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“Parker really does like to show those off any chance he gets. But that’s his ex, Nolan from IT.” She groaned. “Definitely naughty list material.”
“’Tis the season for…giving, I guess.” Alex tactfully suggested, as mock-spanking ensued.
“It’s like a Bing Crosby/Magic Mike mashup I can’t quite look away from.”
“It’s beginning to look alatkelike Christmas!” The goth she-Claus was back, bearing a tray of mini-potato pancakes, each with a dollop sour cream on top. No applesauce, but they were studded with salmon roe and capers, according to a tiny placard. In keeping with the red and green theme, Alex supposed.
“Is caviar kosher?” The girl looked to both of them for guidance.
“Depends on who you ask…and on the type of fish. Okay by me,” Alex said.
“April, stop! Gimme.” Nora took one. She popped the bite-size carb between her lips. “Not exactly the work of the Jewish Grandmother, but close enough.”
Her job seemingly done, April awarded custody of her tray to Alex before tripping off in her tiny combat boots toward the makeshift dance floor.
“Any port in a storm,” he murmured, picking one from the tray as well. “L’chaim.” He toasted in her direction.
Slightly crispy, the cool dairy tempering the hot oil. The unexpected briny pop of the roe and capers was…different, but not horrible. Not that his own gran would approve, mind you.
“Speaking of ports…has Port Chester heard any rumors about Q1?”
Luckily he was still chewing; he needed a beat. Was Port Chester the upstate office? And how much had Hedstrom let on to her about the purpose of his visit? Even as CEO, the guy didn’t know the half of it.
His Uncle Marty had taken up the mantle the minute Grandpa My’sshivahperiod was over and began making drastic changes to the company, slashing budgets as resolutely as he had cut into the black mourner’s ribbon on his left suit lapel. He had also given Alex the list currently burning a hole in his pocket of the New York employees to be “made redundant” by Myers and Sons’ buyout of Britesmith.
“Or are you one of the lucky few still in the Jersey branch?” Nora continued, leaning to pluck another latke from the tray he held close to his chest. Her perfume was subtle but brought him back to the here and now.
Oh wait, she was thinking he was a fellow soldier on the local front. Had his Midwestern accent not given him away? His automaticope, an Iowa catch-all for politeness when he caught her from falling? He set the tray down. “I’m not –”
You’re not cut out for this, Alex.
You’re a Beckman, not a Myers.
“Attention…attention, just a minute of your time…everyone!” Hedstrom was gesturing, jumbo shrimp in his hand like a baton. His elf hat, Alex observed, was missing its jingle bell. “I could’ve shared this in an email, but figured since I had everyone here. You’re all getting Christmas Eve off this year!” His proclamation was met with cheers. “That’s the good news, folks. Unfortunately, the bonuses you’ve all been anticipating, well…”
* * *
Nora gripped the bell still in her palm, hard enough to make a mark.He’s got to be kidding.
“But everyone gets a beautiful poinsettia to take home!”
All the ass-busting she had done all year. Just this quarter alone she had put in an average of sixty hours a week, and the fact that she had given up her weekend –thisweekend, the weekend of the Matzo Baller – sacrificing in order to make her boss look good come Monday in front of Team Hayseed…
Christmas Eve off had beenheridea. She and Parker had toiled over a whiteboard full of sticky notes, playing Jenga with every matinee and early curtain so that her staff could have some time with their families. Leave it to Hedstrom to take credit, yet he’d be just as quick to throw her under the bus when one of his schemes backfired.
Not that she cared about getting a pat on the back for it; at the end of the day, the only thing that mattered was work-life balance for her employees. As for herself?
She thought of her stifling little cube upstairs, far from any natural lighting. Her desk piled with folders that never seemed to move from incoming to outgoing. Her sad little plastic menorah perched, waiting for her to twist each “flame” on, marking the first three Hanukkah days as she toiled through them.
No one should have to spend half their waking hours in a three-sided fabric box every day. Let alone on a holiday weekend.
Nora grabbed her clutch off the table and wove through clusters of her co-workers. Their holiday spirit may have deflated somewhat, but for now they seemed content to nosh on company time. The strong drinks probably helped, too.
Not a minute more for her, though.
As she pushed past Hedstrom, she resisted the urge to plunk his discarded jingle bell into the half-full Peppermintini in his hand.
Better to let him choke on his own regret come Monday morning when the mess he should’ve handled months ago came crashing down. No longer her problem.
