Chapter Twenty-Six
“How cozy. You and Riley all buddy buddy,” Vie said
dragging out his name, her boots once again on the seat, arms wrapped around
her knees. “You’re fast,” she needled,
though I drove her home after my
workday.
So it was my turn. “I don’t
know, Vie. Mr. Riley promised business
opportunity meetings. And he seems
pretty motivational to me. You see how
the other agents reacted. They were
lit.” Flipping the script, I continued;
“I bet he can put a fire under you.”
Not meaning
to sound like Jackie, I hurried on without at a glance at her. “And you heard him say he gives incentive
awards. How much you make is up to
you.”
“Fire, huh? Well; maybe; but Diamond, you know office
work is not my thing. Please. . . . I’m
just along for the ride”—literally, I
thought.
Though
expecting Vie’s response, I continued to push.
“Come on, you wouldn’t like getting paid to prance around the men all
day?” I ribbed.
Laughing, her gaze swung back towards me. Looking directly into my eyes she said,
“Hey. Maybe, you’ve got something
there,” finally taking her boots off the seat.
Again facing forward she stretched out her feet, her hands behind her
head as if contemplating the thought, as we headed home.
“He sure dresses sharp,” Vie observed, as if visualizing him.
“Yeah, he does,” I agreed.
“Do you think it’ll motivate the guys? You must’ve seen the way they eyed
his clothes.”
“Yeah. Humph. Who needs a hundred Mr. Rileys?”
Why not? It won’t be half bad.
Actually, I could see it happening overnight with Mr. Riley’s
charisma and example. Already today the
male agents tucked in their shirts and tighten their ties—as if we wouldn’t notice, while Mr. Riley stood at the white
board. He took off his jacket, cuffed
his shirtsleeves and helped everyone understand deductibles, while looking
executively crisp.
And his suits? Not some rack attack. Definitely tailor-made. I envisioned him entering
each day dressed in navy blue pin stripes, heather grays.
“Vie, did you hear Mr. Riley recommend shops? . . . That was
pretty unselfish of him, don’t you think,” I asked, finding myself
smiling.
“Maybe . . . but why? Again,
what’s wrong with their clothes?” she asked.
“I don’t think he meant that.
It’s just, look at the guys. Do
they look professional to you? No wonder
sales are down. Mr. Riley just wants to
take the shop to a new level—a classier level to impress future clients. Dignify the agency.”
I admired the direction he was going.
“And Vie, what about Jackie?
Do you think she’s going to change her style?” I wondered, amused. Though, if she does I suspect it’ll be for
different reasons. “Maybe less
provocative?”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Vie smirked.
“But, Cowen did tell her to ‘tone it down.’”
“No he didn’t. He said
that?’ I asked, shocked, both hands gripping the steering wheel as I kept
looking at her to see if she’s serious.
“Yeah.”
‘Naw. You’re kidding.”
“No.”
“I can’t imagine. . . He didn’t say that, did he? He just got here. Tell me; what did he really say?’
Vie laughed. “You think you
know him already?”
“Don’t you? He seems pretty
open.”
“Yeah. Okay, I’ll give you
that; he does. . . Anyway, when we were leaving today, he said it to Mr. Peters
and she overheard.”
“Said what? What did he
say?” I demanded. It seemed important to
know, though I couldn’t say why.
“Wow, Diamond; he’s married.”
“Yeah? What does that have
to do with anything? Just tell me what
he said?”
“Well. He said it kind of
in a loud whisper,” she continued, her arm over her headrest as she faced
me. “At first I thought he was kidding,
but I guess he wasn’t.”
“Forget it.”
“Okay, okay” she says, quitting the stalls. “He just said to Mr. Peters, looking at
Jackie’s outfit, ‘No wonder the men aren’t “out” bringing “in” policies.’ And he wasn’t smiling. She must’ve heard; she was standing kind of
near. I did, and I was farther away.”
“Being the new boss, and hot at that, she’d better get on his good
side. Don’t you think?”
I nodded.
She’s a smart chick, I
thought. She’ll know what to do. Though, isn’t Jackie engaged? I
wondered. Now all her future efforts may
include or will be directed totally towards Mr. Riley.
Probably. . . But that shouldn’t
concern me; I’m not in a race.
“You know, Diamond. Jackie
hates your guts?” Vie offered unsolicited.
And I hadn’t noticed? Like she hid it? Sometimes I’m sincerely amused by it. Jackie’s attractive, sexy and older than me;
yet she always watches me, as if we’re after the same thing. But we
aren’t, so what’s her problem?
I glanced over at Vie as if to say, “And?” then decided to ask,
“Do you know why?”
“Um-a-um,” she pretends, shrugging her shoulders. “Why don’t you ask her?”
“Because it’s not that serious,” I answer just as casual. “I just figured since you brought it up you
wanted to tell me.”
And it isn’t important, though I believed I knew. The
guys. I kid with them all the time,
but I’m the new girl. This is her
territory. No bonding, talking and
laughing. This puts hatred, or something
similar to fury in her eyes. And even
today, despite last Friday’s scene, when Mr. Riley had a few funny words for
me, Jacqueline Slaughter looked like she could grind glass with her bare gums
and spit them at me. If only she knew
how uncomfortable Mr. Riley makes me she wouldn’t consider me a threat.
“I notice that after you left his office you didn’t talk much with
Mr. Riley,” Vie interrupts. “Why is
that? Don’t you like him?” she asked, her
eyes accusing, “I know you do.”
I said, ‘He’s nice enough; I don’t know him yet.’
“I thought you said you did,” she said, grinning.
“I didn’t answer,” I say still seated beside the fireplace, after
replaying this whole morning’s scenario to Mom in a low voice. She?
Sprawled out on the sofa, dead to the world.
“Truth is he’s very likable, Mom.
He’s compassionate and understanding, but his strong resemblance to
Seneca makes things awkward. Gets under
my skin. I swing back and forth between
like and dislike.”
Maybe she hears me. Knowing she doesn’t, I get up, tucking the
throw tighter around her body still dressed in a red wool crepe dress from her
afternoon excursion.
That should be news to her, my dislike of Seneca. If she
did hear what would she say?
Reseating myself in the wing chair, I think about her afternoon,
wondering; what brought her in so early
today? And also . . . what made that necessary? My main question facing me. Another empty bottle.
This time whiskey; straight?
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