Ch 1: Fred is Dead or The Big Break up

Chapter One: Fred is Dead or The Big Break-Up

         My life as I know it is over. Over. Over. Over.  I will never breathe again. I will never have fun again. I will never love again. (Sob sob. Tear tear.) I will never get married. I will never have children. I will never have that little dog that fits in my purse that I carry with me everywhere I go! (Sobbing intensifies). I'm flying at 30,000 feet and for the first time, I don't even care if we have an accident. In fact, I hope this plane bottoms out, over the ocean; no wait, into the mountains, that would be quicker. Wouldn't it? At least then I wouldn't have to succumb to all this pain. My heart is broken. I swear I can actually feel it splintering through my chest, cutting through my trachea and exploding outward into little pieces so small you can see them once they hit air. Why? Why? Why? How did this happen to me? And of all the nights – to break up with me the night before I have to fly across the country to the City of Sin to put on my very first trade show as a “career woman” with Creative Retail (C|R). I just hope to God I don’t run into anyone on this flight from my company. I suppose seeing that I might not even make my flight being that it’s 7:15 and the flight is scheduled to leave Logan at 7:45 and I am still in a cab, the likelihood of running into someone I know, at least in the airport is low seeing as how most normal people will have boarded the plane already, accounting for the 2 hours you are supposed to show up before your flight ever since 9/11. But no, I always have to cut things close as usual. Had Frederick not broken up with me last night, however, this never would have happened. Clearly, this is all his fault.
         We pull up to Terminal B, all American outbound domestic flights. It’s 7:25. I can do this. I throw the cabbie a fifty dollar bill from the petty cash I‘d taken from work the day before (one of the few things I was prepared for on this early morning) and begin to make my way towards the Gate, sprinting. Panting…I knew I should have packed earlier. Whenever I pack the morning of a flight, I end up throwing everything-but-the-kitchen-sink in my just-barely-under-regulation size, pseudo-Louis white multi-colored rainbow Murakami luggage carrier. Like I said, if Frederick hadn’t broken up with me the night before, I might have been able to think straight 12 hours ago and packed a reasonable amount of clothes for my trip.
         Here is what transpired last night…..
         Frederick called me around 6:30pm after getting out of work, like he always does and I, eagerly waiting his call, picked up on the second ring. “Hi, baby. Whatcha doing? You comin’ by tonight?”
         “Yeah, Em, about that….I don’t think I’m gonna make it tonight.”
         “What?” What on Earth did he mean ‘not gonna make it tonight??’
         “You know I’m going out of town tomorrow for the next 8 days?”
         “Yeah, I know, Em,”
         It’s never good when someone uses your name multiple times or even once in a conversation. Think about it. When was the last time your significant other called you by your first name? Exactly.
         “It’s just that I think your trip to Vegas will be a good break for us. Things have been pretty intense lately.”
         “Intense?,” What was he talking about ‘intense’? Okay, okay. So maybe I’d been playing house a little too much at his apartment lately but it wasn’t my fault. See I’d been snowed in at his place for two weeks straight when Boston saw the worst blizzard since ’78. I couldn’t park at my own apartment so I’d been shuttling back and forth between his place and my own solely to drop off laundry and pick up more clothes for work. To show my appreciation I’d cleaned his place up from top to bottom. Had he never heard of the Swiffer? And I’d been making him home-cooked meals for dinner every night. Who wouldn’t appreciate that? But deep down, I knew it. I could sense it. He was feeling claustrophobic and I was pushing him away. I just didn’t know how far away until now.
         “Come on, Em, you know this isn’t easy for me.” My name…that’s the third time. Damn it.
         “But, Fred, just one more night and then I’ll be gone for eight whole days,” I didn’t like the sound of my voice. I could tell I was starting to whine and I couldn’t help myself.
         “Em, just give me this night. I want to go out with the guys. I haven’t seen them in weeks. Have a good time on your trip and we’ll talk about things when you get back.”
         “Talk about things when I get back? Fred you sound like….like you’re breaking up with me.”
         “What can I say, Em? I need space. It’s just too much for me right now. The cooking and the cleaning….I like my space the way it is. I like that my guy friend’s can just pop by whenever they feel like it without worrying that they’re stepping on anyone’s toes. And I like a little bit of dust around my radiator. Come on, Em, don’t make this any harder than it is.”
         “But…” But I had nothing to say and my voice was starting to break.
         “Good-bye, we’ll talk again later. When you get back…okay?”
         “Yeah, okay.” But it wasn’t okay. I knew I wasn’t going to be okay and I knew all too well what was going to happen next…and sure enough it did…
         After hanging up with Frederick (very reluctantly on my part, only aggravating him further), I proceeded to drown my sorrows the only way I knew best: in a big bottle of flavored vodka, blue raspberry was my kick at the moment with a splash of diet tonic. Not exactly the choicest of alcohols out there, but it sure did taste good…at least by the third tall glass. So after I’d lost track of the number of drinks I’d downed, and my suitcase still lie in the floor open, without any clothes in it, and my vision was starting to blur, I picked my phone back up from where I’d sullenly dropped it and dialed him back. I wasn’t surprised when he didn’t pick up (I was used to this from him. When he made up his mind to stay in and not see me, he meant it.) I kept calling and calling and calling…finally he picked up and I could tell by his voice, he’d had enough, but I didn’t care. When I was in that state, I was so selfish and I would do anything to get over to his house. After he hung up on me for probably the fourth time, I finally decided that’s it. I’m taking a cab over there, whether he wants me to or not. Screw him. I was mad and sad and furious and hurting and most of all, I was completely obliterated, half knowing what I was getting myself into and half not caring. By the time I arrived at his house, Fred was sleeping. I knew where he hid his key though, after being there for so many weeks. I let myself in and tiptoed (as best I could in my inebriated state) and crawled into his bed next to him. I’m not sure what my true intentions were but I put my hand on his back and the next thing I knew he woke up, turned to face me and shot up out of bed so fast screaming at me…the rest wasn’t very pretty. After screaming at me, “Why was I here? And how did I get here? And did I know what hour it was? And did I have no respect for him?” He ended up letting me sleep in his warm bed (cause I was way too drunk to go anywhere else) while he slept on his couch. The next thing I knew I was waking up in his bed at 6:15am but all my stuff (still not packed) was at my apartment across three towns. At this hour I might make it but this was no time to mess around. I shot out of bed, screaming all kinds of obscenities at no one in particular, waking up Fred, who was none too pleased to be up at this hour.
         “Em, what on Earth??” he asked groggily.
         “I’m late. I’m late. The alarm never went off. I’m supposed to be at Logan right now and on a plane to Vegas. I can’t believe it. I’m going to ruin my first business trip ever and it hasn’t even started yet. This can’t be happening. Oh my god. What do I do?”
         “Calm down. First of all, Em, there are no sane people up at this hour. You can make it to the airport in no time.”
         “But I don’t have any of my stuff. I haven’t showered. I didn’t pack. I didn’t call a cab,” I was frantically pacing in circles and searching for my shoes. Did I even wear shoes to come over here last night?
         “Look, just settle down. I’ll drive you back to your place and call you a cab to get you to the airport while you pack, okay? You’ll make it.” How was it that Fred was always so calm at times like this? So level-headed. He totally balanced me out. He couldn’t have been serious when he said he wanted a break. Why else was he being so nice to me? Unless it was just to get rid of me sooner.
         We didn’t talk much from his apartment to mine but I had to get some things out of my system before getting on that flight to Vegas. “So, Fred, about last night,” I began unsteadily.
         “Em, don’t worry about it.”
         “But I do. I feel bad and I’m sorry I came over last night.” He laughed nervously.
         “Em, you just get too worked up about things. That’s why I think this trip and a break will be really good for us. It’s been a long winter and we’ve been too cooped up lately. Have a good time on your trip and try to just relax and have a good time for once.”
          “So you’re still breaking up with me?” I could barely get the words out. I felt like I was losing my breath with every block we got closer to my apartment.
         “Come on, Em, don’t start again. Just think about your work and the trip ahead of you and we’ll talk when you get back.” He was starting to get frustrated, I could tell. I silently began to cry determined not to show him my tears, but he knew me too well. “Please, Em, don’t cry. Don’t make it his any worse than it is.” We pulled onto my street. I knew I couldn’t linger in his car as much as I wanted to because I had to get on that flight so I reluctantly let myself out of his car and said goo-bye.
         “Don’t say it like it’s forever, Em. You’re so dramatic.” I slammed the door, determined not to look back. He couldn’t have driven away any faster. I couldn’t help but peer back at his taillights. So that was it. We were broken up. I ran into my apartment, tears streaming down my face, thinking, “That’s it, Fred is Dead,” (or it sure felt like it at least)…
         “Excuse me, Miss.” I faintly heard someone as they nudged at my blanket covered body.
         “Ughhh,” I stirred, coming out of a deep, tear-stricken sleep, confused until I caught sight of the gaze of the woman in navy blue, with a set of wings on her lapel, causing me to jump. “Oh, sorry. Are we here?” I began to get up, looking to the front and back of the plane, only to find that the rest of the people had deboarded. “How embarrassing,” I mumbled to myself.
         “We landed about 30 minutes ago. Welcome to Las Vegas,” the stewardess said and turned on her heel towards the pilot’s area where the other stewardesses were standing.
         I picked up my blanket that had been my comfort and savior for the past 5 and a half hour plane ride, hiding my tear-strewn face from the rest of the passengers, namely my co-workers, like Ralph and Mike who I’d seen a few rows behind me when I first got on. Besides the tear stains on my cheeks, I must have looked like (or smelled like) the vagabond who kicked back a few too many on some stoop the night before. It felt like it took forever for me to get up out of those tightly squeezed-in airplane seats, using up all the strength that I had. After all, I sure had a lot to hold up on my shoulders at this point. I thought about all the work that lied ahead this week. It was going to be my first trade show ever and from what I’d heard, things could get ugly on site. Then I thought about Izzy and Meri and Chris and how I’d have to explain to them the events of last night and my break up with Frederick (or his dumping me more like it). Tears began welling up in my eyes again. Regaining some semblance of strength at the thought of trying to get through this without giving Frederick the satisfaction or power of being able to hurt me like that, I picked up my pseudo-Louis from the overhead and made my way off the plane, head held high. (Okay, I was staring at my shoes the entire time, but I was sure as heck walking fast and furiously.) I thanked the Captain and stewardesses on my way out for the safe flight (despite having been praying to fly into the Rockies when I’d first boarded this morning).
         To continue my avoidance of all things and people related to C|R at baggage claim, I quickly ducked into the first Ladies room I saw. The last thing I ever expected to find upon swinging the door open (besides seeing my mascara all over my face for the first time in the mirror) was Karla Mancusi, my boss (also known as the Bitch Boss from Hell – we’ve all had them, don’t deny it). “What is she doing here? I thought for sure she’d have been on the red eye two nights ago so that she could get first crack before the rest of us so she could schmooze and booze the big wig clients who’d be setting up their booths early at our show. But, no, just my luck. Here she is standing not five feet away from me on what could possibly be the worst day of my life.” I sighed quietly and picked my head up a little, “Hi, Karla, what are you doing here? I mean it’s really great to see you…” I stammered away, as I so often did in her presence.
         “Emmaline,” she says in her cool professional tone that never falters one way or another, always so even. It makes me wonder if she ever has any fun outside of work. “How was your flight? Did you have any problems getting here?” Now she’s asking my opinion and how I felt about something. Is she all right? Is this some cruel trick? Does she have a secret camera installed in my purse? And she knows everything about my break up with Fred and the turmoil it was for me to get on that plane this morning and the fact that I almost missed my flight because I’d been so stupid as to drown my sorrows in a bottle of cheap vodka last night? No. She’s evil but she couldn’t have. Could she?
         “Um, just fine, Karla. Nothing too tragic. I hate turbulence but once we got out of the Rockies, I knew we wouldn’t be smashed to pieces all over the atmosphere. I mean I knew we’d make it. I mean...” She looked at me with puzzlement, her brows increasing in skeptical curiosity the more I rambled. Why did I always have to sound like a bumbling fool in front of her? She’s just another human being like me (for the most part anyways).
         “Okay, great. I trust you’ll be on site soon after we get back to the hotel. I want this to be our best show yet and our vendors will be anxiously waiting to speak to the sales team so everyone will need to do their best to keep them happy ‘til they arrive,” Karla said as she made her way out the ladies room door.
         “You got it! I’ll definitely be on my A-game all week,” I called out to her out the door, but she was well gone, probably didn’t even hear me. I hope she didn’t anyways…my “A-game”? Who talks like that? Ugh…something tells me this is going to be a long week.