The Great Christmas Breakup Part 14

Tuesday, November 28 *Life is fun. Get naked.'

Jocelyn Priestly *HOW DID THAT WRETCHED Jocelyn Priestly even get her name on a calendar, with advice like that?'

I was reading that day's insightful sentence aloud at breakfast, anger at the woman's ignorance building.

*Is she the one who shows her s.n.a.t.c.h?' asked Cecily 2.

I sighed. I didn't know how much more of Cecily 2's foul language or casual att.i.tude to nakedness and s.e.x I could take.

Last night she'd come home at twelve in the S&M outfit she wore for work. Poor Mrs Carlisle had seen her battling with the recalcitrant front door of the building and thought she was some sort of criminal (the old lady had actually mentioned the joker in Batman, which was, admittedly, hilarious), and called the cops.

They'd almost arrested Cecily 2 for being lewd on the street, until she threatened to snog one of them in return for her freedom.

*That won't be necessary,' said Officer One.

*Just don't do it again,' the second had instructed hurriedly, as they backed away.

*Rude,' Cecily 2 had remarked.

*She'd know,' Carson had whispered in my ear.

Burning toast brought me back to the present.

*Oh, sodding heck, the toast,' I cried. They were the last two slices.

*These are growing on me,' Cecily 2 remarked to J, who had stumbled into the room still in his pajamas.

As she was still wearing her *costume' I figured she must have slept in it. I wondered how she could breathe in the thing, let alone sleep.

There was the faint whiff of BO in the air as Cecily poured cereal into her bowl with wild abandon.

*What, the con-flakes?' my son asked.

*No,' she said, looking at her reflection in the microwave. *These cold sores.'

Honestly.

Why couldn't Cecily 2 take herself off to Manhattan and get lost for a couple of nights?

Or take herself off somewhere permanently.

Rufus and Howie wouldn't mind. All evidence pointed to the fact that they wouldn't even notice. Neither had called to check on her while she'd been in Brooklyn.

Which reminded me.

*Carson?'

*Yes?'

*Why were you in midtown, near Bloomingdales, yesterday afternoon?'

He was facing away from me but I could have sworn I saw his back stiffen.

*I wasn't.'

So what was that stiff back all about, then?

*Someone saw you there,' I persisted.

*Who?'

*Just a friend, from my college days.'

Next it was his turn to look suspicious. *The more important question is, what were you doing there? Didn't you have a shift at work?'

Let's not go there.

*I was with Lolly.'

*Instead of at work?'

Having deftly turned the conversation from his own indiscretions, Carson waited for me to respond. When I didn't, he shook his slowly balding head tiredly and walked out of the room.

*That's right, just walk away in the middle of a conversation,' I called, unable to contain myself, despite the audience sitting at the table.

But Carson kept moving down the hall.

*Not getting' any?' Cecily 2 remarked slyly.

*Gross,' J said, pushing his chair back with a thud and storming out.

I called Lolly to discuss the previously unmentionable topic she'd raised a her s.e.xuality a but it was clear she still didn't want to talk about it. Her answer phone was on at work, and her mobile went straight through to voicemail.

Was she avoiding me now, after blurting out the truth? Why would she do that?

Unless . . . she wanted to date me?

Oh G.o.d, don't let it be that. How could I reject my dearest friend?

Because the alternate option a dating Lolly a clearly wasn't an option at all, even if she was a huge step-up from my present situation.

Of course, Lolly knew that. Didn't she?

If not, why would she encourage Robert to call me if she wanted to date me herself?

Unless she was testing my willingness to cheat on Carson?

No. That's nuts.

My head ached. What a completely awful situation.

Deciding I would drop in to LollyBliss later to sort things out, I got dressed, pushed the kids out the door, and headed over to Flindes.

Fingers crossed that I could explain why I hadn't called in sick the day before. I hadn't dared. As I lived so close, I wouldn't have put it past Dan Phillit to come and check on me.

Not surprisingly, Dan Phillit was in a less than congenial mood.

*Look, Mr Phillita*

He didn't prevaricate. *You're fired, Mrs Teeson.'

*Let me explain.'

*See those two hardworkers over there?' He indicated Scott and Maeve, who were batting a broken bag of pasta against a wall with a roll of Christmas wrap.

*The ones playing baseball with food?'

*They appreciate their jobs,' Dan Phillit said, rooting about in his nose.

*Can't you see what they're doing?'

*Of course I can. They're picking up broken pasta. Without being asked. Enterprising and punctual. The ideal Flindes' employees.'

Lord, give me strength not to smash him one on that huge snout.

*Look, Mr Phillit, please just give me one more chance. I have a family, and sometimes, very occasionally, having a family means I have to miss work.'

*Then I'll hire someone who doesn't have a family.'

*Isn't that discrimination?'

*Not if you breach the staff handbook by failing to call in,' said Dan Phillit. *Now, your locker key and discount card, if you please.'

Who said *If you please' anymore? No wonder he was dateless and bitter.

I threw down the requested items, told Dan Phillit his fly was undone and that picking his nose was unacceptable, especially in areas where food was sold.

Then I offered him the universal sign of dissatisfaction care of my middle finger, and left.

I got to the corner when it hit me.

What the h.e.l.l have I done?

Less than five minutes later, I was desperately trying to stop myself from racing back in and grabbing at Dan Phillit's knees, begging for forgiveness.

I might have, too, if I hadn't seen him and Scott and Maeve pointing at me through the dirty gla.s.s of the shopfront and laughing uproariously.

Trudging towards home, I remonstrated with myself for being a jerk. Where on earth was I going to get another permanent job, with the economy the way it was?

I was hopeless when it came to jobs, and interviews Worse, I had nothing to wear for interviews.

And even if I managed to complete the Chocolato work, there was no guarantee that it would led to anything else, was there?

What had I done?

- Cue poignant tale of disastrous fashion job interviews: Although I dropped out of college when I discovered I was pregnant with J, I still hoped to resume my career. Carson encouraged it a and why wouldn't he? We needed another income to be able to afford to live in New York.

I occasionally felt a twinge of resentment over the fact that he'd dropped law; and very occasionally that he'd done so because of another woman.

But on the whole, Carson was happy teaching, and I was confident that, with two years of college behind me (even with the C-grades I conveniently left off my CV), there would be a full-time position in some fashion house awaiting me. Even if it was, to start with, as a receptionist.

The first interview was at a fabric company called Weilla, to which I'd sent my details on the off chance. The job was junior fabric buyer, which sounded fascinating.

Unfortunately, the woman who interviewed me homed right in on my college results.

*A C? In business management? You do know what this job entails, don't you?'

*Yes, I can explain that. You see, I was working hard on my portfolio for design . . .'

The woman ran her finger along my application form. *And what did you get for that?'

*A C, but this isn't a design job, is it, so . . .'

*Mrs Teeson, let's not waste each other's time.'

*But, if you gave me a chance . . .'

She had the good grace to wait and hear what I had to say, but nothing came to me. Sighing, she stood up.

*There's the door.'

I hadn't been treated so badly since some wino threw up on me when I was working on the stall with Lolly.

With the exception of Cecily Teeson, of course.

The second interview was thanks to Lolly, who was working her way up through the ranks at a major fashion chain.

However, J had colic and I had to reschedule and when I turned up for the interview, they'd already hired someone else.

From there, things went downhill. I couldn't seem to get an interview anywhere a even a receptionist position at the nearest dump required more qualifications than I could offer.

Finally, I'd stopped by a local supermarket downtown to buy some carrots. A part-time job for a cashier was advertised in the window. Scooting inside, I spoke to the manager, who seemed to appreciate the fact that I spoke English and had a head and two arms and functioning legs. He hired me on the spot and I began my career, if that's what it was, at Flindes.

When we moved to Brooklyn, I transferred within the company, and four managers later, Dan Phillit, graduate of some third rate inst.i.tution in the mid west, had become my boss.

*You're a bit old to be working here,' was the first thing he said to me.