On Account of Love

"Ms. Orr? Could I see you for a moment, in my office, please?"

One of Millennial Advertising's senior partners stood in the aisle outside my cubicle.

"Sure, Mr. Fenway." I smiled, but, inwardly, I grimaced. I haven't done anything wrong—that I know of, and, as a rule, Mr. Fenway asked to see someone only if he or she had screwed up.

I closed the Jennings account, which I'd been reviewing on my computer. Following him, through the maze of aisles, I was conscious of my colleagues' curious stares. We went down a long corridor, past Sharon, our receptionist, to the bank of elevators in the hallway beyond the foyer.

Mr. Fenway pressed the button for the top floor, where the partners' offices were located.

Don't fidget, and don't start mumbling. I have a tendency to make nervous small talk when I'm stressed, and being called onto the carpet by a senior partner's about as stressful as it gets.

It seemed to take forever for the car to arrive and an eternity for it to reach its destination.

Mr. Fenway stared straight ahead, saying nothing, his face impassive.

Whatever it is, it's bad. Maybe I should dust off my resumé.

As we stepped into his outer office, Mr. Fenway told his secretary, "Hold my calls, Marge. I don't want to be disturbed."

She nodded, giving me a covert look, both sympathetic and pitying.

Does Marge know something I don't? I remembered my colleagues' stares, as we'd walked past them downstairs. Do they know something, too?

We walked into Mr. Fenway's office. It was cold, because of the air conditioning, the temperature adding to my discomfort.

"Have a seat."

He took his own advice, peering at me across the expanse of his huge desk.

Crossing my legs, I offered him a smile.

His face remained inexpressive as he regarded me, for a long moment, in silence, from his throne-like executive's chair. Finally, he said, "The other partners and I have had our eye on you."

I repressed the impulse to gulp. Looking back at him, I kept my expression as noncommittal as his own.

Another long moment passed. "We're impressed with your work in general," he declared, smiling for the first time, "and with your work on the Jennings account in particular."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Mr. Fenway."

"Although Hal Booker was the project manager on the account's ad campaign, without you, he would have failed miserably. That's why he was fired. You saved that campaign and, as a result, the account."

"I like to think I made a difference."

"The other partners and I'd like to show our appreciation, Karen."

I can't believe my ears! He actually called me by my first name. I've been working here for five years, and he's never called me anything but "Ms. Orr" before now. I'm finally being recognized.

He slid a slip of paper across the desktop, toward me.

It was a check.

For five thousand dollars!

"Thank you, Mr. Fenway, and please thank the other partners for me, too."

"You earned it." He smiled. "You've earned something else as well: a promotion. You're now a project manager. You'll be in charge of the Curvaceous You account's ad campaign."

Curvaceous You! That's one of the biggest lingerie companies in the world!

"From start to finish, you'll have full control. It's a big responsibility, but you have our every confidence."

I felt so elated I looked down, to make sure I wasn't floating. I wasn't. Not yet, anyway. "What about my team?"

"As soon as you settle into your office, you can pick and choose anyone who's not already working on another project."

I'm getting an office!

I smiled, as I envisioned the staff I'd assemble.

"The only one we're assigning is Jim Howard."

I felt my face fall, as my smile disappeared. Not Jim Howard! Anyone but him! Jim's talented, but he's also difficult to work with; everyone knows that. He's opinionated, head strong, and resistant to authority. He also has the support of the partners, and he's not shy about making an end-run around supervisors.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, sir."

Mr. Fenway smiled. "All right, then, Karen, I'd better let you get back to work."

Feeling almost giddy, I returned his smile as I rose from my chair. "Thank you."

As I reached the door, he called after me, "We're counting on you, Karen."

* * *

"Tony, could you turn out the lights, please?" I asked. "We've spent three months on our project, and, now, it's time we see the final results of our labors."

Turning in his chair, Tony flipped the three switches controlling the conference room's overhead lighting. The room went dark, except for the picture projected from the computer onto the screen beside me—a still image of our corporate logo.

I clicked "Play."

On the screen, the door to a bedroom's en suite opened. To the accompaniment of soft instrumental music, a pair of bare feminine legs stepped into a bedroom. As the woman approached the king-size bed, the perspective changed, light illuminating the backs of her naked thighs and her shapely calves. Light and shadow played along the smooth, creamy flesh of her exposed arms.

A man waited in bed, propped upon pillows, his gaze studying the woman—his wife, his girlfriend, his mistress?—who approached him.

As she drew nearer, clouds, framed by the window, drifted apart. She stepped into the moonlight streaming through the windows.

His smile stretched into a grin, as he reached out to her.

She wore a black lace, strappy teddy, the top of which, reduced to an hour-glass shape connecting bra and panties, exposed the sides of her abdomen as well as the tops of her high, round breasts.

Text, in blazing lettering, appeared across the bottom of the screen: "Curvaceous You: The World's Sexiest Women Are Wearing It."

There was a pause, as, stepping out of the moonlight, she returned to the darkness, climbing into bed and into her lover's arms. Then, the question, in the same fiery font, appeared, below the original text: "Are you?"

"Lights, please," I called.

Tony flipped the switches.

I smiled as I looked at my team, seated around the table. "So, what do you think, guys?"

Nods indicated their approval.

"It's sexy," Tony declared.

"And naughty," Jill proclaimed, "but nice."

"I like it," Matt said, grinning.

"It's cute," Viv agreed.

Only one of us hadn't ventured an opinion.

"What do you think, Jim?" I asked him.

"It's cute, all right," he said.

I beamed. "It's unanimous, then."

"If the woman watching it's a hooker," he added.

I felt a rush of blood to my face as I blushed, not in embarrassment, but in anger. Controlling myself, I asked, "Why do you say that?"

"It lacks subtlety."

"Would you care to explain?" I demanded.

"I'd think it'd be obvious."

Through gritted teeth, I said, "Enlighten me."

"You don't have to be crude to sell underwear."

"Crude?" Viv repeated, looking incredulous. "What's crude about it?"

"Everything."

"Such as?" she persisted.

"It would have been sufficient to show her arm as she reaches for the lingerie hanging on a hook."

I stared at him, unable to believe what I was hearing. "Okay, guys, I appreciate your feedback. I think the general consensus of opinion is that the ad works. I'm going to show it to Mr, Fenway, and, if he approves it, I'll schedule an appointment to show it to our client."

"When you talk to Mr. Fenway, make sure you tell him I think the ad's a disaster," Jim said.

I nodded. "Don't worry. I'll make your opinion known." And your attitude.

Jim rose with the others, looking as unfazed and confident as ever.

He doesn't think I have any more clout with the firm's partners than he does. Maybe he's right. I guess I'll find out soon enough.

Jim wasted no time leaving. He nearly bolted from the room. But the rest of the team lingered.

"What a creep," Viv said.

"What burns me most about him is his attitude," Jill declared. "He's totally disrespectful to you, Karen—and to everyone else."

"There's a reason for that," Tony suggested.

"Yeah," Matt agreed. "It's no secret he envies your promotion, Karen. He thinks he should have your position. His opinion about the commercial has nothing to do with the ad. It's personal invective, directed at you, out of spite."

"That's part of it," Viv said, "but I think there's more."

"Oh?" Tony asked.

Arching an eyebrow, she looked at me as she decreed, "He's hot for you, boss."

Laughter spluttered from my lips. "The guy detests me, Viv!"

"There's a fine line between love and hate."

I shook my head. "So I've heard, but not in this case."

Viv only smiled.

After I notified Mr. Fenway that the ad was ready for his viewing, I visited the ladies' room. Viv was touching up her makeup.

"I've been thinking of your theory that Jim might be attracted to me."

She paused, lipstick poised, and gave me a sideways glance. "He's not the only one interested in you."

Taken aback, I asked, "Who else are we talking about?"

"Matt. Maybe you haven't noticed him stealing glances at you whenever you walk past his cubicle."

I smiled. "I doubt he's interested in me personally, although I wouldn't mind if he were."

"You're in luck, then, Karen. Matt's not only a good-looking, decent man, but he's also definitely interested in you."

"Guys check out all the women. Matt's no different."

In the mirror, I saw Viv smile.

When Mr. Fenway asked to see me again, he relayed the summons through Marge.

"Did he say what it's about?" I asked her.

She shook her head.

"Did he look angry?"

"I can never tell."

I nodded. "He's hard to read."

Speaking into her intercom, she announced me.

"Send her in," I heard him say.

"Good luck," Marge said.

"Thanks."

At his door, I knocked, even though it was open.

"Come in."

"You want to see me, Mr. Fenway?"

"Close the door, please."

I did as instructed and crossed the room.

"Have a seat."

I sat.

He regarded me from the high-backed, well-upholstered leather chair behind his massive desk. "I've watched your commercial."

I frowned. Who showed it to him? I certainly hadn't! "Oh?"

"Yes, Jim asked me to take a look at it."

"I'm the project manager," I reminded Mr. Fenway, "not Jim Howard."

"I'm fully aware of that, Karen."

At least he hasn't started calling me "Ms. Orr" again. Yet. "It's customary—in fact, it's protocol—for the project lead to show his or her team's commercials, isn't it, Mr. Fenway."

He nodded. "Ordinarily, but I value Jim's opinion."

"And what about mine?"

"I value yours, too, of course." He stroked his right temple with his fingers. "That's why I've decided to let you and Jim work out your differences of opinion. You're both bright, talented members of the firm. Between you, you should be able to settle your differences, maybe over dinner, and come to a compromise that's best for the client and best for the company."

"What if we can't reach a compromise?"

Mr. Fenway sat back in his chair. "That would be unfortunate."

"Mr. Fenway, I think you're—"

"You and Jim had better get together soon. Curvaceous You is expecting to see their commercial. We don't want to keep them waiting."

Repressing the urge to storm out of his office, I hastened from the room, breezing past Marge. At the elevator, I punched the button for the third floor.

On the way down, the car stopped at the eighth floor, and Matt stepped aboard. "Hi, Karen. I was just at H. R. Somehow, my paycheck got screwed up, and the company shorted me two-hundred dollars." He peered more closely at me. What's wrong?"

I shook my head, frowning. Don't say anything you might regret! "Nothing."

"Come on. You can tell me. I'll even give you a penny for your thoughts."

"They're not worth it." Not according to Mr. Fenway.

"In that case, you must be thinking of Jim."

"I'm not." But I was—of Jim and Mr. Fenway. Both of them had treated me shabbily over the Curvaceous You account.

"Well, I am. I can't get the creep out of my mind. Of all the stubborn, obnoxious brown-nosing jerks on the planet, we had to get stuck with Jim Howard, the company's golden boy! You've worked hard to get where you are, Karen, and, now, because of his sour grapes, your first project, an unqualified success, is being threatened."

I nodded. "And, with it, most likely, my position as project manager." Maybe I shouldn't be confiding in Matt, but I have to share my concerns with somebody or I'll explode. Matt's always been a loyal friend, and, if Viv's right and he does like me, he's not likely to say anything.

"What are you going to do about it, Karen?"

"Have dinner with him."

Matt looked at me as if I'd lost my mind. "What good will that do?"

"None, but Mr. Fenway practically ordered me to go out with him, to try to, quote, work out our differences and reach a compromise, unquote."

"You have to be kidding."

"I wish I were. The last thing I want to do is go anywhere with him, especially to dinner."

"Don't go, then. I have an idea."

"What is it?"

"Let's talk about it at dinner tonight."

"So what do you think about my plan?" Matt smiled at me across the table.

It's odd how ideas about someone else can change drastically in an instant. Although I've worked with you every day for five years, I never thought of you as anyone more than a friend. Now, as I sit in a booth with you, here at Reinaldo's Restaurant, sipping tequila, I see you as the hunk you've always been. That's what I'm thinking. Gazing into his eyes, I smiled. "There's only one thing I like better, Matt."

"What's that?"

"You."

Looking surprised, he smiled.

Reaching across the table, I covered his hand with mine. "Maybe it's the tequila. Maybe it's the restaurant's ambiance. Maybe it's the food. Maybe it's the fact you care enough about me to have come to my defense at work and to propose a plan to settle the conflict between Jim and me—in my favor, hopefully. Maybe it's all of the above. Whatever made me see you in a new light, I'm glad it happened. You're quite a guy, Matt. You have character—and good looks." I hope Viv's right, and you're attracted to me, because, otherwise, I just made a complete ass of myself.

"I'm glad, too. From the day I first saw you, I thought, She's the one."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"I didn't know whether you were attracted to me."

"Until tonight, I thought of you as a friend and colleague, as a nice guy who'd make some lucky woman a good husband."

He sipped his tequila. "And now?"

My hand tightened on his, as I gazed into his eyes. "I think I might want to be that woman."

* * *

A week later, Mr. Fenway summoned me to his office again, through Marge.

"You know how hard he is to read?" she asked me when I stepped into Mr. Fenway's outer office.

I nodded.

She shook her head, looking concerned for me. "Not this morning. He's steamed."

"Thanks for the warning."

"Be careful, Karen." She announced my arrival.

"Send her in," he said, and, if the sound of his curt directive were any indication of his mood, Marge was right: he was in a bad temper.

I knocked at his door.

"Come in."

"You want to see me, Mr. Fenway?"

"Close it."

I shut the door, and crossed the room to his desk.

"Sit."

I took a seat.

Glowering at me, he said, "Didn't I suggest you work out your differences over Curvaceous You's commercial with Jim, over dinner, Ms. Orr."

So, it was "Ms. Orr" now? "Yes, sir."

"Didn't I ask you to find a compromise between his position on the ad and your own?"

"Yes, sir."

"That was a week ago. Jim says you've never mentioned dinner to him."

"That's right, Mr. Fenway."

"And why is that, Ms. Orr?"

"I had a new commercial shot, one that approaches the product the way Jim suggested."

Mr. Fenway leaned back in his chair. "I'd like to see it."

"Is this afternoon okay?"

He nodded. "One o'clock, in the conference room."

"Yes, sir."

"That's all."

Right before the showing, Matt stopped by my office. "How are you feeling?"

"The same way I've felt all morning. Jittery."

"Jim's the golden boy, but, in the final analysis, Mr. Fenway's a bottom-line kind of guy. Whichever commercial's likely to sell the customer is the one he'll go for, and yours will beat Jim's hands down."

I smiled. "I hope you're right, Matt."

At one o'clock, Mr. Fenway was sitting in the dark, in front of the screen on which I projected the picture of Millennial Advertising's logo, which was the image that led all our commercial previews. For the actual broadcasts of the ads, if and when they aired, the logo would be edited out, of course.

"This is the ad, as Jim envisions it," I said, clicking "Play."

Standing in the open doorway of her bedroom's en suite, the curvy silhouette of a nude woman appeared on the screen.

The camera cut to the actor representing her lover, whoever he might be. Moonlight spilled through the window near the king-size bed, showing his rapt expression as he looked toward the figure of the woman.

The camera came in close, as she reached for Curvaceous You's teddy, hanging on a hook on the inside of the bathroom door. As she raised her arm, light from the bathroom behind her illuminated the lingerie, hanging shapelessly on the hook.

In bed, the actor grinned.

Flaming text appeared on the screen: "Curvaceous You: The World's Sexiest Women Are Wearing It." After a pause, a question, in the same fiery font, appeared, below the original text: "Are you?"

The screen went black as the video ended.

Sounding incredulous and angry, Fenway demanded, "Is that it?"

In the darkness, I smiled. "Yes, sir."

"That's the whole thing?"

I grinned. "Yes, sir. That's the commercial, as Jim envisions it. I'd like to show you my version again, too."

"Let's see it."

I played the ad. To me, the differences between Jim's and mine were obvious. His was bare bones; mine, bare flesh. His was lackluster; mine, enticing. His was boring; mine, sensuous and seductive. I just hope Mr. Fenway sees things my way.

After the video played, and I turned on the lights, Mr. Fenway said, "I knew you were the right person to manage the Curvaceous You account's advertising campaign, Karen. Your vision is inspiring; Jim's, insipid. Congratulations."

So now I was "Karen" again. I resisted the impulse to say thank you.

"You saved this account, just as you saved the Jennings account." He pushed back his chair, rose, and walked to the door. Before exiting the conference room, he said, "Don't think your hard work's gone unnoticed and don't think it will go unrewarded."

\ After the showing, I asked Matt to step into my office.

"How's it go?"

"Close the door."

He frowned, as he did my bidding.

By the time he turned around, I was way across the room, my arms stretched out, smiling. "Your plan was a total success. Mr. Fenway hated Jim's commercial and loves mine—or ours, I should say.."

We hugged.

"We helped with the details, but the ad's your idea, Karen."

I kissed him. "Thanks, Matt, for everything. You saved my job."

He shrugged. "That's what knights in armor do, nowadays, the slaying of dragons being a thing of the past, and all."

"I can think of another, even more chivalrous, deed you could do for me, Sir Matthew."

He smiled. "What might that be, my fair lady?"

I kissed him again. "Let's talk about it tonight, after dinner at my place."

* * *

The evening meal was simple. I make tomato and basil bruschetta for an appetizer, zucchini and vegetable tacos for the entree, and stirred-fried vegetables for a side, serving the meal with white wine.

As Matt finished, I asked, "Ready for dessert? It's French vanilla ice cream with strawberries."

"I'd better not. I'm watching my waistline."

"You're not overweight."

"So I don't gain weight."

"I see. Ordinarily, I'd have a bowl, but I'm saving room for you, Matt."