, praying for me, comforting me, encouraging me while I refuse to give up griping and complaining.

I can’t say that I deserved this day or that God is punishing me, but I can say that if I’d been walking a little closer to Him it might not sting as much.

“Are you going to quit?” Lucy asks, returning to the kitchen, replacing the carpet cleaner.

“No, I can’t afford to be a prima donna.”

She smiles, leaning against the doorway. “Good. I don’t want you to leave town.”

I pick up the pile of mail Lucy had brought in. “I’m willing to hang out a little while and see what happens.” I sigh. “But Lucy, life on the road is the pits.”

“I know, but give it a chance…. Oh, you got it.” Lucy points to a bright red flyer sticking out of the pile of mail.

“Got what?” I tug on the red corner and pull the piece away from the others.

“The announcement for our fifteenth class reunion.”

“Already?” There, in black and red, in the bubbly verbiage of our class secretary, Alisa Bell, is a reminder to put the July Fourth weekend on our calendars and “if your address has changed, let me know!”

Alisa has never given up the job of senior class secretary. In her mind, she was elected for life. In fifteen years I don’t think one of our Beauty High classmates has managed to come up MIA.

“I can’t wait,” Lucy says. “Reunions are so fun.”