Ms. Scrooge Page 15

  “Merry Christmas, Tim.”

  I hang up the phone, but I don’t put it back in my purse right away. I hold onto it, wondering if I’ve made a terrible mistake. I could call him back. It isn’t too late. In a year, it might be too late. Someday Tim is going to meet an amazing woman, and he’s going to get married and live happily ever after. But that amazing woman isn’t me.

  Then a text from Tim appears on my screen. It’s an address. Followed by a second text:

  That’s where I’ll be having Christmas lunch tomorrow. Just in case you change your mind.

  “We are here, ma’am,” the cabbie announces. He adds unnecessarily: “Again.”

  “Thanks.” I’ve got the app on my phone to pay for the cab ride, but I can’t be bothered right now. I shove a couple of bills from my purse in his direction and leap out of the cab.

  Of course, as soon as I’m out of the cab, I start to lose my nerve. Am I really going to do this? Am I really going to do something so unethical? That doesn’t sound like me.

  But then again, Richard is the one who started it. I’m just evening out the playing field.

  I wave to the security guard in the lobby as I stride back into the building. As I had predicted, it’s completely empty here—after all, it’s Christmas Eve. I have the elevator all to myself. And when I get to the floor for our office, I’m the only one here. I walk over to Richard’s office—the door is closed. I press my ear against the door, listening for signs he and Courtney are still in there. I hear nothing.

  That’s what I was counting on.

  Boris is the janitor who cleans our floors most nights. Since I’m often the last one in the office, I’ve gotten to be friendly with him. Well, sort of. We wave hello to each other. He showed me a photo of his five-year-old son once, and I pretended to be interested. Boris and I have a good relationship. He might be my fourth or fifth best friend in the whole world. I locate him in the hallway, pushing his mop against the ground.

  “What are you doing here on Christmas Eve, Miss Elizabeth?” he says.

  I force a smile. “Burning the midnight oil as usual. How about you? How did you get stuck with the Christmas Eve shift?”

  “It pays good.” Boris grins at me. He’s originally from an eastern European country, and he’s starting his life over again here. He’s a hard worker—like me. “And I’ll have tomorrow off to spend with my son.”

  “That’s wonderful! You’ll have to show me photos.”

  “Sure thing, Miss Elizabeth.”

  I don’t actually want to see photos. But I want to put Boris in a good mood so he’ll agree to what I ask him to do next.

  I take a deep breath, plastering a smile on my face like I’m pitching an ad campaign. “By the way, Boris, do you think you could open up Richard Hall’s office for me? There are some papers I need to get, and he said he left them in there for me. But I misplaced my copy of his key.”

  Boris doesn’t even hesitate. “Of course. No problem.”

  I put my hands behind my back so he doesn’t see how much they’re shaking as he unlocks the door to Richard’s office. I can’t believe I’m really doing this. This is not me. Marley always taught me to play fair. But on the other hand, he deserves it. He was trying to sabotage me—I’m just going to dish it back.

  Boris leaves me alone in the office and goes back to cleaning the floor. I shut the door to Richard’s office and sit behind his desk. I’m immediately struck by how much more comfortable his chair is than mine. How come they gave Richard such a comfortable chair? Isn’t it enough that he has the bigger office?

  Richard’s computer is sitting innocuously on his desk. I tap on the mouse and the screen jumps to life. The locked screen prompts me for a password.

  I remember what his password used to be. His birthday. March23—all one word. Knowing Richard, I’m willing to bet he never changed it. I type it into the screen:

  March23

  And it’s another Christmas miracle: the screen unlocks.

  My heart is pounding. Richard still keeps everything on his desktop, carefully labeled, and I can see all his pitches carefully coordinated on the screen. In the right hand corner, there is a file that says Gordon Toys. I click on it.

  This is it. This is his file with all the information for the presentation he’s going to do. If he didn’t have his file, he’d be completely screwed. He should have been more careful. It’s his own damn fault.

  I could destroy him right now. It’s almost too easy.

  I close the folder and drag it with the mouse across the screen. I hover over the trash bin and after a brief hesitation, I let it drop inside.

  Of course, this won’t be the only copy of his presentation. He’ll have one on the main server too. I do a quick search of the company shared server and find all mentions of Gordon Toys. I delete all of them.

  With that taken care of, I go back to the desktop. I bring my mouse to the trash bin—now all I’ve got to do is empty the trash. That will delete his entire campaign.

  I could do this. I could destroy him.

  It would be so easy.

  No. No, I can’t.

  I want that job, but not like this. I want to get it fair and square. If Richard wants to play dirty, that’s one thing. But I won’t. I might be an ogre who fired two employees right before Christmas, but I’m not going to sabotage my coworker. I’ve got to draw the line somewhere.

  So instead of emptying the trash bin, I instruct it to restore all the Gordon Toys files back to their original locations.

  I brush off my skirt and stand up from Richard’s super comfortable chair. Maybe I’ll go get a little work done now. That’s how I’m going to win the CEO job. Good old-fashioned hard work. But when I open the door to Richard’s office, I realize I’m not alone.

  Courtney is here.

  Chapter 26

  Damn it. Of all the people to run into here, this could be the worst. Well, aside from Richard.

  I don’t know what she’s doing here. She doesn’t work here anymore and Richard isn’t with her. I had assumed they went back to his apartment. Maybe she dropped her lipstick in his office and came back to retrieve it. Either way, this is not great.

  Courtney’s blue eyes widen when she sees me emerge from Richard’s office. I can’t even imagine what she’s thinking. Well, I can imagine. She’s probably imagining I’m here to sabotage Richard, which is exactly on the mark. And now she’s going to run back to him and tell him everything.

  I’m screwed.

  “Elizabeth,” she sputters.

  “What are you doing here?” I snap at her, trying to turn the whole thing around. After all, I work here and she doesn’t. I flash back to the way she and Richard were plotting to have me fired. God, it makes me furious just to think about it. “Didn’t I fire you earlier?”

  Courtney’s eyes darken. I glance around, but Boris is nowhere in sight. It’s just me and Courtney. She clutches her handbag to her chest, and I can’t help but wonder what she’s got in there. What if she’s got a knife? What if she’s here to stab me to death? Or does she have a gun? Am I about to be shot by a disgruntled employee?

  That would be a very fitting end to this holiday season.

  But Courtney doesn’t pull out a knife or a gun. She lowers her eyes. “I need to talk to you.”

  “You’re not getting your job back.” I turn away from her, walking briskly in the direction of my own office. “So if that’s why you came, you’re wasting your breath. You should leave before I call security.”

  “It’s not about that…” She puffs as she hurries after me. “I came here to find you. I need to tell you something.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “It’s about Richard…”

  I snort, not breaking stride. “What? That you’re fucking him? I already know about that.”

  “No. That he sabotaged your presentation.”

  Well, that gets me to stop. I pause, mid-stride, and whirl around to face Courtney. Her cheek
s are bright red. That was the last thing I expected her to say. “It’s true,” she insists. “I just… thought you should know. Richard… he’s a big liar. The worst.” She shakes her head. “Somebody needs to use the Lasso of Truth on that guy.”

  My mouth falls open. “The… what?”

  Her cheeks grow slightly pink. “You know. The Lasso of Truth? From Wonder Woman?” The red creeps into her ears. “Um, never mind.”

  I glance back over at Richard’s office, remembering how she caught me coming out of there. I wonder if she thinks I was doing the same thing he was doing. “Listen,” I say. “When I was in Richard’s office, I was just grabbing a file I needed. I wasn’t doing anything to him. I would never…”

  “I know you wouldn’t,” Courtney says before I can finish.

  I have to admit, I may have misjudged Courtney. On a lot of things. I would have thought she’d be with Richard right now, “earning” her promotion. But instead she’s here. With the boss who fired her. Trying to help me.

  I don’t get it. Is it some sort of trick?

  “Why are you telling me this?” I say.

  “Because…” She wrings her hands together. “You’re not perfect, but you work harder than anyone I know. You know this business inside and out. I feel honored to have worked with you. And you don’t deserve what Richard has been doing to you.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. I knew Courtney was an intelligent girl and a hard worker, but I never thought she stood out that much. But now that I think about it, she did put in a lot of late nights. And up until this Christmas thing, she never once complained. Maybe I’ve been unfair to her.

  I could give her back her job right now. If I wanted.

  But I can’t seem indecisive. After I fired her in front of everyone, how would it look if I hired her back the same day? Marley would never do something like that. She would never admit to being wrong.

  And neither will I.

  “Thank you, Courtney,” I say.

  She chews on her lower lip. “Well, that’s all I have to say. So… I guess I’ll go then.”

  “Yes. Have a happy holiday.”

  Courtney looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. She shakes her head, then turns around and walks towards the elevators. I wonder if I’ll ever see her again.

  Chapter 27

  There’s no way I’ll find a cab again. I don’t even try. Even the Uber takes nearly half an hour to come after I call for it.

  When I get home to my apartment, I suddenly feel incredibly tired. As I lock the door, something rubs against my ankle, and I practically jump out of my skin until I remember about Alexander. I’d forgotten all about the stray cat I smuggled into my apartment building that doesn’t allow cats. That was a bit of a lapse in judgment.

  Alexander looks up at me with a plaintive expression on his face. Well, cats don’t really have expressions, unlike dogs. But there’s something plaintive about the way he’s looking at me.

  I reach into my cabinet and pull out a can of cat food. “I forgot to feed your friends tonight,” I admit. “I’ll have to go later.” In spite of how tired I am and the blossoming headache in my left temple, I can’t skip out on feeding my little friends downstairs. They’re counting on me to come.

  Alexander meows in response.

  I empty the cat food into his bowl, and he eagerly buries his little face into the food. I run my fingers along his soft black fur. He probably needs a bath of some kind, after all his years of being outdoors. But how do you bathe a cat? I feel like that’s something they don’t like. Also, what if he has fleas? Oh my God, what if he gives me fleas?

  I shouldn’t have taken him home with me. It was a mistake. He doesn’t belong here—I’m in no condition to be caring for another living being. I need to put him back.

  Tomorrow I’ll bring him back to the alley.

  I go into my bedroom and strip off my suit from work. As I look into the closet, a horrible smell hits me. It’s this horrible ammonia stench, like a public bathroom that hasn’t been cleaned in a very long time. I gag, covering my face with my hands. That’s when I remember.

  I never made a litter box for Alexander.

  It takes me about twenty minutes to figure out which of my shoes Alexander peed on. It’s my heels from Manolo Blahnik. I don’t even want to think about how much they cost as I toss them in the trashcan. I’ve got to get a litter box for him ASAP. In the meantime, I shred some newspaper and put it down in a serving tray I find in a cupboard. According to the Internet, that will do for now.

  I pull out my phone and look at the last text I got from Tim. His mother’s address. Just in case you change your mind.

  I want to see him. I want to see him so badly, it hurts. But a relationship isn’t in the plan for me. It’s just not. And if I call him up, I know I won’t be able to say no to him again. That will be it.

  God, I need a drink.

  I go to the cabinet right over my refrigerator that serves as my liquor cabinet. It’s mostly wine, but this time I reach for the bottle of bourbon that I bought ages ago. I pour myself a shot, then throw it back. Then I pour myself a second. The amount of hard liquor I’ve been drinking lately is unsettling.

  By the third shot of bourbon, I’ve got a nice warm feeling and everything that happened today isn’t bothering me nearly as much. In fact, I’m feeling quite tired. It’s not bedtime yet, but after the day I’ve had, I don’t think anybody would blame me for wanting to lie down.

  Alexander rubs against my leg again. I stroke his soft fur, and he purrs. He’s a really nice cat. I wonder if he ever had a home. I wonder if there was a family that once loved him and then abandoned him.

  I wander into the bedroom, still holding the bottle of bourbon. I take a swig right from the bottle. God, this is good stuff. Why have I been wasting my time with wine all these years? I put the bottle down on my nightstand, right next to the photograph of Marley. I looked at her face, beaming at the camera. The picture was taken three years ago. Did she realize she had only three years left to live?

  No. Of course not. How could she?

  I run my fingers along the glass of the photo. “Marley,” I say, “I miss you so much. Why did you have to die?”

  I stare at the photograph, almost expecting it to come to life and talk to me. But it doesn’t.

  So I haven’t completely lost my mind yet.

  I let out a sigh and lie down in the bed. Alexander climbs into the bed beside me, resting his body where Tim’s head had been last night. The second my head hits the pillow, my eyes drift shut.

  Chapter 28

  When I wake up, Alexander isn’t in my bed anymore.

  I look around the darkness of my bedroom, feeling strangely disoriented. I didn’t sleep through the night. It’s still dark out, and when I look at the clock, it says it’s nine o’clock. I’ve only been sleeping for a couple of hours.

  I stretch out my arms, wincing at a dull pain in my lower back followed by a sharp pain in my left knee. I must’ve been sleeping in a strange position. I sit up in bed, yawning loudly. The bottle of bourbon is still on my nightstand, but it’s a lot emptier than I remember it. The bottle was nearly full when I took it out of my liquor cabinet, but now only about a quarter is left. Did I really drink that much?

  I get a burning sensation in my chest. Heartburn.

  Maybe I did drink that much.

  I stumble to my feet, this time feeling a jab of pain in my left hip. All I want to do is sleep another ten hours. But by this point, the kitties outside are desperate with hunger. I should go feed them. I’ll feed them quickly, then I’ll go back to bed.

  I can come in to work late tomorrow. It’s Christmas, after all.

  I throw on a pair of jeans and a sweater. I pad over to the kitchen to grab some cat food, but to my surprise, there aren’t any cans there.

  I frown. How do I not have any cat food? I’m certain that when I took out a can for Alexander earlier, there were a whole bunch of them left.
I’m sure of it. How did they all disappear? Did I drink too much bourbon and eat a bunch of cat food?

  Well, I guess I can go out and buy more. There’s a drugstore a few blocks away that will likely have some cat food. And while I’m at it, I can get some antacid for my heartburn.

  I grab the warmest looking coat from my closet. Clearly, I’ve been wearing my flimsy coats too often, because this brown coat doesn’t even look familiar. And neither do the fur-lined boots I find on the floor, but they do look warm and they fit well when I shove my feet into them.

  The burning in my chest intensifies with each step as I walk the three blocks to the drugstore. I haven’t been here in ages, and it looks like they redid the whole store recently. It’s completely different—the makeup is where the cat food used to be, and the antacids are nowhere to be found. All I want is to buy some cat food and maybe some Tums, but it’s taking me far longer than I expected.

  When I finally find the aisle with the cat food, I just want to grab some beef and pork, but for some reason, I’m having trouble reading the labels on the food. They look very blurry to me. I bring one of the cans closer to my face, but that only seems to make it worse.

  Jesus. I must have had more to drink than I thought.

  Finally, I grab about ten jars of random cat food and the antacid pills, balancing them in my arms as I walk over to the cashier. There’s nobody else in line. It is, after all, Christmas Eve. Everyone else is with their families. The cashier has been watching a television set behind the counter and she seems mildly irritated when I dump all the cat food down in front of her. She was probably hoping for a quiet night.

  “Did you find everything all right, ma’am?” the cashier asks me. I hate it when people call me ma’am. I’m not that old, for God’s sake.

  “Yes.” My voice sounds funny and I clear my throat. “Thanks.”

  I reached into my purse and pull out my wallet. Why is my wallet blue? Isn’t it usually red? Did I put the wrong wallet in my purse? But no, I’ve got everything in there. My credit card is there. I hold it out to the cashier and…