Angelica couldn't help herself. She knew she shouldn't do it, but her face betrayed her, and she did it anyway. She was well aware that her behavior was most inappropriate, especially in light of recent events. She had been to so many memorial services for fellow employees that she blocked out Wednesdays as a repeating record on her palm pilot. Her dry cleaners asked her the last time she dropped off her black suit if she would like a volume discount. "It's like the Bubonic Plague over there in your office," her dry cleaner said. "Just how many more people they planning on eighty-sixing over there?" Angelica shrugged her shoulders, just as confused and bewildered as the next person. "Wish I could tell you," she said the last time she picked up her suit. And then there was Hy. She missed her constant companion. She didn't have the heart to throw out her cushion, her litterbox, her cat toys. Her life and apartment felt smaller and emptier than it ever had before. The hole in her heart was the only thing that grew larger with each passing day.
Still, Angelica couldn't help it. She knew she shouldn't do it, but she did it anyway. It began in the center of her mouth and moved to each opposite corner, stretching her lips upwards, pulling the corners of her mouth almost, it seemed, to her ears. A grin. A silly, stupid, moronically idiotic grin covered her face, and it didn't have anything to do with the promotion she received; it didn't have anything to do with the fact that maybe she got the promotion because she was a little talented, and not because there weren't enough live bodies to do the work. The grin wasn't the result of any of these things. The grin that had taken over her face at this most inappropriate moment had little to do with her promotion and everything to do with the ceiling above her and the four walls that surrounded her.
Angelica finally had an office and a door that she could open and shut whenever she wanted. And it was this simple and seemingly miniscule thing that made her grin like a freaking Cheshire cat.
In light of recent events, age and cunning had definitely surpassed youth and skill. Well, age had in any case. The death of her boss, the senior copywriter, the recent murder of the senior partner, and the mass exodus of staff fearing "the Peterman curse" left Angelica as the only staff member with seniority. And seniority definitely had its privileges. The remaining senior partner promoted Angelica quickly through the ranks, giving her Jessica's old office and title shortly before he fled for an extended vacation to Fire Island. He would, he said, phone in all directives for the agency and for Angelica from there for the foreseeable future.
There was talk in the office that the only way the remaining partner would be back was over his lover's cold, dead body.
Angelica was just getting used to her new-found power, but she made every effort to use it wisely. The first thing she did in her new capacity was to remove the cubicle that had been hers, vowing to herself that no other employee would be subjected to being the gatekeeper of the office. The fire exit next to her old space was returned its proper usage by the simple act of keeping it locked and armed. Three embarrassing incidents with people who tried to use it as an alternate exit cured any other employees from ever using it again.
Power, she began to discover, was good.
Angelica reached for her new "executive" mug - a gift from the rapidly departing senior partner- and left her new office in search of coffee. Her coffeemaker was on order, so until it arrived she had to suffer the trip to the company kitchen. She didn't mind; it allowed her to keep a finger on the pulse of company information. Just as she reached the door to the kitchen, she stopped to listen to the conversation of two interns standing next to the sink.
"My parents promised me a PT Cruiser if I give up this internship and go back to Texas," said one intern. Her friend gasped in surprise.
"A PT Cruiser?! Do you know how expensive they are?!"
"Exactly what we make for a year internship here," the intern replied, "but I think I'm going to turn them down..."
"Are you nuts?! What kind of crack you been smokin'?"
"Excuse me," the intern replied, "but I don't do shit like that. Besides, it's kind of exciting..."
"Oh yeah; right," her friend replied. "Exciting. I heard Midtown referred to as `the Concrete Jungle' but I didn't expect it to be so literal..."
Something in the intern's comment gave Angelica pause.
"What do you mean?"
"Hello! Haven't you been listening? The Senior Partner? Jessica Vaneer? Face ripped to shreds like Freddie Kruger did it - Hel-LO! Nightmare in Times Square...."
Angelica wasn't aware she had stopped breathing until she found herself lightheaded and almost disoriented.
"They say her face looked like a freakin' TIGER went after her - don't you listen to the office gossip? My dad said it's the only way to get ahead in this business..."
Angelica found herself getting sick to her stomach. She somehow found the strength to stumble down the hallway back to her office. She left before she heard the most interesting part of the conversation.
"Well," the intern replied, "At least they've got a total Baldwin investigating this case. Sure beats the hell out of the last detective they sent..."
Angelica was thankful for her new door as she shut it quickly behind her. The room was spinning, and she found her body temperature rising and falling with each passing breath. "It can't be true," she thought to herself. "That's what you get for listening to gossip; that's what you get for eavesdropping in on private conversations..."
"So if you don't think it's true, then why don't you check?" the voice echoed in her head.
Angelica slowly made her way to her desk, and sat down. After five agonizing minutes passed, she found the nerve to place her hand on the desk drawer, and open it. It took another three minutes to reach for her briefcase, and pull out the evidence.
Her journal.
Her fingers nervously thumbed through the pages until she found the entry she wanted. It was a story, the story she'd written the night she was in Washington. The night her cat, Hyperbole died. In the story, her beloved cat had become a lioness, striking out against the vainglorious and proud. The tigress' first act of vengeance was against a beautiful woman named Jess....
The sweat poured down Angelica's face as the queasiness reached a peak in her stomach. She found herself retching in the trash can next to her desk, and her face was cold and clammy to the touch.
"Oh My God," she thought to herself. "I killed her. This is all my fault..."
"Don't be ridiculous!" A voice quickly answered. Angelica whirled around to see who was in the room, but she found herself alone. Shaken, she sat in her chair, burying her head in her arms.
But despite her best efforts, the voice continued.
"Don't be stupid about this, Angelica," it said. "`What goes around, comes around.' Haven't you heard that? And she definitely had it coming to her. Every dog has it's day, and every bitch has her afternoon, and believe you me, that bitch had it coming to her for a long, loooonng time..."
Angelica couldn't take it any more. Her body began to tremble in fear.
"Come on," the voice continued. "Everybody gets what's coming to them in time, and isn't it time you got yours? Slaving away for years, putting up with bosses who don't know their rear ends from holes in the ground... Or maybe you like being treated like something you scrape off of your shoe..."
"No," Angelica said aloud, "No, I don't."
"Then what's the problem, little girl?" the voice said. "Control your own destiny! You've got the power right here in your hands. You can literally write your own ticket; you get what I'm saying? WRITE your own ticket, baby..."
It was at the end of the last statement that Angelica saw a page turn in the book on her desk. And as if by magic, the pen she'd purchased the same time she bought the book appeared in the gutter of the book.
"Write your own ticket, baby..."
"So it will be an experiment," Angelica thought. "Nothing will happen. Write something down, and when nothing happens, you'll just go home early today - take a sick day - and come back in the morning..."
Angelica began to write, a quick passage that dealt with a young intern, a copy machine, and copy toner that spilled on his new shirt. As soon as she finished the passage, she heard a commotion outside of her office.
"Son of a ...."
"What is it, Mike?" someone replied.
"The damned toner cartridge leaked all over my new shirt...."
Angelica needed air, and she needed it now. She ran for the door. making every effort to put distance between her and the book on her desk. She ran so fast and exited the door so quickly that she knocked down the man who happened to be at the right place at the wrong time.
"Oh My God!" she gasped as she helped him up. "I'm so sorry..."
"I'm sorry; I think I know you. Roosevelt Arts Center - Der Fleidermaus; right?"
Angelica looked at her victim. It was him. Her savior. Her Adonis.