What Did Veronica Know

I poured some crappy coffee into my cup. The break room in the new offices didn’t even offer coffee pods, just pots on burners crusted with old coffee so it always smelled like it looked, like old burnt coffee.

“She doesn’t have a clue what she’s doing, but boy, does she think she knows it all,” I said.

“I know,” said Veronica. “Oh my gawd Sharon, Jayne makes such a big deal out of going to Cornell. So what,” she shrugged, “I went to MIT.” She glanced down at her ring with the unmistakable emblem.

I stirred my coffee and turned to toss the stick in the trash.

“Did you say something?” Rick, or John or Dave or whatever his name was had walked into the break room. I can’t keep track of them all, so many new and different faces, always coming and going. This one looked like someone had stuffed his mouth with a double row of straight even chicklets. Veronica had already made herself scarce. Too many rumors had been circulating about layoffs. You had to be careful what you said. And in front of who you said it.

I shook my head and went back to my desk passing more new people in cubicles, hunched over laptops, speaking with a quiet urgency. Veronica was waiting for me there. I checked the area before I spoke; the rest of the desks around mine were empty.  “Jeezus, Veronica, we have got to keep our traps shut. You never know who could be lurking.”

“Speaking of lurking,” Veronica lowered her head, moving closer to whisper, “what the hell is with the Take a Troll to Work Day look that she’s got going on today. She looks like she should be under a bridge with that black duster thing on. Gawd, like something out of Brothers Grimm.”

I clamped my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing too loudly. It didn’t stop me from snorting though. “Or maybe The Matrix! Almost as bad as that outfit yesterday, the full-on suede one.”

“Well, you know how it is with some people, when they wear leather, they have to wear the whole cow.” Veronica smirked while I choked on my coffee.

Dave/Rick/John walked over from one of the cubicles in the row. “You ok?” Wow, so he was that guy. The kind of needy/wanting to be needed type.

“Yeah,” I replied between coughs, “went down the wrong pipe.” I picked up my pen and a pad of paper so it looked like Veronica and I were working and not plotting to stage a coup.

“Ok, just checking if I needed to do the Heimlich on anyone!” He gave an earnest chicklet-filled smile.

“Thanks, all good here.” I gave him a wave to let him know he could/should go. Still aiming to please, he turned and walked away in his khakis and sneakers, taking both rows of teeth with him. 

“He could give me the Heimlich anytime. Mmmmmm.” Veronica said with an almost predatory purr as soon as Dave/Rick/John was out of earshot. “He could practice by wrapping those arms around me.” She twisted her long dark hair into a thick rope which draped over her shoulder.

“With that mouth full of teeth?” I asked.

“I think he’s kind of cute.” Veronica was perpetually on the prowl.

“What about the last one you were dating? Yogi-man?”

Veronica always referred to the guys she dated like that, “Yogi Man”. The one before had been “Fly Guy” – an amateur pilot who took her flying in his plane. Before it had been German Wine Guy. It made it easier to keep track of them than using a confusing roster of names.

“Eh,” she said, “he’s nice but not really going anywhere.” There was always a fatal flaw. Maybe she hasn’t found The One yet. Or maybe he doesn’t exist. I don’t know where she gets the time or the energy. Just hearing about her love life exhausts me. I can’t imagine living it.

Jayne swished down the row of cubicles, her black duster swirling as she swung her arms, like an energetic Grim Reaper in heels heading in my direction. 

“Sharon! How’s it going? Are you ready to get together? I had us down for 11:00.” 

“Sure,” I said as I grabbed the pad of paper and a pen again and did a quick eyeroll to Veronica. Jayne ignored Veronica and it made me wonder if someone might have repeated our conversation.

Jayne’s office, in contrast to the troll/matrix look, had a softer aesthetic of soothing colors, with graceful blown-glass vases. Everything was tasteful, smooth, with no sharp edges. A framed photo occupied the space above the credenza of Cornell’s campus featuring the Tower, underscored with the seal.

“So,” Jayne began, opening her folded hands, “how is your search going? What interviews do you have lined up? And do you have the print-out I gave you to do the grid of your search?” Her eyes blinked bright behind her stylish glasses; her smile provided a bottom upbeat note.

I blinked back but if my blinks were morse code, they would have communicated more than distress but also confusion.

“The grid. You know, the grid to keep track of the people and companies you’ve spoken with, the networking results. It’s a proven strategy to help you. We’ve had so many successful candidates find their next opportunity that way.”

Opportunity. Search. Grid?

“Sharon, remember when we first met? I explained that we were contracted by your former employer to assist you in your job search. That our services here in these offices are to support you as you look for your next opportunity, a place that offers an office environment. We find that it facilitates a sense of going to work. But our resources are limited to the time they allocated. And I’m afraid we’re coming to the end of that time.”

I didn’t say anything. I had no words that I could say.

Jayne smiled again, this time with a sympathetic tilt to the corners of her mouth. “Feel free to stay until the end of the day. And please keep in touch and let me know where you land.” She stood up, signaling that the meeting was over.

I looked around for Veronica to say goodbye but despite searching the empty desks, I couldn’t find her. I only saw a few more new faces, tapping away on laptops. I even asked the receptionist at the front desk in the lobby if Veronica had left. She was a young girl sitting below the sign that read “Baxter Associates, Outplacement and Career Transition Services”. 

She looked up from her phone. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t remember a Veronica. I don’t really know everyone here.”

But when I got to my car and opened the door, there she was, already sitting inside, cool and calm, despite the heat. I swear, the girl never sweats.

I got in and started the car. I turned to Veronica and said, “Did you know about this?”