Company Ink by E.L. Lewis
o n e
"I am keeping the damn succulent!" I gently place my sweet Stella on top of the banker's box which is full to the brim of my belongings.
Over the last three years, I have somehow managed to accumulate seven mugs, four pairs of workout leggings, three water bottles, and thirteen lip glosses. I should've cleaned my desk more frequently; I've been buying the same Buxom gloss every two months thinking I lost it. Well, maybe this is the bright side to all of this. I may not have a job anymore, but hey, at least my lips will be plump and shiny for years to come!
"But that belongs to the company, Cassie." My bitchy ex-co-worker reaches into my box and grabs my baby. I knew Ingrid always hated me. Every time we had our weekly Monday morning meeting, she would scowl at me like she was sucking an extremely sour Warhead. The fact she's acting like a treacherous witch right now is not surprising. "You can't take the plant."
My mouth drops. She's only talking to me like this because New Vision Press decided to keep her instead of me. Poor Ingrid thinks it's because she's a valuable employee but I'm sure it's because she makes half of my salary. NVP laid off thirty staff members today due to budget cuts and the atmosphere in the office has been tense, to say the least.
"I have been watering her and loving her for years! What has the company done for Stella? Huh? Nothing!" I yank the Calico Hearts out of her weaselly little fingers. "She's mine."
Ingrid rolls her eyes like a petulant child. "If you take it, I'll tell management."
My lip twitches at her vile disregard for the fact that I trained her! That I molded her! I even got her a freaking Fitbit for her birthday with custom straps! I lock my jaw to prevent myself from exploding. Yogi Zeena's mantra floats around my livid mind: You are at peace and peace is with you, you are at peace and peace is with you.
"Also, that stapler is not yours," she adds with a smug smile.
A long squeaky whimper escapes the back of my throat. No! She will not bait me. I am at peace for God's sake! Ingrid attempts to retrieve my bejeweled stapler and I swat her hand away. No! I've lost the peace. "Get your hands off of Stanley," I say through my teeth.
Ingrid scoffs and rubs her hand, feigning an injury. Oh no, I tapped her hand, someone call the police! "You know that it's really weird that you name all your stuff, right?"
I force a smile. "You know what's even weirder? Your face!" I flip my hair and storm out of the empty office. I can't believe I just sunk down to her level.
Making my way to the elevator, I focus my attention on the grey marble tiles in front of me and not on the fact that I just co-signed a one-year lease on a new condo, or the fact that I have zero savings, or the fact that I might have just lost a reference. No, those things are not on my mind. They're not! I shimmy the box up my thigh to steady it and press the button to the lobby.
One would think that, working for a corporation that’s entire HR policy revolves around nurturing talent, laying off long-term employees would be a big no-no. I gave up New York for this dumb job, I gave up adventures in the Big Apple and walks in Central Park, for what? So, I could live in cold and wet Seattle? So, I can get fired right before my salary review? So, Ingrid could hang her stupid embroidered cat paintings in my office? My corner office...with a view. I saw the way she was eyeing my desk like a corporate vulture when I was packing up. God, I can't believe this is happening. I didn't slave away at college for years to be treated like this! I didn't work countless overtime and weekends to get laid off!
I let out a shaky exhale. No, it's fine, relax. Everything will be fine. It's their loss. If they want to keep 'can't figure out how to scan multiple documents at once' Ingrid and not me, then that's their prerogative. Good riddance I say. Onto bigger and better things.
The elevator pings and the doors open. Joel at the security desk gives me a sympathetic smile and waves me over. Oh great, the pity farewell.
"Cassandra, dear, not you, too." He hangs his head; genuine disappointment catches his features. "And you and Monique just got a new apartment and everything. Oh, this is awful, truly terrible."
Oh, I hadn't even thought about Monique. She's going to freak out. I was the one who insisted we move into a bigger place, one with an in-suite laundry and a functional dishwasher. How am I going to tell her I might not be able to make rent next month? It's not like she can support both of us on an ESL instructor's salary.
"I'll be fine Jo, really," I comfort the sixty-year-old man, patting him on the shoulder. He doesn't need to know that I'm utterly fucked right now. "I have options, I do. Don't worry about me. Just promise me you'll keep doing your daily stretches and drink eight cups of water a day."
"I will, I promise." Joel lifts up his teal water bottle that has the time and motivational phrases etched on the side. "This bottle you got me sure is a big help, the hourly reminders really do keep me on track."
"That's great, Jo!" I smile warmly. I'm going to miss Joel and our weekly tuna salad sandwich lunch dates. "Well, I suppose this is it. Take care, okay?"
"Are you sure you'll be alright?" he asks with a frown.
Straightening out my shoulders, I take a deep steadying breath. "I always am!"
The sound of my Manolo Blahnik heels clicking on the tile floor echoes through the building as I exit through the revolving doors. I'm going to miss the acoustics in this office. There's something about the sound of designer heels stomping against a cold and hard surface that just makes a girl feel powerful.
"But we're going to be just fine, Stella," I whisper, peering into the banker's box. "And you, Stanley, aren't you glad you get to go home with me and not stay with that evil Ingrid? I just know she'd pluck off all your jewels! You were born to shine, Stanley, don't let anyone tell you otherwise!"
As I descend the final stair and step onto the sidewalk, a rock-hard body collides with my shoulder, the force causing Stella to fly out of the box, spilling, her pot shattering on the dirty streets of downtown Seattle.
"No!" I shriek, dropping down to my knees. "Stella!"
Her pot is cracked beyond recognition, soil sprawled about, her little flower petals bent and broken, mirroring the state of my heart. I crane my neck upward menacingly slowly towards the source of the destruction.
On an ordinary day, the man hovering above me would be someone that I'd slip my number to; slim fitted black suit, Haute Couture probably, strong build, wide shoulders, aviator sunglasses, slicked-back charcoal hair, and a chiseled jaw speckled with stubble, but today, he looks like death incarnate.
"You!" I jump up, dusting my hands against my cream-colored pants suit. "You killed Stella."
"I beg your pardon?" the man asks, confusion capturing his ruggedly handsome features.
"My plant!" I point to the ground, my blood boiling with grief and anger. Peace, who?
"Oh," he hums with a faint smirk. "Perhaps in the future, you should watch where you're going. That way you can avoid any more...botanical deaths."
"You crashed into me!" I exclaim, crossing my arms. The nerve of this gorgeous oaf! I will never be able to look at Armani suits the same ever again!
"Prove it," he demands with a hint of amusement in his voice. "What is your evidence?"
I huff. Evidence? Is he serious? "I can requisition the CCTV footage if you'd like." I point to the cameras in the front of the office tower.
"Please, go ahead," he responds confidently. "I'll wait here."
He knows quite well that I'm not actually going to go through with it. "Can't you just say sorry?" I ask, glaring at him, my reflection visible in his sunglasses. I tuck a wayward piece of hair behind my ear. Goodness, I look like a mess right now. I'm going to have to get my hair done later this week, my ash blonde highlights are starting to look a tad brassy. Maybe I'll get a massage as well, for the sake of restoring my Zen.
The man chuckles lightly. What?! He's laughing? Clearly, he's a sociopath, feeding off of my distress. "I am so sorry for your loss," he says, voice dripping with sarcasm.
This guy! I scoop up what's left of Stella and place her beside Stanley. Maybe I can re-pot her at home, perhaps she still has some life left in her. Grabbing the handles of the box, I turn on my heel. I've had enough of this asshole.
"Good day, sir," I seethe. Before I can take a step forward the bottom of the box gives out, littering the ground with all my stuff. I freeze and stare off into the distance, trying to fight back tears.
Today is not my day.
On the corner of the street is a flower kiosk, I slowly walk towards it, my body limp with defeat. Why do bad things happen to good people? Why...?
"What are you doing?" the man asks in a concerned tone.
"Oh, you know, just going to walk into oncoming traffic," I answer completely deadpan.
"What?" The man grabs my shoulder, his eyebrows furrowed. "Please don't do that! I'm truly sorry about your plant." Sarcasm replaced by alarm.
"I'm joking." I roll my eyes, shaking off his large hand. "I'm getting a plastic bag from the florist."
"Oh," he hums, following me to the stand. "You really shouldn't joke about things like that."
"Whatever," I sigh, turning my attention to the young woman with a Lord Farquaad haircut selling bouquets of flowers. "Hi, there. Can I please have a plastic bag?" I point to all my shit sprawled on the sidewalk. "My box broke."
"Awe, that sucks! For sure you can. It'll be twenty-five cents." She holds out her hand.
I miss when bags used to be free. I fumble around my purse. Damn it! I sheepishly meet her eyes. "Can I pay on Visa? I don't have any cash."
She sucks in her breath. "Oh, sorry. We don't take card payments under five dollars."
"Okay." I force a smile, my entire body tensing. "Is there anything here that I can buy five for dollars?"
"Unfortunately, all of our arrangements are twenty dollars and up."
"What?!" I blink rapidly, my vision slowly turning red. "You're telling me that I need to spend twenty dollars on flowers, I don't need or want, just so I can have a plastic bag?! Are you serious?!"
"Here." Stella's murderer holds out a one-dollar bill. "Please take it. Consider it compensation for your troubles."
"Why are you still here?" I ask, my irritation flaring. "Perhaps you'd like to destroy all these pretty flowers as well." I say gesturing to the floral arrangements.
"I'm here because, and I mean no offense, you seem slightly unhinged," he says in a low voice so only I can hear him.
My jaw drops. "Unhinged?!" I exclaim, every fiber of my being jolted in extreme offense.
"Yes," he states matter-of-factly, handing the attendant the crisp dollar bill. "I'm afraid you might do something rash."
The bouquet bitch hands me a plastic bag. I snatch it from her, refusing to meet her judgmental eyes. "What makes you think I would do something rash?" I whisper harshly, walking back to the scene of the crime.
"Well, you were talking to an inanimate object earlier and did threaten to throw yourself into oncoming traffic."
Shit.
He's not wrong. That behavior does teeter the line between sane and insane. Oh...maybe I am unhinged. What an unwelcome realization.
I force a meek smile. "I appreciate your concern, but I am fine." I stuff my belongings in the bag and loop it through my arm. "I'll be going now."
The man hands me seventy-five cents. "For the funeral arrangements," he smirks. I narrow my eyes in utter disbelief. He thinks this is a joke!
"Plants are living organisms, they eat, grow, and reproduce. They deserve respect," I inform him, grabbing the change from his hand and tossing it into the hat of a nearby homeless person. "Goodbye, you small-minded simpleton!"
Some people!
I can sense his eyes burrowing into my back as I head in the direction of the bus stop. I groan inwardly. The bus. This is the new normal now I suppose. One of the best perks of being a Senior Events Coordinator at NVP was access to the company car. We held book signings, fairs, and press conferences all over the city, so a car was a necessity. I don't think Ingrid even has a driver's license. Why in the hell did they keep her? Is saving money that much more important than competent staff? No, whatever, enough of this pity party! I wish Ingrid and her split ends nothing but the best.
I'm sure that everything will work. It has to, right? People say it's always darkest before the dawn. I bite my lip. I just hope my roommate is a fan of proverbs.