Part Seven

“Ozzie, this is ridiculous,” Cat complains. She straightens out her skirt as she rises to leave his office. “I can’t do this anymore. Why aren't I credited on the report? You know how much time I spent on this project.” She waves the bound pamphlet in his direction.

“Cat, it’s not what you think,” he taps the end of his pen on his desk.

“Well, then, what is it Ozzie? I’ve been working here for almost five years, and this is the respect I get? I was Project Director on this.” She places her hands on her hips.

“I know, I know. Cat, I can assure you this is a simply clerical error. It was not done on purpose.” He lifts the phone and calls his assistant into the office. Carol, a young eager girl of twenty-three instantly appears in his large corner office.

“Yes, Mr. Bloom,” she smiles at him ignoring Cat.

“We need to re-print fifty copies of this report.” He looks at Cat, “somehow Ms. Green’s name was left off the list of contributors. She should be listed as Project Director.”

“No problem, Mr. Bloom. Will that be all?” She waits for his response.

“Yes, that’s all Carol.” She turns to leave the room.

“Thanks Ozzie,” Cat leaves not satisfied with his excuse. She worries that he left her name off on purpose, and if she knows Oz at all, she knows that is exactly what happened. She’s glad that she bothered to leaf through the report before their meeting later that afternoon.

She sits at her neat cubicle and re-types that notes she made on the report. She thinks typing them again will help her to remember her points later, and hopefully she won’t have to rely too heavily on her notes. She knows the material, she knows the research, she just doesn’t want her nerves to get in her way. Cat doesn’t know why she’s more nervous about this meeting with Mary than she has been about the dozens of other meetings she’s been in with the CEO. Maybe it’s because she really believes in this project. She knows she can get a younger audience interested in Mary’s brand, and Cat thinks she knows exactly how to reach them.

She’s distracted by the mail boy who has a package for her. She puts the skirts she ordered beneath her desk for later. She checks her email. Still nothing from Nick. She hasn’t heard from him in three days. Cat wonders if his absence is the heart of her problem, she feels so much better when she can talk to him about stuff. He always knows just what to say to her. Cat clicks refresh again, but nothing pops up.

“Hello,” Mark leans over her desk.

“Oh hey,” she quickly closes her personal email, “how are you,” she turns around to greet him.

“Whatcha trying to hide?” he points to the screen.

“Oh nothing, just my email.” She pouts.

“How’s Nick?” Mark grins.

“I guess he’s fine,” Cat shrugs.

“What’s wrong, Cat?”

“I haven’t heard from him in three days. I’m worried I said something that offended him.” She confesses.

“ Wrote,” Mark says.

“Huh?”

“Wrote something that offended him, you still haven’t spoken to him, right?” Mark corrects her.

‘Shut up Mark, no I haven’t spoken to him. Ok, ok, but I still haven’t heard from him.” Mark put his hands on her shoulders.

“He’s probably just busy. Are you sure it’s a good idea to be so worried about some guy you haven’t even talked to? I’m worried about how attached you are to Nick.” He gives her a squeeze.

“Mark, I don’t need this right now. I know that you don’t approve of our friendship, but I really like him. I’m having a shitty day, alright. And I’ve got a meeting with Mary later, remember.” She pleads with him.

“Ok, I’m sorry. Don’t worry about Nick. Focus on your meeting. You’ll do great. And we’re still meeting for drinks later, right?” He smiles at her.

“Yes, I’ll see you after work. Now leave me alone. I’ve got to concentrate.” She shoos him away.

“Stop checking your email,” Mark says as he steps into the elevator down the hall.

Cat resists the urge to show him her middle finger. She works through lunch, but knows not eating is a mistake because she is starving at 3:00 p.m. when the meeting begins. Ozzie does not assign her a seat at the conference table and she is forced to sit in the chairs that line the edge of the room with the executive assistants. She notes that her name does now appear on the front page of the report. Maybe she shouldn’t be sitting at the table, Cat thinks as she scans the VPs who surround Oz.

Mary comes in and takes a seat the head of the table. In a moment the shades are drawn and the video presentation begins. Cat watches the video she’s seen hundreds of time and mindlessly mouths the words along with the young women on screen. She wrote the script, the questionnaires and found the young women willing to participate. As the credits roll the lights came back on. Ozzie opens his mouth to begin a discussion but Mary cuts him off.

“Where did you find those young women, Ozzie. They seem like exactly what we are looking for.” Every head in the room turns toward Oz.

“Well, my assistants,” he begins. Cat is certain he has no idea where she found them and she isn’t about to let this project fall through the cracks because of Oz’s incompetence.

“We asked the women under thirty-five in our office to give us a list of their friends who are on a budget but like to entertain and strive for the Mary Stouffer lifestyle,” all eyes are on her now, “ we contacted those women and asked them to give us lists of their friends and so on. We brought the women who were willing to participate together and did several focus groups and personal interviews to best determine exactly what they want from us. We used that information to determine what Mary Stouffer can do to become what these women need and want without compromising our original model.” Cat stops. Ozzie’s face is twisted into a grimace. She shouldn’t have spoken out, but she couldn’t stop herself.

“Oz, why is this woman doing your job?” Mary spits at him.

“She’s the Project Director, Cat Green,” He points at her.

“Well perhaps Cat should take a seat at the table if she is going to make the presentation instead of you. Unless of course you’d like to step in and say something,” Mary asks Oz.

“No, no that’s fine. Here Cat,” he scoots toward the VP next to him, and the entire table rotates to make room for her. Cat can feel her face flush, but she is determined to finish her presentation. She knows she can do a better job than Oz.

“Thank you Mary, Oz,” she begins, “I think this is such a great opportunity for Mary Stouffer to reach a younger audience,” she says as the first image appears on the screen. Her confidence is grows with each word and by the time she concludes she feels like she hit a home run. By the time she gets back to her desk after shaking hands with most of the VPs in the meeting, it is past 6:00 p.m. She jumps in the elevator and rushes to meet Mark, who is waiting patiently in his office.

“Well,” he says.

“Well,” she tries to hide her excitement, “it was amazing!”

“I knew it!” He jumps up to hug her. “Go grab your bag. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

She runs up the stairs back to her cube, turns off her computer and grabs her purse before Oz can corner her. She knows he must be furious with her, but right now she doesn’t care.

Mark is standing outside the building talking on his phone. He smiles when Cat walks through the door. They walk a block to the subway and get on the F train going downtown. When they finally reach the Brodway/Lafayette stop Cats heart has stopped racing. She can’t stop telling Mark about the meeting, how Mary personally invited her to sit at the table and how she could feel Oz planning her early retirement. A light rain began to fall and they dashed down Crosby Street into a large French restaurant that looked like it belonged in Epcot Center. She knew the bar had only opened in the late nineties, and that any semblance to a French bistro was manufactured but she couldn’t help but love it, the soft lighting and the lush French accents drew her in each time she walked through the front door. Mark pushes his way past the throng of tourists to his best friend Pierre, who sits at the bar.

“Hello, hello,” Pierre says as he kisses Cats cheeks. He removes bag from the stool next to him and Cat sits down. She drinks glass after glass of champagne as she, Mark and Pierre laugh and talk.

By the time she leaves she is drunk. Cat managed to drink her dinner and her head spins as Mark stuffs her into a taxi. She somehow manages to toss some wadded up bills at the driver before stumbling out of the door in front of her building. She stands in front of her mail box digging in her purse for her mail key. Cat doesn’t hear the door open.

“You ok?” She does not respond. “Cat?”

“Oh, hey,” she turns around, “Hi Dave,” she puts her hand on his shoulder.

“Everything ok?” He smiles at her.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine,” she leans in toward him, “I yust got home from meeting out with my friends.” She brushes her hair behind her ear.

“Meeting out with your friends?” He teases her.

“Hanging out, thatswhatIsaid.” She turns to walk upstairs. Cat takes makes it up three stairs before stumbling backwards. Dave reaches out and pushes her forward.

“Come on just a few more steps.” She can hear him laughing.

In the morning when Cat wakes up she looks around the room and wonders where she is. Her eyes recognize a plastic bottle of water and her purse on the floor. She rolls over on the sofa and wonders how she ended up in her living room. Her head throbs and she’s thankful it is Saturday. She lifts two tablets of ibuprofen off the table and pops them in her mouth. Cat is pleased she was at least thoughtful enough to lay out Advil for the morning until she sees the note.

Cat–I hope you feel ok. You passed out before I could get you into your bedroom. Take the Advil! –Dave

“I am such an idiot!” Cat says out loud and closes her eyes before drifting back into sleep. She jolts upright and turns to see the computer on the floor. Her heart races, oh no, oh no, oh no.