ONE
KELLY
On glancing away from my computer screen to give my eyes a rest, I barely notice the killer view. It's receded into the background, like many other things.
It hadn't always been this way. On first finding myself stranded at the family vacation home when the world imploded, I was in hog heaven. There were worse places to be stuck for a couple of weeks.
After a month, the novelty was gone. I missed the bustle of the agency. Of interacting with my colleagues and being automatically included in any projects for the agency's star clients.
That privilege ended so quickly that it was a wonder I hadn't suffered from whiplash. Stuck all the way up the coast, there wasn't a chance of my working on the big jobs. Not that it wasn't possible via video calls, but that one particular person didn't want it to be possible.
Jason Ralph! The agency's Aussie Executive Creative Director who's creative in title only. I'd lost count of the number of times he'd taken the credit for my concepts, claiming them as his own.
When it looked like the lockdown was going to last awhile, I'd asked if he could send me my computer so I could carry on remotely. But, according to him, someone else was now using it.
Meanwhile, I had to get along as best I could on the fully spec'd laptop they'd given me and that I'd only packed at the last minute. There was always a chance I'd have to alter a campaign when I was on vacation.
While it was a great laptop, it wasn't up to the challenge of working on large projects from scratch.
I knew what Jason was up to, because I wouldn't be the first person who'd had no option other than to resign thanks to his toxic management style.
I swear he could give that Aussie newspaper guy a run for his money with that. There's a term for what Jason was doing. Constructive termination. And, yes, it was illegal and something I could fight in court.
Whether I would, I still wasn't sure. As was often the case, the target wouldn't have the fight left to take it further. To delay the inevitable, I'd invested in a decent computer of my own. I was then surprised to find I liked it even better than the one the agency deemed good enough for me. Mine was definitely faster.
When lock-down showed no sign of ending, I'd called the neighbor who was watering my plants, and asked her to pack up some clothes for me. I'd also told her to clear out my fridge and to keep any champagne she found for her troubles.
She was more than willing to help after that.
I figured when lock-down was over, I'd move back to LA and get on with life. Boy, was I ever wrong.
Jason had other ideas, and I wasn't the only one caught up in his grandiose reorganization. It hadn't taken the top brass at the agency long to work out they could save money by having us work from home. It also allowed them to sub-let two of the three floors in the high rise.
As to the floor left populated? That'd be the one with all the beautiful people on staff, at least when it came to the female employees. These days, only the young blonde intern from my old team still graces the halls of MC&S.
The other way Jason had made it impossible for me to move back was by reducing my income, citing the pandemic as the reason. More likely, he wanted to bring on more young blonde interns to further bolster his flagging ego.
It was yet another nail in the constructive dismissal coffin, and yet I held on, my stubborn streak coming to the fore. Bitter? Me?
I'd always known Jason hated my not being stick-thin and magazine-ready as other women on staff were. There was no missing the way his lip would curl when I'd walk into his office to present my concepts. There was no missing him belittling my concepts, even though we both knew they were solid.
Just how solid always came to light when the client opted for them over anything Jason cobbled together. And yep, it was then Jason would claim my ideas as his own. I'd have loved him to try it when I was in the room, but he'd made sure I never was.
My phone ringing has me back to the present, rather than at the agency in LA.
"Hey, mom. How's it going?"
As always, my mom sounds surprised by my question. It's as though I've phoned her, and not the reverse.
"Oh, oh, it's, ah. It's going well. Listen darling, remember how we've been talking about renovating Sand 'O' Sun?"
I do, with my parents discussing updating the aptly named Sanderson vacation home for as long as I could remember. This has me answering, as I always do. "You have, and it's long overdue."
However, while I've stuck to the script on this, mom has other ideas.
"Thanks for understanding. The builders will be there tomorrow." Distracted as always, she then tells someone in the background she'll be with them in a jiffy.
This gives me a second or two to process her bombshell. However, it's nowhere long enough to digest the ramifications.
