I’d seen pictures of her children. They were very disturbing.
“I think you’re right,” I managed in a weak voice. “It must be nerves.” Back to me now, please.
“I’m sorry, dear,” Winnie from Cosmetics said and grabbed my hand. “This is your day and here we are going on and on. You just have a good cry if you need to and don’t worry about a thing. You don’t have to go back out there before you’re good and ready.”
I hugged her and nodded. I didn’t really know her all that well, but at that moment, it didn’t matter. She was sweeter in one instant than my own mother had ever been, and I vowed then and there not to ditch out on the surprise 50th birthday party I knew was planned for her next Thursday night, although I normally try and get out of those types of things. Hell, I might even chip in for the present.
I straightened myself up a bit and faced the mirror.
Pathetic. I looked as bad as the rest of them. Puffy black eyes, puffy white face, puffy alien body. A distorted imprint of Winnie’s pink-and-tan face remained on my collar. My wrinkled, camel-colored CK jacket (Glamour, March: “15 Work Essentials You Can’t Live Without”) strained at the chest, buttons silently groaning. The size twelve felt like a size two. When did this happen to me?
But Bruce doesn’t seem to mind. He’s good that way. In fact, he never really says a thing about my weight, even though I’ve gained about thirty pounds since we met in my junior year. He just listens patiently as I rail on and on about it, fit after fit, diet after diet, year after year. Feeding me M&M’s all the while… Oh God, that’s it, isn’t it? He must actually like me fat.
Funny how it had never occurred to me before now. He must be one of those guys who gets off on it (Marie Claire, October: “Men Who Like Their Ladies Large”). But should that piss me off or not? I couldn’t decide. Was it wonderful that Bruce loved me no matter how I looked, or was he betraying me by fattening me up just to satisfy his own twisted sexual fetish? My heart began pounding again.
Courage, Evie. Pull it together—now is not the time to lose it. Bruce loves you, you love him, and it’s all gonna be okay.
Pruscilla caught my gaze in the mirror, sighed and looked over toward the door dramatically. Bruce was waiting outside. What to do? What to do?
I loved him. I really did. Besides, I’d said yes. How could I have let myself say yes if I didn’t really want to marry him? And if there was only one thing in this world that I knew for sure, it was to trust my instincts. Always listen to your inner voice—I’ve taken away at least that from years of watching Oprah (plus the fact that liquid diets don’t work in the long run).
Bruce was the best thing for me. Everybody knows it—Morgan, all my other friends, Mom, my grandmother. Bruce grounds me. He accepts me. He loves me. And even though he usually drives me crazy, we’re a perfect match. I’d be a fool to let him go.
So there really was only one thing I could do—plan a fabulous wedding. That, and lose about forty pounds.
2
Later that afternoon, Pruscilla Cockburn stood over me dictating her latest memo, shifting the ample burden of her weight from foot to foot. With each lumbering sway, a noxious waft of Kendra White’s “Honeysuckle Garden” perfume, discontinued since 1996, assaulted my senses. Through watering eyes, I squinted at my screen.
“Evie, please try and pay attention. I’ll start again. Date it for today.” Obviously. “And send it out to the usual team—all the Division Managers.”
I typed dutifully.
To: Marketing Department Product Division Managers
cc: Teresa Delallo, Fragrances; Alexis Desmond, Cosmetics; Sophie Swartz, Skin Care; Thelma Thorpe, Hair Care; Elaine Scarfield, Health and Fitness.
As per company policy, employee evaluations will take place during the last two weeks of October. Please schedule meetings for each of your senior team members during this period, and remind them to schedule evaluation meetings with their own staff. Self-evaluation forms and suggestion sheets must be distributed no later than by the end of next week. See me for the proper forms. Please try to keep these meetings short (no more than 30 minutes)…
“Do you think half an hour is long enough?” I interrupted, remembering my evaluation last year. Pruscilla spent the whole meeting extolling the virtues of a serious attitude. If I ever expected to be promoted, she’d said, then I’d have to start buckling down, taking things seriously. She never so much as glanced at my list of grievances (“Nobody else I know has to work between Christmas and New Year’s”; “Why can’t we have fat-free creamer in the coffee cart?”) and helpful suggestions (“Yearend bonuses should be scaled according to company profits and not employee salaries”). In the end, we ran out of time before I even had the chance to plead my case for a raise, which to my mind, is the whole point of these meetings in the first place.
Pruscilla glared at me and continued.
“…and do not engage in endless discussions regarding salary increases. Notify me regarding any employee whom you feel has met the requirements for a raise…”
“That’s good,” I assured her. “You’re definitely right about that. No sense in wasting time.”
“I’m not done yet,” she said. “I will be out of the office from October 16 to December 1, so all five Product Division Managers will need to see me within the next two weeks to complete their own evaluations. Please make an appointment with me as soon as possible, as my schedule is already quite full. Pruscilla Cockburn, Director of Product Marketing, East Coast Division.”
Pruscilla, gone for six weeks? This was the woman who’d notoriously used a personal day to clean out her desk. She hadn’t missed a single day of work in the three years I’d been there.
“You’re leaving for six weeks?” I asked, barely able to contain myself. My mind was reeling with the possibilities. I could come in late, leave early, take long lunches…
Wait a second…instead of just slacking off, this could be a great professional opportunity, provided I take proper advantage of the situation. After all, there’s supposed to be more to work than just getting away with things and looking busy (Cosmopolitan, September: “Seven Secrets to Job Security”). And everyone knows that the higher up you climb on the corporate ladder, the less you actually have to do yourself and the more you can delegate to others, not to mention perks like expense accounts and parking spots.
This was brilliant! Pruscilla would probably entrust me with everything. As chief note-taker at her biweekly brainstorming sessions, I know exactly how her mind works. Once or twice I even had the feeling she’d taken credit for my work. My gift for product names, especially lipstick, has gone completely un-appreciated (Prissy Persimmon, Sycophantic Cinnamon—those were mine!) and I also have a way with words, as my contributions to the wildly successful direct-mailing campaign of the Fall of ’99 can attest (“Why Buy Foreign Makeup at Department-Store Prices When You Can Have American Quality for Less, Delivered Right to Your Door?”). With her gone, I could make a real name for myself, maybe even get promoted before she gets back….
Pruscilla interrupted with a thoughtful wheeze, “I’m just taking some time off for personal reasons.”
“Are you okay?” I asked, trying to sound concerned. I was still pissed off at her for not giving me the afternoon off. True to
