Up & Out - Ariella Papa [25]
Where the hell is Hackett? Where is Jen? We go back into the auditorium after being ushered to the bathrooms in shifts. The stage dims and then the lights come up and some guy is singing a song that sounds familiar. There are dancers.
“What is this?” John asks.
“It’s that song from the early seventies. I think it was a one-hit wonder,” the woman in front of us says. “I forget what it’s called. I think I’ve seen the guy selling memorabilia on QVC.”
“Are we supposed to be impressed by this?” John asks. The guy onstage is a cheeseball. I doubt there is even a “Where Are They Now?” segment about him on VH1. I can’t believe it. I feel gassy from the soggy turkey sandwich.
The rest of the afternoon is something I never want to think about again. It was like someone’s idea of a pep rally. It made no sense. We were expected to do call and response. There were people—cheerleaders—who came onstage and encouraged us to answer their cries of “Indy” with “MU.” They kept saying, “I can’t hear you!” You could tell they tried to get a real diverse group, but no one seemed to have any sense of rhythm. This was abundantly clear because they insisted on blasting a lame version of hip-hop.
There were some traitors who were getting into the call and response. I had to believe that it was all for show. I had to believe that they were so desperate to save their jobs that they would resort to screaming “MU!” like a cow whose udders were getting pulled too hard.
For their enthusiasm, they received bank teller dolls or sparkly calculators that were hurled at them by the rhythmless dancers. Needless to say, no one threw anything back to my row. I had been duped. No response was my response.
We got released at five-thirty. Again, banker’s hours. They encourage us to go home and think of all we can bring to the company. Balloons come down from the ceiling. I imagine how much money this day cost. I am going to be sick.
On the way out of the theater, I notice they put the leftover breakfast pastries back in the lobby. There is something shiny over the top of some of them. I feel nauseous in the elevator up to my floor.
Hackett’s office door is closed. I go back to my office but I come out every ten minutes to check on Hackett so I can give him a piece of my mind, despite the warnings I got from both Janice and John. It doesn’t take long to realize he is gone for the day.
“People in his position lose out big when these things happen,” John says, suddenly a sage. Claire Wylini walked around the floor saying “hey, you” in her ditzy way, as if it was any other day and we hadn’t just been bought by a bank.
I have no new e-mails, which is unheard of. I can understand the lack of business-related messages, but none of my friends has even bothered to send me a dumb jpeg or a chain. It was like I’d fallen off the face of the earth or got caught in a time warp. I have two voice mails, both from the brother-and-sister Sousa team. The first was from Beth.
“Rebecca, call me. Sorry about yesterday. I just couldn’t take another day of bridesmaid torture. I know, I know I’m an awful friend. How pissed is Kathy?” I certainly wasn’t absolving her, not after the way she had been acting. It was between her and Kathy, but it sounded like she didn’t even have a good excuse. Of course it sucks, but it’s all part of the bridesmaid job, no one liked it, you just went along. I listen to the message from Tommy.
“Hey, Rebecca. How’s it going? Wanted to see what you were up to this week.”
Was he asking me out? Had he decided he was going to woo me again? Was he going to grow up and be normal again? I could say goodbye to the wonder wand forever. I liked being in a relationship. I didn’t want to ever get naked in front of anyone new ever again. I didn’t want to worry about going through the formalities. I pick up the phone. I put it down. This is my ritual with Tommy, I could never figure it out.
There is a knock at my door. It’s Don Beckford.
“Hey. I wanted to know if you wanted