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  Della

  by Julie Michele Gettys

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Copyright © 2011 by Julie Michele Gettys

  1

  Jack Davis was forcing her hand. She had to decide if the spoils were worth the risk.

  Della took great pains to look her best today. She picked a tight-fitting green suit and a rust-colored blouse to show off her curves and shoulder-length auburn hair. Her makeup highlighted her pale complexion and green eyes. With a quick turn in front of the mirror, she approved her appearance and left early for work.

  Except for the muffled sounds of burgeoning early morning traffic on Lankershim Boulevard, the office was quiet. The Universal City Globe Travel branch was bright and cheerful, with colorful posters of exotic places hanging on the walls–places she rarely had time to visit with her busy schedule. Ten metal desks filled the room. From ten a.m. to six p.m., the office was busier than an anthill. Old Davis was making a fortune. He had ten offices and a new one nearly completed, due to open in two months.

  Her office, dammit!

  Della sat behind her desk, her back erect, her words poised, a letter of resignation in her desk, waiting for The Man. She wasn’t trying to be difficult, she was just tired of being pushed around.

  Jack Davis, a skinny, forty-five-year-old bachelor with a ridiculous, oversized handlebar mustache and a balding pate, breezed past her to his office. “In early, I see. Coffee made?” he said without stopping to say good morning.

  “No, but all it needs is some water over the grounds.” Where was it written she had to make the coffee?

  He froze in his tracks, turned back to her. “My, my, we’re plucky this morning. Rough night last night?”

  She stood, mustering courage. “As a matter of fact, I’ve had a few lately.”

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  “I do.”

  “Come in.” Strutting to his office, he said over his shoulder, “Pour that water and bring us both a cupper.”

  Cupper, indeed. She mocked his strut to the back room, poured the water in the tank. Over the heady aroma of fresh-ground Starbuck’s, she organized her thoughts until enough coffee for two cups had dripped through the spigot. Leaving home, living on a tight budget, and no job experience had been far more intimidating than bluffing her boss to get the job she wanted more than anything in the world. Besides, Jack would never let her go. She was too valuable an employee.

  She waltzed into his office with two mugs of coffee, feeling brassy outside and antsy inside. She sat in front of his oversized oak desk and ran her fingers over the smooth, polished wood. A lot better than her gunmetal, she thought.

  He leaned back in his big winged chair with a smug smile on his long, narrow face. Why had her respect and admiration for this man turned sour over the past year? He had seen her through the misery of her divorce-had been almost like a father to her. She, in turn, shared all her secrets with him. But lately, since Gary came on board, Jack had pulled away. They weren’t going out for drinks on Friday nights anymore. He treated her like she was just another employee in the office, not someone he had plans for in the near future. Being a glorified clerk, with a few travel perks she didn’t have time to use, wasn’t her idea of success.

  She had bigger dreams.

  “Well,” he said, as if he were ready for her and knew the agenda.

  She cleared her throat, straightened. “You promised me the next office. Rumor has it, Gary’s getting it. Is that true?” The hard edge in her voice shocked her. Shocked him, too. He stiffened.

  “You’re good at what you do, Della. You got the Gates account. Worth a lot of money to us. I want you here, working with me. I’ve raised your salary.” He paused, obviously choosing his words carefully. “Gary handles the girls better. I don’t think they’d respond to you in the same way.”

  She broke into an indignant laugh. “I guess not. I don’t handle the ‘girls.’ Now, if you’re inferring I can’t manage them, maybe we should take a poll. Polls are in these days, aren’t they?”

  Jack rose, walked around his desk and sat on the corner. “I’m going to make you assistant manager of this office. See here?” He picked up a small box. “These are your new business cards.”

  He handed them to her, smiling proudly. She opened the box, pulled out a card and stared at it.

  Stunned, she said, “You’re kidding, of course. You really think embossed business cards and a title will make up for my own agency? I’ve been the assistant manager for the past year and a half. Really, Jack. You can do better than that.” They had jostled like this since they first met.

  “The next office will be yours.”

  “Two years from now?”

  “When I think you’re ready.”

  She rose, her heart hammering, her eyes blurring. God, she was going to cry in front of the boss. No, not now. But her disappointment and anger were so out of control, she couldn’t help herself. “What is this, when I’m ready? I’m ready now. I work twelve-hour days. I nurture my clients, follow up, bring in new business. I snagged the Gates account. What exactly do I have to do to get ready?”

  “There’s more to running your own office than being a good worker.” He walked behind his seat and leaned against it. “Honey, you’re a baby. You’re only twenty-five. For chrissake, don’t rush everything.” He sighed. “You need some polish. Talking to you about how you dress and act is not my forte. That was your mother’s job. Have you ever thought of taking a--” He slid into his seat. “Oh, hell, I’m no good at this. You’re just not ready.”

  “So, tell me, what’s polish got to do with my doing a good job? Have you had any complaints?”

  “No, but I know what I want for a manager in one of my offices.”

  “So, I don’t wear Donna Karan. I try to dress as nicely as I can.”

  “You overdress. You try to look too sexy.” He shook his head, buried his face in his palms. “Jeez, I told you I was no good at this stuff.”

  Jack had done it this time, insulting her like this. He was just looking for a reason to give the new office to Gary. If he did, she had no choice but to quit. But this had been her only job–she’d never done any other kind of work. The travel business was all she knew. Fear overtook her. She clamped her mouth shut, turned to leave.

  “If you’re thinking about quitting, don’t be hasty. It’s a tight market right now. You might have a hard time finding another job making the kind of money you earn here. I’ll send you to some classes.”

  “For my degree?”

  He shrugged. “No. Classes to help you look and feel better about yourself.”

  With her back to him, her knuckles whitened on the doorknob. Cleaning toilets, selling burgers, even doing dishes sounded better than selling herself short.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks. She opened the door and left without giving him the satisfaction of seeing how distraught she was.

  Back at her desk, phones jangled, the staff was hard at it, and Iris Hartman from Gates office waited for her. With a stack of folders three inches thick tucked under her arm, the woman was ready to dig in and work for the next two hours. All Della wanted to do was slap her resignation letter on Jack’s desk. Maybe spending time with Iris was what Della needed to cool her heels, force herself to think things through. She had to control her impulsive behavior.

  “Let’s go into the conference room.” She dabbed the tears under her eyes with her finger.

  Iris Hartman, a woman in her fifties, probably looked the way Jack expected Della to look--decked out in suits, si
lk scarves, and expensive perfume–all out of Della’s reach financially, of course. Jack didn’t pay her that well.

  In spite of the superficial stuff, Iris wasn’t very attractive. Known to keep a low profile, she worked quietly in Wesley Gates’s shadow. It was said she knew all his secrets, and spoke for him in his absence. Probably had the brains of a scientist or, as rumor had it, Gates’s wife preferred someone “safe” working at her husband’s side.

  “What’s the matter?” Iris laid her folders on the conference table, then put a compassionate hand on Della’s arm.

  “Oh, just a little disagreement with Jack.”

  “He’s a pistol. I don’t think I’d like working for him.”

  “Would you like coffee?”

  “No, thanks. I’ve had my quota today.”

  Whenever Iris came to Globe, she spent time telling Della about her exciting work life. Iris trusted her, and enjoyed sharing little secrets about the Gates empire. Gates was into the most interesting businesses: an entrepreneur who owned a management firm that handled rock stars, clothing manufacturing with a famous designer who dressed the stars, and many other interests that fascinated her. Today she needed an ear, to see if she was doing the right thing. Who better to ask than Iris, a woman Della admired and respected? She was the perfect person to hash it over with.

  Iris looked at her Rolex, a man’s watch that she wore under her wrist instead of on top, which intrigued Della. Once in a while, after Iris left, she slid her watch under her wrist, pretending to be more like Iris. She liked the way she merely lifted her arm to see the time. The Rolex turned her on, too, but she wanted a classy lady’s watch with a few tiny diamonds. Anyone who made really good money could afford to look classy. Why did Jack expect her to on the salary he paid her?

  Iris laid a hand on hers. “Wes is being a tyrant. If I don’t get back early, I’ll be working until all hours. Good thing I’m single. No man would put up with my schedule.” Iris’s smile lit up her face, erasing the wrinkles and sagging jowls.

  “Suits me, too,” she said. “I don’t mind working all hours. If I ever find another husband, I’ll scale back.”

  “You never told me you were married before.”

  “I don’t talk about it.” She glanced down. “It wasn’t a pretty picture.” She rarely talked about her past. Catching her husband in bed with another woman had done nothing for her fragile ego. She was ashamed of having a father she didn’t know, a man who paid to have her aborted. And why tell people her mother was a drunk and a prostitute, and that she had even done it herself a few times, to make money when there were no legitimate jobs after school? She hadn’t seen through an undercover cop on her second time out, and she got busted. The thought of anyone finding out she had a police record for prostitution horrified her, and she never engaged in prostitution again.

  Iris leaned in. “My marriage wasn’t a pretty picture, either. But I did end up with a career out of it.” She leaned back. “Maybe I’ll have that coffee after all.”

  Della returned to her desk, took out her resignation letter, then poured Iris a coffee. Back in the conference room, she handed them both to Iris.

  “What’s this?” Iris eyed the letter.

  “My shaky future.”

  Iris read intently, set it down and frowned. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “If I don’t, it means I sit back and wait for opportunity to come to me. That doesn’t work.” She knew; she had watched her mother wait for nothing all her life.

  Iris raised an eyebrow.

  “And I have bigger plans for myself,” Della went on. “What would you do in my place?”

  Iris sipped her coffee, pondering. “Make sure I had another job lined up. Mean it, don’t bluff. I don’t know much about Jack Davis, but if it were Wes Gates...he’d let me go. He’d consider himself blackmailed.”

  “I think Gates and Davis are two different animals. From what you’ve told me, you’d probably never have to do this with Gates.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Thanks, Iris. I’ll sleep on it.” She grinned.

  “Jack does have a lot of respect for you. Don’t act out of anger,” Iris advised.

  Courage failed her when it came to telling Iris what Jack had said about her lack of style. With their strong professional relationship, surely Iris would have said something if it were true.

  Della fumed. Nearly three, and Jack was still out; or, more likely, soaking up those martinis he reeked of most afternoons.

  On impulse, she ignored Iris’s advice, took her letter into Jack’s office and laid it on his desk, just to shake him up a bit. A little something to greet him when he was feeling mellow. She smiled to herself and rubbed her hands together in a self-satisfied gesture. Jack loved Della. Della loved Jack. He bent when the wind blew. And she was a blowin’.

  An hour later, Jack thundered out of his office in a huff and ended their love-hate relationship by dropping the resignation on her desk. “You don’t have to give notice,” he said in an indignant tone. “You can take your things and leave now.”

  The shock of his calling her bluff hit her full force. She had counted on his folding.

  Absolutely folding!

  When push came to shove, she imagined Jack giving in to her. She had lost count of the times he’d told her she was his most valuable employee. “You serious?” Confused and upset, her eyes blurred–not from tears, but from fear. Jack was yanking her security blanket out from under her. Globe Travel was her home. Her life revolved around her job.

  He glared at her, held his ground, didn’t say another word. With his arms akimbo, he waited for her to make a move. She swallowed over the lump in her throat, stared at Jack while opening the bottom drawer of her desk, took out her purse and stood, faking enough strength to walk out of the office with her head up. “I’ll collect the rest of my things later.”

  A silence fell over the office. Everyone stared at her. Diane, Jack’s secretary, a young woman she admired, swung her chair around to avoid eye contact. Della was humiliated.

  “No. I’ll have them sent to your apartment by messenger. You may leave the keys on your desk.”

  He wasn’t bluffing. She fumbled with her key ring. A broken nail later, she removed the front and back door keys, laid them in front of him on the desk, and left.

  She drove down Lankershim Boulevard in a daze, too numb to cry. That sinking feeling she thought she’d never have to endure again was tugging at her gut. Cars honked when she sat too long at a light.

  What had she done?

  Why hadn’t she listened to Iris?

  As of this moment, she had no career. She had placed herself in the ranks of the unemployed, wasn’t even qualified for unemployment insurance. She had voluntarily quit her job.

  At her apartment, she wandered from room to room, admiring the nice furnishings and china she’d managed to keep from her divorce. Here she was, out of work, with less than a thousand dollars in the bank to carry her for God knows how long. Surely, there was a job at another travel agency. She might not make the same money Jack paid her, but she’d survive.

  At the wet bar, she poured herself a scotch and swallowed it neat. The burning down her throat soothed her shattered nerves. This was how Lillian handled her problems.

  What now? She took the bottle and a glass to her bedroom. With a hefty swig of scotch, she was feeling no pain. What did Jack Davis know about women’s clothes and style? She swished her skirt with her free hand. What the hey, she looked good. Phooey on him. His thinking of her as a slut was just a phoney-baloney excuse not to promote her.

  The bed and her teddy bear, Arnie, looked more than inviting. She poured herself another drink, guzzled it, then lay down and cuddled her childhood companion. At the rate she was going, there was no way she’d prove to her mother she had what it takes to succeed. “Well, ol’ buddy,” she said, holding the bear above her glassy eyes, “guess I’m repeatin’ history.” Her words slurred. A wave of
nostalgia swept through her.

  Looking at her teddy bear, she remembered when she was five and Lillian took her to Disneyland. It was one of the few times in her life when she and Lillian did anything special together. It was a day filled with fun. Even after all these years, she still remembered it. Lillian had bought her the bear on the way out. She named him Arnie, and they had spent many lonely hours together over the years.

  She squeezed the bear, and let the tears roll uncontrollably down her cheeks. All she wanted was to fall into her mother’s arms.

  2

  On Saturday, a perfect Southern California day, Della decided to visit her girlfriend, Celia, in Newport and spend the weekend with a shoulder to cry on. An extended family was, many times, better than the real thing. Monday morning she’d hit the pavement, find a job, and get her life back in order.

  The uncrowded 405 was an easy drive, allowing her time to do a little forensic thinking, dissect what got her in this crappy position. Analyzing her weaknesses was a bad habit, causing lost sleep on many a night, and what the hell good did it do her? It didn’t change her. She still put her foot in it all the time, and she was out of a job, wasn’t she?

  Since being out on her own, she’d lost a husband, a job, and now she stood to lose her furniture, car, and those beautiful dishes she treasured, all the necessities of life that meant so much to her. She wasn’t materialistic, but until she married Kent, she had nothing, nada, because of Lillian. Lillian chose welfare over work and men over man, which kept Della in a state of zero possessions. Her life had been a series of hand-me-downs.

  One of her most embarrassing moments happened the first day of high school. Lillian had purchased a secondhand dress for $3.50. It was a beautiful dress, and Della preened in it all morning before school. Then she found out through the in-crowd’s snickers and whispers during lunch in the cafeteria that it had belonged to none other than April Jensen, cheerleader, the most popular girl in school. Buying clothes from a thrift shop wasn’t a bad thing, if you had money and came from a respectable family. Kids did it all the time. But when you’re on welfare and second-hand clothes were all you ever had, forget it. Della vowed from that day forward to wear only new clothes, even if it meant she had only one or two outfits.