Iwashappy, though. I knew how to get myself off when I was alone. And I had a husband who loved me. My life was pretty much as perfect as a night of good friends, evocative art, strong drinks, and satisfying sex.
I lay in bed and watched the ceiling, waiting for sleep.
And I reminded myself that yes—I was happy.
2
The pungency of self-tanner was an eye-stinging welcome at eight in the morning. The lingering scent meant I couldn’t be arriving to work that far behind my boss.
As I passed through the reception area ofChicago MetropolitanMagazine’s fourteenth floor offices, Jenny waved at me from behind the front desk and put a call on hold. “Good morning,” she sang, lowering the phone receiver to her shoulder. “Know what I love more than Fridays?”
I headed past her toward the office’s glass doors. “Gossip.”
“You know me so well,” she said. “Mr. Beman wants to see you first thing.”
I paused with my palm on the door handle and glanced back at her. “About what?”
Her eyes twinkled. “If my sources are right, something to do with Diane . . . who isn’t coming in today.”
Odd. It wasn’t unusual for Diane, my direct superior, to come in late or take a long weekend, but I was usually the first to know.
I went by my cubicle to drop my things at my desk. “Hey,” I said to my co-worker Lisa. The office would be mostly empty for a few more minutes, but with her heels off and coffee cup nearly empty, it was entirely possible she’d slept here.
She removed her earbud. “What?”
“Nothing, just sayinggood morning.”
She kept her eyes trained on her computer screen but smiled as she replaced the headphone. “It is, isn’t it?”
Something was going on. Even though Lisa hadn’t technically smiledatme, she rarely showed any positive emotions in my presence. I picked up theKeep it Sassymug Gretchen had given me for my birthday and stopped by the kitchen for fuel on my way to my boss’s office.
I knocked on his door gently, nodding at some of my colleagues as they filtered in for the day.
“Come in,” Mr. Beman called.
I entered his office and shut the door behind me before turning to him. “Jenny said—”
“Nice to see you here early.” He gestured at the chair across from his desk. “Have a seat.”
As always, his back was too straight, the part in his white hair too perfect, his face bordering on orange—and his compliments backhanded. I arrived at this time every day, same as everyone else—except brown-nosing Lisa. But he knew that.
I sat and sipped from my mug while he tidied his desk. “I let Diane go last night,” he said.
I only just stopped myself from spitting out my coffee. I’d worked under Diane for years. “What? But she . . .” I set the mug on his desk, and he glared at it until I picked it up again. “Why?”
“We need new ideas. Fresh perspective. She was getting too complacent.”
He wasn’t entirely off base. I’d been carrying her workload for some time while she took long “client” lunches and expensed “necessities” like manicures and an espresso machine for her apartment.
“I’ve been very pleased with your work as her editorial assistant,” Beman said. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve been covering for Diane. As the magazine skewed younger, her writing style grew older. Until you came along.”
“I—oh, um. Thank you, Mr. Beman.” By his pinched expression, I wasn’t doing a good job of hiding my shock at the rare compliment. “Your opinion means a great deal to me.”
“As it should.”
The meaning of Diane’s sudden absence began to sink in. That would free up the position for senior editor. I wasn’t next in line, but why else had Beman called me in? My heart skipped as opportunity opened up in front of me. Some people didn’t consider what I did a real job—some peoplebeing my dad. Our magazine covered the latest and hottest news around Chicago culture—hotel, gallery, and restaurant openings, art and fashion shows, local celebrity and socialite sightings, and more. My father joked that I worked on “fluff pieces for people who didn’t care about important current events,”—but he wasn’t kidding. Unfortunately for him, I loved my job—people needed fluff in their lives as much as hard-hitting news—but maybe swapping the titleassistantforsenior, along with a substantial raise, would help change his perspective a bit.
“I can do it,” I said.
