Felicity.
Her name sounds like a ray of sunshine; something I need in my life. Not that my life is terrible, it’s just that I can get lonely like everyone else and dating sucks.
Admittedly, I haven’t done tons of it, because let’s face it — I don’t exactly have the time to meet new women every weekend. Nor do I have any intention of sleeping with random strangers just to get my jollies off. Not worth the headache and the chance I’ll wind up banging a Stage Five Clinger I can’t get rid of once she’s been to my condo in the sky, or seen my expensive car, or had a taste of the good life I can provide.
I’m in search of something meaningful, not a gold digger. Unfortunately, there are plenty of those around. I’ve known that type almost all my life.
My grandfather Len McGinnis founded this company when I was a boy; a sports enthusiast, his best buddy played for the Mets back when players were cheap and baseball was America’s favorite pastime. All Grandpa’s friend wanted to do was play ball. Mostly uneducated, he’d played in a farm league and had a tough time signing and understanding the players contract. Luckily, Grandpa could, and helped him work through it and…
The rest is history.
I’m not about to squander a legacy for some woman who just wants a meal ticket; these days, it feels like that’s all they’re here for.
My phone pings and I swivel in my desk chair — twenty-eight floors above the city — with a smile on my face, that familiar buzz that could only be associated with LoveSwept.
Felicity: Is it ever acceptable to double dip a chip at a party?
I laugh.
She’s so adorable with these goofy questions.
Me: Only if you break it in half.
Was that a dumb answer? What the fuck do I know, I double dip all the time. I have no manners, despite the silver spoon that some may think is in my mouth.
Felicity: What kind of chip and dip are we talking about here? What’s your favorite?
Me: Why, are you going to feed them to me tomorrow night?
Felicity: You flirt! LOL. It would be so weird if I showed up with food…
Me: Au contraire, showing up with food is NEVER a bad idea. Always good. Never bad. Good.
Felicity: So what’s your flavor?
It’s as if she knows the way straight to my heart — with food.
Me: Shit, that’s a tough one. I’d say tortilla and salsa, but that’s too predictable. Eh, maybe queso?? I also wouldn’t kick a good taco dip out of bed…
Felicity: I would kick you out of bed if you showed up with chips.
And here we go with the rapid fire questions. It’s one of our favorite ways to communicate. Quick, simple, to the point, and lots of fun when you’re avoiding the regular demands of the day. It’s like speed dating with one person. So far, it’s always confirmed we have lots in common, and just enough differences to make things interesting.
Me: What about crackers when I’m sick? Can I eat those in bed?
Felicity: How sick are we talking about?
Me: The flu
Felicity: Would you settle for crackers on the couch instead?
Me: Possibly. Are you rubbing my feet?
Felicity: Possibly. Are you wearing socks?
Me: Possibly. Did you get them for me as a treat to make me feel better?
Felicity: LOL yeah, furry pink ones…
Me: I don’t mind wearing the color pink. It flatters my complexion.
Felicity: Same, LOL
Pink. Nude.
Whatever works.
Me: How do you feel about men wearing socks with flip flops?
Felicity: Um… Are we talking about OLD men? Cause that’s acceptable. If we’re talking about YOU, then I guess I’d have to see it before I decided.
Me: I could add the photo to my bio so you can see it.
Felicity: **eye roll**
Me: Yeah, you’re right. I’ve never done that.
Me: Yes I have.
Felicity: LOL you’re funny today.
Me: It’s been a slow day so I’m feeling pretty good heading into the weekend. Tomorrow I’m taking a rare day off.
Felicity: What are you going to do?
Me: Haircut, jog in the park, grab lunch with one of my buddies. Then, I don’t know — I have a hot date at midnight. Wouldn’t it be cool if it were at the top of the Empire State Building?
Felicity: Like that one movie from twenty years ago? That WOULD be so fantastic… wind whipping my hair in my face, getting stuck to my lipstick. Shouting at each other because we can’t hear a thing the other person is saying. SO romantic.
Me: OOKayyy so a little too high up for you?
Felicity: Maybe. LOL the building I’m in would be more my speed, only thirty floors. Wink wink.
Me: Thirty sounds about right.
Felicity: Do-able.
Felicity: Ugh, I hate to cut this short but I’m on a mission to get some things fixed in my office before I can get back to work. Wish me luck, I have a man to go hunt down.
Me: Another man?!
Felicity: Now, now… don’t be jealous. I’m a one woman man.
A one woman man.
That makes me smile.
For a long time.
I’m still smiling like a friggin’ moron when Sheila sticks her head in my door, frown on her face, long gold earrings jingling.
Sheila was a hire of my father’s, who had my position before retiring and leaving the agency’s empire to me, and I’ll be honest: sometimes she scares the shit out of me.
She is the one person in this place who doesn’t put up with bullshit — and believe me, when you have a company built around the egos of some of the world’s best and biggest athletes, egos are served up on sterling silver platters with a hefty signing bonus.
Sheila could give a shit.
She doesn’t care how much someone’s contract is worth, where they’re from, where they’re going, or what they’re wearing— she treats everyone the same.
The woman really gets around.
Technically she’s supposed to be on the floor below me, but there is nothing she loves better than to float. And by float, I mean walk around gossiping and interrupting everyone while they work. What does she actually do here again?
It doesn’t really surprise me considering we’re from an entirely different generation. My dad used to do the same thing. He called it “boosting team morale.” I called it leaving the actual work to me. I ended up with his job so I guess I can’t complain.
“Hey Sheila, what’s up?”
“A few of the gals were wondering if you wanted the New Year’s decorations taken down before the weekend, or on Monday when we get back.”
“And by ‘few of the gals,’ do you mean you?”
She’s a stickler, this one. Nothing gets past her and disapproval from Sheila — the real boss — means the fun is over.
“No, smart ass, Donna.”
Literally the only person here with the balls to call me smart ass to my face. I squint at her. “Remind me again who Donna is?”
“She’s the assistant to your office manager, Beth.”
“Oh.” I rack my brain for an inkling of an idea who she’s talking about. Donna must be new. I can’t keep up with all the new hires these days. I give up and shrug. “I guess it doesn’t matter when the decorations come down. Maybe it would be easier if they were left up until Monday. Let everyone enjoy them tomorrow.”