Page 38 of The Frog Prince
My stomach flip-flops, and I hate this feeling, hate the nerves and dread. I don’t know how to handle tension or confrontations. I do anything to avoid conflict, going so far as to stay married for a year to a man who doesn’t want me, won’t kiss or touch me, just to put off admitting failure publicly and filing for divorce.
Tessa, apparently in a Celtic Goth mood, enters the kitchen in her all-black ensemble consisting of leggings, long skirt, black knit top, and massive silver Celtic cross. She opens the mini fridge, pulls out her second can of Dr Pepper this morning even though it’s not even eleven. Tessa is one of those unfortunates who need caffeine but don’t like coffee. Actually, she likes hardly anything, but that’s neither here nor there.
“How is your intrepid leader?” she asks now, popping open the tab.
“Fine.” I don’t understand the bad blood between Tessa and Olivia. These are two smart, creative, ambitious women. They should be on the same team. They’d be so much stronger that way.
“Any progress on the publicity side of things?”
It’s been a week, and I’ve achieved next to nothing. “I’m hoping to meet Brian Fadden for coffee later.”
“Brian Fadden?”
She sounds dubious, and I take a sip of my tea, nod nonchalantly. “Why so surprised?” I ask, wanting more information and yet not wanting to sound as if I’m digging.
“No reason. Except he hates City Events, thanks to Olivia.”
“What did Olivia do?”
“What does she always do?”
I don’t know the answer to this. I haven’t been around long enough to see a pattern of behavior. My silence irritates Tessa, and she gives her head a short, impatient shake. “Forget it. You’re still in the naive, I-just-want-everybody-to-like-me stage.”
“I do want Olivia to like me.”
“Why?” The freckles on Tessa’s narrow nose stand out. She’s a lucky redhead; her freckles are few and pert and rather pretty, but she has a sharp temper and an even sharper tongue. You can hear the Long Island accent if you listen for it. “Why does it matter what anyone thinks of you? All that really matters is what you think of yourself.”
Again I don’t have an answer, and Tessa swears, something with an expletive and “stupid women,” before walking out.
Feeling sick, I return to my cubicle. As I fumble with paperwork, I become conscious of Tessa in her office at her desk and conscious of Olivia in her office at her desk, and I think it’s just a matter of time before I ruin everything.
Thankfully, both Olivia and Tessa have afternoon appointments, and the minute Olivia steps out, I reach for the phone.
I’m terrified of calling Brian Fadden, since it’s obvious that everyone at City Events knows him (and it sounds as if there’s history of sorts between him and Olivia), but I’m more terrified of failing, and I battle terrors. If I were someone else… someone like my brother, Jamie, I’d be fearless. If I were Jamie with his string of social and athletic successes, I could pick up the phone with impunity, dial Brian Fadden’s number, tell him what I want, why I’m calling, without suffering this enormity of fear.
But I’m not Jamie, and I only like calling people when I’m in a position of granting favors. I like to be in control, not dependent on others, and clearly, in this case I am dependent on others. I’m very dependent on the kindness—or at least civility—of strangers.
Think about David. Tony. All the people like them who’ve been helped by the Hospice Foundation.
I punch in the number before courage, and opportunity, fade.
“Fadden.”
My God. He answered, himself. First ring.
For a moment my jaw works, and I see him at his desk. I know the inner workings of newspapers (okay, theFresno Bee, but a paper is a paper is a paper), and I realize that these guys’ desks are crammed together and they all have more work than money and, frankly, everyone calls in, bugging them. Wanting something. And I’m the one who wants something this time.
“My name’s Holly Bishop. I’m with City Events,” I plunge in, going for it before he can stop me. “We organize the Leather and Lace Ball—”
“Oh, that.”
Not an auspicious beginning. “Have you been?”
Snide sound. “No.”
“You should. It’s a great event—”
“Have you been?”