Scot on the Rocks Page 24

  “Here goes,” she said, running a comb through my long wet locks and making the first cut.

  I watched the first piece fall to the ground and felt a tear come to my eye. It wasn’t so much that I was sad — I cried often enough to know the difference between cries — it was just a recognition of how hard it was to cut away a piece of yourself. A piece of yourself that has been there since you were just a kid. Something that’s been with you for more of your life than it hasn’t.

  But maybe change is good. It certainly felt good to go out and get a new job, and I was excited about my new opportunity and the thought that it was up to me to make something of it. By letting go of what I thought I’d wanted, I had found an even better job than the one that I’d had, just as I’d recently found a new apartment that was even better than the one in which I’d lived with Douglas. I just knew that the new job was only the beginning of more new good things to come for me.

  “I can stop right now,” Starleen said, watching me looking down at my locks of hair in the mirror.

  “No, I said, “I don’t want you to stop.”

  So she didn’t.

  When all was said and done, Starleen had taken twelve and a half inches off — I knew exactly how much it was since she’d had to measure it before sending it on to Locks of Love, the charity that collects hair to make wigs for children with cancer.

  Even with that much taken off, it was still shoulder length because Starleen said that she still wanted it to look like me, but just a better me. And it did. Most people would still consider it long (or medium length if you didn’t want to be generous about it), and the cut made it look much healthier. It was healthier, lighter. The style had more movement, but it still knew exactly where it was supposed to go.

  When she was finished with the cut, Starleen began to blow it out straight on autopilot. I told her that maybe we should keep some of the natural curl in it and she gave me bunches of subtle waves.

  “Fabulous,” Starleen said when she was done and I wasn’t sure if she meant me or her own handiwork. Either way, I felt great as I walked back to my office to get ready for my official Gilson Hecht going-away party.

  “Are you ready?” Vanessa asked me as she burst into my office.

  “Yeah,” I said, still sitting behind my empty desk, applying blush. I was excited about my new haircut and even though I knew that it was a more professional look for my new job and the next phase of my life, I was still making up for the resultant “naked” feeling by doubling up on blush.

  “I told you to be ready at 5:00 p.m.! Let’s rock and roll!” she said, brushing the ends of my hair as she walked past me. Vanessa had changed out of her tailored pantsuit and into tight black pants and a tan Nanette Lepore top that was bordering on being a bit too low cut for an office party.

  “Shut the door,” I said. “I haven’t changed yet.”

  “Why aren’t you ready?” she asked.

  “Most of the people attending tonight aren’t going to be able to get out of here until seven o’clock, the earliest, and even that’s pushing it, so what’s the rush?” I asked her, grabbing the outfit that was hanging on the back of my office door.

  “I know!” she said. “We barely have any time! We need to get to the place and make sure that we have a little area sectioned off for just our group. Then we need to eat something and freshen up our makeup so that we look like we’re just coming from the office, too.”

  “Do you think Jack’s coming?” I asked, pulling down on the ends of my hair.

  “It looks fantastic,” Vanessa said, “stop touching it.”

  “Thanks,” I said, as I began to put on my own black pants and pink little top that was definitely too low cut for an office party. Vanessa picked up my telephone and started dialing. With just a bra and one pant leg on, I dove for the phone. “Do not call him!” I screamed, slamming my hand over the phone. “I was just checking to see if you knew.”

  “I’ll know once I call him,” she said.

  “If he wants to come, he will come,” I said, my hand still firmly planted on the phone.

  “But you want him to come. That’s why I was calling him. Do you really care how he gets there?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. We haven’t spoken for weeks. The last time we did speak he made it clear that he hates me. Anyway, he knows why I quit,” I said, putting my other leg into my pants.

  “Why did you quit?” she asked me, pulling up a chair to listen as if she were Dr. Phil.

  “Now the ball is in his court,” I said, putting on my top.

  “No,” she said, “I think that you’re giving him way too much credit for having ESP and reading your mind. He probably just thinks that you were miserable here like everyone else.”

  “Let’s go,” I said, pulling Vanessa out of the office.

  Seconds later, we were barreling in the door to Sammy J’s, a dive bar around the corner from the office. Every Gilson Hecht associate since 1997 has had his or her going-away party at Sammy J’s for sentimental reasons. Sammy J was a Gilson Hecht associate himself, toiling his nights away at the firm like most young associates do, dreaming about one day owning a bar. On the odd night that Sammy J wasn’t working until midnight (and some that he was), you could find Sammy J at Fat Joe’s, the dive bar that was then in the space that Sammy J’s now occupies. He was there so often that the local pizza place used to deliver pizzas for him right to the bar. He was so close with Fat Joe, having spent so many late nights at the bar, that Fat Joe let him do it. Sometime into Sammy J’s fourth year at the firm, rumors started flying around the firm about Fat Joe filing for bankruptcy and the next thing everyone knew, Sammy J was giving his two weeks notice and buying Fat Joe’s place for pennies in foreclosure. It’s considered good luck to have your going-away party there. And Sammy J will even order in the pizza for you himself.

  We sat at the bar eating pizza with Sammy J when, just as I’d predicted, at 7:00 p.m., the crowd started rolling in. Vanessa and I had commandeered the best tables in the place — far enough back to be somewhat private, but positioned just right so that we could see the front door every time it opened.

  I couldn’t keep my eyes off that door. Every time it opened, I prayed it would be Jack coming in. But it never was. I wondered if Vanessa was doing the same thing, hoping that Marcus would show up. I asked her.

  “Why on earth would I think that?” she answered.

  “Not necessarily think it, but hope it,” I explained.

  “No,” she said.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Marcus is not coming,” she said simply. And at that moment, I knew that Jack wasn’t coming, either. I would just have to accept the situation, much as Vanessa had. She and Marcus were separated, so he would not be coming. Jack and I were not together anymore — weren’t ever, really, so he would not be coming, either.

  Even though it wouldn’t kill him to show his face at an office goodbye party. I mean, the man does want to make partner at this firm, doesn’t he? My God, he could show a bit more office spirit, don’t you think?

  Vanessa went to the jukebox, dollar bills in hand, and began to select the soundtrack for the evening. “Born to Run” began to blast over the ball game Sammy J had up on the television screen and I couldn’t help but smile. I knew that Vanessa thought she was being clever. I walked up to the jukebox and checked what other songs she had selected. Equal parts Tom Petty, The Pretenders and Liz Phair, I couldn’t have picked a more sexy, kick-ass mix myself. She even had a few of my favorite eighties songs thrown in for good measure.

  We greeted the other associates as they came in and talked about my plans for the future. None of the girls could believe I’d chopped off my hair. I heard some of the third-year guys talking about which way they liked it better, but I decided not to listen because I’d decided that I liked it better this way and that was all that really mattered.

  I spoke to all of the associates who were there and told them all about the new
firm, but even as I was talking, I couldn’t keep my eyes off the door. Still hoping, praying, that with each swish of the door, it would be Jack walking in to see me. But it never was. I drank beer after beer, shot after shot, in the hopes that I would just start to relax and enjoy myself at my own going-away party.

  “Okay, Brooke,” one of the second-year associates told me, “now that you’re leaving, you have to play one of my favorite games with me. It’s called ‘Death is not an option.’” A few other second years began to gather and sat me down at the back table. They lined up beers and shots of tequila and explained the rules to me. They would name two different people that we knew and I would have to decide which of the two I would sleep with.

  “Dennis in the mail room or Tony in duplicating?” she began.

  “Dennis weighs over three hundred pounds,” I said.

  “Do I hear a Tony?” one of the other girls asked.

  “I’d rather kill myself,” I said.

  “Death is not an option!” they all cried out in unison.

  “Then I guess it’s Tony,” I said. The other second years all nodded their heads in agreement. “That was a tough one,” one of them said.

  “Okay, Rich Harper in tax or that dude in the cafeteria whose hair net is always on crooked?”

  “Rich Harper is a partner,” I said. The girls all nodded, anxious for my response, “who wears a really bad toupee.” The girls nodded again, practically falling off their seats, they were leaning in so close to hear. “I guess I’d have to take the dude in the cafeteria.”

  “Ewww!” one of the second years said. “Hair nets! I think that I got the cooties just from hearing you say that!”

  “Yeah, at least Harper would buy you jewelry,” another chimed in.

  “Yeah, Brooke, that’s kind of gross,” the ringleader said. “Okay, Emmett in word processing or Jordan Levy in corporate?”

  “Jordan’s a girl,” I said. The girls all nodded.

  “Yeah, but Emmett has a mullet,” the ringleader said. “And really bad acne.”

  “Good point,” I said. “I guess I’d have to go with Jordan, then. At least we could share clothing and stuff.” The girls all nodded along.

  “And shoes,” one added.

  “Okay, here’s a tough one — Jack, or…”

  “Which Jack?” I asked.

  “You know which Jack,” the ringleader said.

  “Jack in litigation or Jack in real estate?” I asked.

  “You don’t know Jack!” said the second-year to her left, giggling as she downed another shot from the glasses lined up in front of us.

  “Is that what this whole game is about?” I asked. “If you wanted gossip, all you had to do was ask.”

  The Doors came on and all at once I felt suffocated. “Break on Through” blasted through the bar and I couldn’t catch my breath. I had to get out of there.

  “Oh, my God, I looove this song!” one of the second years called out and they all got up to dance around the bar. I got up, too, and started heading for the door. I grabbed a strand of hair to twirl and felt my eyes tear up as I remembered that I’d cut it all off.

  I tried to grab Vanessa to tell her that I was leaving, but she was far too busy dancing on a table to pay me any mind. Yes, she was dancing on a table. She was dancing with Sammy J, though, so I was pretty sure that it was okay and that he wouldn’t try to charge us extra for destroying his bar. Turns out, the single life agreed with Vanessa much more than I expected it to. Who would have thought? Either way, you’ve gotta hand it to that girl for making up for lost time, I suppose.

  I walked outside just as a cab was approaching the bar. I put my hand out to hail it and it stopped for me right in front of Sammy J’s. The door opened and out walked — well, isn’t it obvious? Out walked Jack. Typical — the first second that I stop thinking, hoping, praying and dreaming that he will show, he shows.

  “Am I too late for the party?” he asked. I couldn’t tell by the look on his face if he was here to see me, or if he was simply here to make sure that I was really leaving.

  “No, the party’s still raging. You actually got here just in time,” I said, pointing to the bar. The sound of the music and the laughter was pouring out into the street.

  “Then, where are you going?” he asked.

  “I think I’ve had enough. Goodbyes aren’t really my thing,” I said.

  “I noticed,” he said. “You didn’t even stop by to say goodbye to me on your last day.”

  “I didn’t think you wanted me to,” I said, studying the sidewalk intently. I found myself unable to meet his gaze.

  “Do you think you can stay long enough to have a drink with me? To celebrate with me,” he said.

  “I think that I’m completely celebrated out for the night,” I said. “But half the firm is in there dancing on tables, so you’ll have no problem at all finding someone to celebrate my departure with.”

  “I don’t want to celebrate your departure,” he said.

  “Well…”

  “They made me partner,” he said. “Just this afternoon. There was this whole big meeting, and then we all went out to dinner to celebrate. That’s why I’m so late.”

  “Congratulations!” I said, my guard completely down. “I’m so proud of you.” I jumped up and hugged him without thinking, and immediately released my grip, hoping I hadn’t over-stepped my bounds.

  “Thanks,” he said. “It’s been quite a day.”

  “I didn’t think that you were coming,” I said. “I mean, you didn’t have to come. You must be exhausted. And have so many people to call, so many things to do.”

  “I wouldn’t miss your going-away party,” he said, moving a strand of my newly shorn locks behind my ear with his finger. “You know that. And, at any rate, I couldn’t wait to tell you. In fact, amidst all of the excitement of the day, all the craziness, all I could think about the whole time was coming here and telling you. All I could think about was what you would think, whether you’d be proud of me…”

  “I am so proud of you,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “I’m so happy for you.”

  “I’m really going to miss you when you’re gone,” he said, leaning in to me, his voice almost a whisper.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” I said, tears welling up in my eyes.

  He put his arm around my waist and pulled me to him. He pressed his lips to mine, hard, and I didn’t want to let him go. He ran his fingers through my hair as he kissed me and his touch drove me wild.

  When I looked up, I could see half of the firm’s associates with their noses pressed up to the window of the bar. Jack laughed.

  “See,” he said. “I told you that one of us had to quit.”

  “Well, then, aren’t you glad that I’m gone?” I asked.

  “Very,” he said, and we kissed again. He pulled back and put his hand into his jacket pocket.

  “I think that I have something of yours,” he said. “I think that you misplaced this.” He was holding the faux engagement ring. I took it and held it in my hands.

  “Thank you,” I said, looking at the ring.

  “Why don’t you hold on to that for a while?” Jack said. “Maybe if you’re lucky, someone will replace it with another one, one of these days.”

  “Is that your way of asking me out?” I asked.

  “Yeah, what’d you think?” he asked.

  “I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me for long,” I said. We smiled at each other and he put his arm around my waist as we walked toward the bar.

  We walked back into the party to a chorus of whispers and pointing. I announced to the crowd that this party just got converted from a going-away party to a “congratulations on making partner” party. All of the associates ran over to congratulate Jack, hugging him and shaking his hand, while Sammy J called out from behind the bar, “Why the hell would you want to do that?” The second years called out that shots of tequila were on them, and everyone gathered around the bar.
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  Vanessa joined Sammy J behind the bar to help him serve the shots. She was having so much fun back there, she decided to stay behind the bar to serve drinks with him for the rest of the night. It was great — it meant that everyone’s drinks for the rest of the evening were free (“I’m a lawyer, I can’t be expected to add up the costs of all those drinks in my head! Why else would you become a lawyer unless you were bad at math?”), but unfortunately, getting the actual drink orders straight was not Vanessa’s strong suit, either. She gave her customers whatever she felt like they should be drinking.

  Jack and I drank and danced and kissed until the wee hours of the night, and we finally closed the place down at 6:00 a.m., when a bunch of the second years suggested that we all go to the rooftop of the Gilson Hecht building to watch the sunrise. We all piled out of the bar and onto the roof, including Sammy J himself. He later said that it was the best going-away party in the history of Gilson Hecht.

  Epilogue

  As I walked back to my apartment, on my way home from work, I had a feeling that nothing could go wrong. You know that feeling you get when everything seems to be right with the world? When the planets seem to be in alignment? One of those days when you’re actually running on time, your apartment is (relatively) clean, and you haven’t gotten into an argument with your mother/best friend/boss/therapist in at least a week? That was exactly how I felt as I walked home that day. The previous spring, I had survived my ex-boyfriend’s wedding with my dignity ever-so-slightly intact, and by fall, I was engaged to man that I loved (yes, Jack! Jack, Jack, Jack!), had a wedding date set for the following summer (which delighted both Jack’s and my parents alike), and was planning the wedding of my dreams. (Well, okay, it was really the wedding of my mother’s dreams. What, like your mother wouldn’t get involved?)