"At first, I had a friend, and now, she's my competition."
"Amanda would be mortified if she knew you felt that way. Oh, she would be mortified," Martha said sadly.
"Really? well, don't tell her I said anything," Debbie said softly.
Amanda, Mike and Steve were partying so uproariously in the other room, they probably did not even notice or care that she had left them.
There they had stood. Mike, at the PC, playing golf on bright green lawns and florescent blue ponds. Steve, taking business calls after five, as he subsequently lowered the radio. Mike's friend, Ronnie, innocently looking on as Amanda flitted from Mike to Steve, massaging the tense back of Steve, rubbing Mike's shoulders, now Steve, now Mike.
Debbie glowered in smoldering silent rage. She had been mad for days. She could not help it. She hated it when she got into these moods. But she could not drag herself out of the bottomless depths of despair and anger.
Amanda perched on the radiator next to Mike, then stood.
"No, stay here," Mike told her.
She held his hand. Debbie's eyes narrowed as she glared at the back of Amanda's head. She stared at Amanda's leg, stretched across the room her black patent leather spike heel resting on Steve's chair. Amanda rubbed the muscles of Steve's back, which did not budge under her kneading hands.
"You've go ta lot of work ahead of you, Amanda," Debbie laughed tensely.
"He never will relax. Know when the last time I saw him relaxed? Piled up in the back seat of my car when I drove him home," Mike laughed.
"Really?" Debbie stared at his tense back.
And Amanda's hand went to rub Mike's back passionately again.
"Michael," she whined, "When are you taking me out to dinner?"
"Why should I take you out to dinner?" he said.
"When commission checks come in, you're supposed to take me out to dinner," she crooned. "Michael..." and she clenched her teeth in an imploring smile.
Debbie was now ready to punch her. Or pull that long curling hair out of her head. She was getting drunker by the minute. She sipped wine out of a tiny paper cup. When Amanda's face turned to her, she gave her a look of narrow-eyed hate.
The golf game continued. Mike's eyes never left the screen.
"I give him massages and he almost falls to the floor," Amanda nodded to Mike.
"Yeah, she reciprocates. But she gets uncomfortable if anyone sees us."
What? They give each other massages in his office?
"Call Martha. See how she likes her salad," someone said.
And Amanda and Mike described the salad they picked out together for Martha, down at the Chinese deli-grocery.
"Hello, Martha. How's your salad?"
"I'm in Steve's office. No, Amanda's her, too. And Mike. Did I say something I wasn't supposed to?" Debbie hung up the phone.
"Yes!" Amanda leaned on Mike's shoulder, smirking sheepishly.
She ran out of the office to explain to Martha. Mike followed her and Debbie slammed the door behind them.
"How about it, Debbie? Amanda and Mike? What do you think?" Steve jibed, his face lighting up.
"Steve! Yes!" Debbie gave him her thumbs up, and laughed bitterly. She put on Steve's jacket. "Pierre Cardin? You don't mind, do you? I don't want to ruin it."
"That looks good," Ronnie nodded his approval. Amanda returned with Mike.
Debbie opened Steve's behemoth blue and white umbrella, striped beach ball style. (Oh....I still have it! That's where it comes from???) {sic}
She lifted it to the ceiling and began to spin it.
"Like a disco," she said.
"Now, pose," Mike said admiringly.
She stuck out her chest. "No, that's sleazy," she said.
"No, it's not," Mike said. But he looked down in adolescent fascination at her leopard print jeans she had changed into, after work. Her conservative blue skirt and blouse seemed so dull next to Amanda's red satiny dress.
"All women are in competition with each other, Debbie," Martha now said.
"I know. I know it's only them, but...I have to get a life."
"Amanda would be mortified if she knew you felt that way. I've know her for two years."
"Really? Only two? I thought you knew each other for years."
"No, just two years."
"But you know her pretty well. She's going through a divorce, so I guess she needs their attention more than I do." Debbie stood.
"I guess I better get going before they..." She doubted they missed her.
But before her words had time to trail off, Amanda was by her side.
"Well, I never listened outside someone's door before," she said with a surprised smirk.
Martha covered her face with her hands.
Soap opera, Debbie thought instantly, numb with rum and coke.
"Amanda," Debbie said, fueled by booze and surprise, "it's making me mad, every day. I'm not used to you being divorced. I don't want to like Mike."
At this, Martha tilted her head in utter embarrassment. Amanda put her arm comfortingly around her friend.
"Poor Martha," Debbie said. Martha leaned her forehead into her hand, her elbow propped up on her desk.
"I should have told you this a long time ago." Debbie now confessed.
"I do that same stuff to you!" Amanda said, her smile bright. "Let's go." And she led her friend away to the ladies' room so Martha would not hear anymore.
"Why is this place like a TV show?" Debbie said as they walked past Kooch's office. "You wouldn't give him the time of day!"
"I have to divide the attention between Mike and Steve so no one will know I like Steve." Amanda explained. "I ws dying to touch him!"
They leaned over the vanity.
"You over compensated," Debbie realized.
"I don't want to like him," Debbie then said.
"But you see him every day," Amanda said. "And now, Jamie wants to come over tonight and he hasn't called to say when, so I'm thinking about that, while I'm in there. And Jim's working late and I'm worried. I'm wondering why he's working late. And this..."
"I don't compete with my friends," she said softly. Her face was so innocent that Debbie believed her.
They walked down the corridor together, back to Steve's office.
"Where's Mike?" Amanda said.
"He's talking with Martha," Ron smiled.
"Stay here," Amanda said.
"I'm not going to jump," Debbie told her. She sat on the desk.
Outside the building, Amanda and Debbie faced the three handsome young men in business suits and jackets. Mike gave Amanda a light hug. He turned to Debbie. She looked up at him, complacent with the aftermath of tears. Steve had rushed her into the corridor, and now they all stood beneath the skyscrapers on a misty New York night.
She lifted her arms up to Mike's shoulders. When did he get so tall? They embraced softly and she murmurred into his shoulder. "You better be careful."
She turned to face Ronnie. He smiled, moved by all of this.
"Goodnight, Ron," she said cheerfully.
She and Amanda left their handsome partners and walked off together to Penn Station.
CORPORATE BLUES
Denise Hickey
Sept. 1989
0910D
(P.S. I wonder where they all are now...on Facebook, probably.)
