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Maybegetting sloshed last night withLilywasn't the most inspired idea she'd ever had.Shewas a bit old for such shenanigans.
Gaylehated getting old but it sure beat the alternative.Atleast she was doing everything in her power to stave it off.
Shewent to the bathroom and looked in the mirror.Herlatest plastic surgery procedure worked out well, the sagging neck a bad memory.Shewas satisfied but it was a constant battle between aging and enhancements.Sheturned her face to the side, studying her profile.Theold crow's feet were returning.Shewould need a touch-up soon.
Shedabbed on some of her signature lipstick, squishing her lips together for full effect.Sheloved the shade of red.Hadbeen wearing it since she was a teenager.
Gayleconsidered the phone conversation she’d had withChelseanot more than a half hour ago.It'swhat triggered her dizziness and anxiety.
Shehad calledChelseaa couple of hours later than requested, giving her boss a full report.Theonly thing she’d omitted was what she’d promised not to share.ThatLilywas having reservations about her role.
Still,Chelseaseemed more uptight than usual on the call, which was saying something for the high-strung, albeit, competent woman.Wordwas her mother was ill and yetChelseawas working the same long hours, as always.ThestoryChelseagave for handingLilytheBreckjob, namely, so she could care for her mother, was not ringing true.
Eitherway,Chelsea'smood was dour whenGaylecalled.Bythe end of the conversation, she had tossed out veiled threats of firing her.
“Isent you there to make sure things are running on schedule,andto report to me in a timely fashion,” she had said, in her most condescending tone. “Isuggest you do that orI'llfind someone else who can.”
Whichmade no sense.Shewas doing the job she was given.Gayletried to chalk it up toChelsea'sown personal issues but something wasn't right.
Gaylebristled, aware she was the punching bag du jour.Shehad witnessed howChelseatreatedLilylike a chump, dangling a promotion without a hint of anything concrete.Gaylewould bet half her pension that it was never going to be.
What'sthe worst that can happen?she silently asked herself in the mirror.
Shehad savings and the money fromTom'slife insurance.
Herhusband of twenty-two years suffered a heart attack at his desk three weeks after his sixtieth birthday.Notthe way he would’ve liked to go.Healways said he wanted to leave the planet while playing poker, a beer in one hand, a cigar in the other.
Theinsurance policy would keep her solvent for the rest of her life.Besidesthe one-bedroom onEighty-SixthStreetand her elective surgeries, she had few other expenses.Nokids or grandkids.
So, what was she worried about?
Beforeshe could change her mind,Gaylestepped back into the room and picked up the phone.Shetapped the top number of her recent calls.
Herboss answered. “Gayle?Whatis it?”
Nohello.
Itmade things easier.AllGaylesaid were two words.Givingher the best feeling in the world. “Iquit!”
* * *
“What?You’rejoking!”Lilyshouted into the phone.
Gaylelaughed heartily, unable to believe it herself.
“Youquit?”
“Idid!”Shehooted. “Iknow it’s crazy.Ijust couldn’t stand it anymore.It’sthe bestI’vefelt in ages.”
“Wow.Justwow.Thiscalls for a celebration.Howabout tomorrow night atTheRoadhouse?”
Gaylefelt a sense of gratitude.She’dmessed things up forLilybig time and now the woman was cheering for her. “You’reon.”
Lilyasked, “Whatare you going to do now?”
“Youknow what?Ihave absolutely no idea.ButBreckis the best placeIcan think of to figure it out.”
* * *
