How Low Can You Go?

All that was bad enough. Waiting at the airport, flying for six hours in a first-class seat beside Hemi, sitting beside him in the car behind Charles and barely speaking, because there was nothing left to say—it was more than bad enough.

It got worse, too, because between my cramps and my aching heart, I didn’t sleep much Sunday night. I only fell into a doze in the early hours of the morning, and my middle-of-the-night thoughts weren’t any fun at all. And when I woke up, Karen was in the bathroom with another headache, and it was a bad one.

I shouldn’t have gone to San Francisco at all, and I knew it. I should have called the doctor on Friday and gotten her in there, no matter what I’d had to do. I hadn’t done it, though, because I’d wanted to go with Hemi more. That thought didn’t help a thing either. 

Well, I hadn’t called, and I’d been wrong, but I was going to call today, and I was going to insist that they...I didn’t even know what. That they check. That they find out what was wrong with her. If it was migraines, why wasn’t the medicine working? And if it wasn’t, what was it? I didn’t have good insurance yet, but somehow, we were going to have to figure it out, because Karen couldn’t go on like this. 

She was late to school, and I was more than half an hour late to work, because I couldn’t leave until I knew she could at least make it. And there I was, walking in late after having been gone all Friday afternoon, and after the look Martine had given me when she’d informed me that Marketing had asked to ‘borrow’ me. But surely, considering all the extra time I’d put in over the months I’d worked here, a half hour wouldn’t matter. Surely. 

Nathan popped his prairie-dog head over my cubicle as soon as I’d hung up my coat. “How was the special duty in Marketing?” he asked. “Funny that I went up there and didn’t see you. I’m guessing you were in a special meeting. An executive meeting, maybe?”  

“You can stop now,” I said, pulling my laptop out of its bag. “They won’t be requiring my services again.”

“Oh.” His handsome, mobile face changed, and there was a look of sympathy in the dark eyes that I really, really didn’t need to see right now. “Sorry. Short and sweet, huh?”

“Well, short, anyway. I don’t know about sweet.”

He made a face. “Ouch.”

“Yeah.” 

“So—consolatory glass of wine tonight? And no,” he went on when I glanced sharply at him, “I’m not hitting on you. And don’t ask me whether it’s because I’m too decent a guy, or because I don’t think it’d work. I’m going for the ‘decent’ one. Self-delusion’s the best kind.”

I had to smile a little at that. “Thanks. But I can’t.”

“I’ll even buy,” he coaxed. “Noble of me, under the circumstances.”

I was about to explain about Karen’s illness when Martine glided into view on her stratospheric heels, her entire sleek form radiating feminine power, and something more menacing, too. The prairie dog popped straight down into his burrow again, and I sat down, opened my laptop, and tried to pretend that I’d been here all along.

It didn’t work. She stopped in front of my cubicle, and, no, she didn’t look happy. 

“I’d like to see you in my office, please,” she said.

I grabbed my laptop in the hope that this might be work-related. But then, what else could it be? Nobody knew. Did they? Would Hemi have arranged for me to be fired after all? Surely not. He could be cold, but he was never cruel. He wouldn’t do that. Surely not. 

My heart beat out an apprehensive tattoo all the same as I followed her elegant back. If not that—could I have done something wrong? More wrong than usual?

“Please. Sit,” she said as soon as the door closed behind us, and I did my best to breathe. And sat.

“I’ll be frank.” She took a graceful seat behind her desk. “After Friday—I’m concerned about you. I hope that you aren’t letting your personal life get…away from you.”

You have no idea. But this didn’t sound like Hemi had told her to fire me. The relief of that almost knocked me over, and I had to force myself to refocus. “I know I was late today,” I said. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” 

She waved a slim red-nailed hand. “It’s not so much the tardiness,” she said, and I flushed a little. That made it sound like I’d been late constantly, instead of once. “It’s more the...special arrangements.” Her glance was knowing, as if she were aware of exactly what I’d been doing this weekend, and exactly whom I’d been doing it with. 

“Is there a problem with my work?” The special arrangements are over, I didn’t say, because there was one way this situation could get worse. If I cried, or told the truth—either one would be so much worse, and doing both would be total humiliation, and career suicide, too, I had a feeling.

I wished for the hundredth time that I hadn’t taken this job. Quitting wasn’t an option, though. Not when I so desperately needed the salary, and, even more than that, the health insurance that was only ten days away from taking effect.

Now, Martine frowned, and I fought to keep my breathing under control. I could tell something bad was coming. Please don’t let me lose my job, I prayed. Please, no. Please don’t make me have to crawl to Hemi and beg.

“I’m going to give you a piece of advice,” she said, and my panic receded, at least for the moment. “Just because you remind me of myself, not so long ago. Be careful. I know you feel…special, right now. But you’re not.” 

I tried to keep my face neutral, but knew I was failing utterly as she went on. “You think that if you follow all the rules, if you do everything just right, it will last. But it won’t. Nothing you do, nothing you say will matter in the end, because you’re just one in a line that stretches a long, long way back. And one that will stretch a long way into the future, too. So…” She looked at me and smiled. “I’ll just say—don’t quit your day job.”

She stood up, then, and went for the door, and I scrambled to my feet. “But for now,” she said, “I suppose you’ll do what you have to do, because you don’t really have a choice, do you? You’ll go where you’re taken, and you’ll do what you’re told. You’ll take…advantage of the situation. Who could blame you?”

Her gaze swept over me, lingered on my feet. On Hemi’s shoes, which I’d worn today despite everything. She didn’t have to say anything else. I got it. 

I did my best not to stumble over my heels on the way back to my cubicle, fought back the stupid tears that insisted on rising despite all my efforts, and began to go through my assignments, to plan my day. 

Everyone might think I was a fraud, but I didn’t have to be one. I would know the truth, even if I were the only one who did. I would keep my self-respect, even if I couldn’t keep anything else. Or anyone else.

At 9:00 sharp, I called the doctor. And at 9:05, I went back into Martine’s office and told her I’d be late again the next day. And it wasn’t any fun at all.