Two months later, Valerie had come to love this new way of seeing herself. Feeling confident and accomplished suited her well. At work, she threw herself into finding a position that would put her degree to use. Qualifying for the CPA exam was still a long way off, but Luna had been helping, and over the past few weeks Valerie had sent out her résumé and applied for several promising jobs. Things between her and Rod had remained pretty much status quo. He had been a bit more attentive for the few days after her birthday, but within a week, he'd reverted to form, hanging out with Mark and his other buddies, drinking. To make matters worse, he was laid off from a framing job. Budget issues, he had told her, but she didn't believe him. She had, however, started demanding money from him. With each job she would take 20% of his take and put it into savings. He fought her tooth and nail, but she stood her ground.
"We are saving for a house. This is how you save. Get it?"
The weekend hit, and Valerie spent that Saturday afternoon with Marisol, her hairdresser.
"You know, darlin,' you've been coming to me for years now, and it's always the same thing: trim, color, and don't change anything. Well, I think it's time." Valerie looked at Marisol with her eyes wide. "What are you thinking?" Did I just ask that question?
She'd had her hair straight, long, and parted in the middle her whole life. The idea of change brought with it a sense of trepidation.
Marisol ran her fingers through Val's hair, a look of consternation on her face.
"I'm thinking... you aren't a twentysomething anymore. Maybe it's time for a more grown-up approach. How about..." She paused and then smiled. "We pull it away from your face like this." She bunched the hair on both sides of her head. "And then we kinda come at it from this starting point."
Val looked at herself in the mirror, trying to visualize what Marisol was seeing. It wasn't too bad, to be honest.
But what if I hate it? What if Rod hates it?
The idea that she considered how Rod would feel was all she needed to push her over the edge. Acting as boldly as she had been feeling, Val said, "It's only a haircut, right? It'll grow back. Go for it."
Two hours later, she looked at herself in the mirror and wasn't sure who was looking back. Marisol had lightened her already blonde hair and added highlights. It made her sparkle. Her hair had always reached halfway down her back, just the way Rod had wanted it, but Marisol cut it to just above her shoulders. The cut framed her face and accentuated cheekbones she hadn't even realized she had. She loved it, a brand-new Valerie.
The new haircut accentuated the new woman she was becoming. It was amazing what losing five pounds could do. Her trainer had changed up her routine and offered some significant dietary tips. She cut back on carbs, reduced her alcohol intake to twice a week, and the results were striking. Her muffin top had shrunk to a small jelly roll. Earning that degree had taught her a lesson: if she worked at something, she could accomplish it.
Walking into the apartment, she fully expected Rod to go gaga over her. She called out as she burst through the door, "Rod, check this out!"
Rod walked into the kitchen from the bedroom wearing his softball jersey and pants. He was carrying a bat and glove. Looking up at her, he said, "I gotta run. We have a doubleheader today, so I'll be late. Probably best not to wait on dinner for me. I'll grab something after the game at the Steer."
He kissed her cheek as he scooted past her. She called after him as he walked out the door.
"Really?"
You gotta be kidding me? Nothing. Not a glance? Fuck.
After Rod's lack of response, Val went shopping. It wasn't entirely a revenge spree, but it wouldn't be untrue to say she splurged a bit. Treating herself to a few new wardrobe items that fit her slimmer figure invigorated her soul. Combined, the weight loss, the new cut, and the clothes made her feel more like the woman she was becoming.
On Monday morning, Valerie pulled into the TDLR parking lot. A muggy, hot summer day greeted her as she stepped out of the truck. With a shake of her head, she flipped her new hairdo right and left. She hadn't gotten used to the way it brushed the back of her neck; it tickled.
Wearing a sleek pair of rose-colored slacks, a pink cotton blouse, and matching low-heeled pumps, Valerie walked into the building. The unaccustomed second glances tossed in her direction unnerved her. Peter, the accountant from the office below, stopped her.
"Hi, are you new here? Do you need any help finding your way?" Valerie looked at him, bewildered that he didn't recognize her. "No, Peter, I'm good." With a coy laugh, she walked away.
When did I become coy?
Arriving at her desk, she saw someone had dumped a stack of files in front of her monitor. A quick perusal of the files revealed they were maintenance requests, and she identified the culprit.
Not today, bitch!
Picking up the stack, she walked across the room and dropped them on Stacy's lap.
Stacy, an overweight, dark-haired woman with very crooked teeth, looked up with a scoff and opened her mouth. Before she could bully Valerie, Valerie's hand shot up in front of Stacy's face. "Don't even try. These are not my problem. You know damn well you're the go-between for this office and maintenance.
You deal with them."
Valerie turned and walked back to her desk. A few months ago, she would have just accepted the extra work without complaining. But no more; no one would be taking advantage of her, not ever again.
Turning her attention to her goals, she opened the TDLR HR page.
What new opportunities are there today?
A CPA certification requires 120 semester hours in Texas State Board-accredited courses, or an on-the-job equivalent. She had started to accrue the compulsory hours around the office, but the fastest way to qualify would be to land a permanent position. She had been on the precipice of landing one of them several times. HR had told her twice that she had been a finalist for a job, but they went in another direction. Damn, she had grown to hate those words. The whole process frustrated her.
More than once, she began to doubt that she would be able to finish.
Maybe getting the degree will be the pinnacle of my career? At least that's something.
She still had one more shot. Last week, an assistant director position in HR opened. She had all the qualifications and had known the director, Bill Hogan, for most of her time at TDLR. He liked her. Bill called her in for an interview. It could not have gone better. The director had all but offered her the job. She expected to hear anytime now. Her fingers were crossed, and her hopes were high.
Sitting on the corner of her desk was a six-inch plastic kangaroo wearing red boxing gloves, ready for a fight. It had been given to her as a joke by Luna when she first started the job. Luna had seen her kangaroo tattoo at the gym. She said that Val always reminded her of a kangaroo, scrappy but cute. Val once thought of herself as scrappy, but that impression had dwindled to a distant memory. The little statue now represented the fighter that she had grown to be. She reached out and scratched its head.
Come on, little guy, work your magic and make this happen.
An hour later, her phone rang.
"Hi, this is Junnie from HR. Valerie Stewart, please," the woman said. "This is Valerie. How can I help you?" Val replied.
"Yes, you applied for the assistant HR director position with us." Valerie's heart skipped a beat and then went double time.
Oh, please, please be the call. Tell me I got it.
Junnie paused, then said, "I just wanted to tell you that it came down to you and one other candidate. Unfortunately, Bill offered it to the other candidate, and they accepted. I just wanted you to know that it was close."
The rejection hit Valerie like a downtown bus. She sighed out her disappointment in one long, loud breath. Her face flushed, and her leg shook in spastic syncopation. She managed to eke out a response. "Are you sure? Bill seemed very pleased with my interview. I got such a positive vibe from him."
Junnie paused before answering. "Yes, I'm sure. I'm very sorry. It was so close."
Valerie stifled back a sob and said, "If anything changes or something else comes open, please keep me in mind." She hung up.
Her face burned as though she had been slapped hard across the cheek. Her open palm smacked the top of her desk. Incensed and frustrated, tears began to form in the corner of her eyes.
Damn it! I had all of the qualifications, and I know the director. If I can't
even get this job...
An intense sense of helplessness splashed over her like a rising tide. Who am I kidding? Maybe this isn't supposed to happen. I should just forget
about it. It was so stupid to think I could actually do this anyway.
Her intercom buzzed. "Valerie, would you come in here, please?" Dog demanded.
Val hit the button and replied with no enthusiasm, "On my way."
She took a moment to realign her thinking and tried to push her disappointment to the back of her mind. As she attempted to stand, she failed and collapsed back into her chair. Swallowing a sob, her hands came up, and she buried her face in them.
A moment later, her head came up, she wiped her eyes, and stood. Calming herself, she took a deep breath, sucked back the snot running from her nose, and headed into Dog's office.
"Yes, sir, what can I do for you?" she asked, distress stamped across her face.
"Please, take a seat," Dog said.
Valerie sat in the chair in front of his desk. An uneasy feeling crept up; he never asked her to sit.
Dog leaned back in his chair, his face stern and calculated. "I've noticed that you seem a bit distracted lately. And quite frankly, it's affecting your work."
Valerie's eyes opened wide in surprise. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure what you're talking about."
Dog shook his head. "Over the last few weeks, it seems that your head is somewhere else. Your focus seems to be split. What's going on?"
Valerie didn't know how to respond. She racked her brain for something that had gone wrong over the past few weeks. She drew a blank.
What's he talking about?
"I'm not sure what you mean. We did that collaboration with acquisitions, and that went really well. The report realignment went off without a hitch. What are you referring to specifically?"
Dog smirked. "Did they? I mean, did they really? I got some iffy feedback from those groups about your performance. I had to sweet-talk them into not filing a complaint."
Valerie went from confused to outraged. "Well, Dog, that's just not true. I spoke with Hansen and Campbell after the realignment, and they had nothing but praise. I can't imagine they were gaslighting me. Why would they?"
Dog licked his lips and flashed his million-dollar smile, the one that always precipitated an attack. "Valerie, you can say what you will, but my sources are impeccable. I need you to be extra vigilant from here on out so that this doesn't happen again. Am I clear?"
Clueless as to what to say next, she just said, "Yes, sir." Returning to her desk, she picked up the phone and called Tommi. When she answered, Val skipped the preliminaries.
"Hey, I need some girl-time. Tequila Barb's, 5:30. You in?" Valerie sniffed. Without questioning, Tommi replied, "For sure. See you there." They hung up.
Tequila Barb's was a down-home, sawdust-on-the-floor, steer-horns-on-the-walls, brass-bar-rail kind of place. Three wagon-wheel chandeliers hung overhead, and three pool tables sat on the far side of the room. Old, distressed wood planks ran diagonally across the far wall, decorated with a few rusted spurs and bridles. Valerie considered it her hangout. Rod almost never came with her; he called it an old-lady bar.
Sitting at the bar, Valerie launched into a detailed account of the HR job, Dog's accusations, and all her latest setbacks.
"So, anyway, that's where it stands. I had all the qualifications, all the experience, and they gave it to someone else. I'm out of options." She shook her head, exasperated. "Maybe I should just stop pretending to be something I'm not. Just keep my head down, do my job, and deal with the failure. It's what I know best, after all."
Tommi wiggled on her stool and nodded. "It happens to us all." Val continued, fumbling for an explanation. "Maybe I have been focused too much on getting another job; maybe splitting my attention isn't a good idea. I may have missed something that I normally wouldn't have."
I don't know what that is, but it must be something I screwed up.
Tommi nodded in support. "On the bright side, your new haircut is so damn adorable."
"I just don't know what else to..."
The bartender appeared and cut her off. "Hello there, young lady, how are you today?" he said, drooling over Tommi.
Usually, Valerie's friend Josie worked the bar, but tonight a new bartender approached. She had not seen him before. His shaved head exposed a ring of five o'clock shadow circling above his ears. Like a heat-seeking missile, his eyes zeroed in on Tommi's chest.
He had thrown Valerie a cursory glance, dismissing her out of hand, and essentially dove headfirst into Tommi's cleavage.
What the hell, am I invisible here?
The blouse Tommi wore wasn't really qualified to contain the volume, which clearly added to his attraction. Valerie might as well have been on the moon, for all he noticed her.
Tommi turned away from Val, and she saw a bit of a blush pop up on her cheeks.
"Now, I'm just fine, thank you very much. You're new here, aren't you?" Tommi toyed.
"My first day. What can I get you?" the man asked with a flirtatious lilt of his own, leaning in to get closer to the boobs.
"I'd do about anything for a Paloma. Do you think you could help a girl out?" Tommi said, twisting her shoulders a bit so her shirt buckled open.
Oh, for God's sake, Tommi!
"I can do that, but are you old enough to be in here? You're looking very schoolgirl."
Tommi laughed and swatted his arm. "Oh, stop. School is so far behind me I can barely remember it."
"Even so, I think I'd better check that ID. You don't want me to get into trouble on my first day now, do you?" Valerie let out a snort.
Un-be-fucking-lievable! This guy ignores me! I'm two years younger than Tommi.
Valerie couldn't contain herself. "Be serious. Hell, she's got a 20-year-old son for God's sake."
Tommi swatted at Val and maintained eye contact with the bartender. Playing along, Tommi reached for her wallet. She held out the ID. When the bartender tried to take it from her, she held on extra tight.
"If I give you this, I don't want you doing any math. Just see that I'm over twenty-one." With a seductive wink, she let go of the ID.
The bartender laughed and said, "I promise." He glanced at the license. Handing it back to her, he did the same thing; he wouldn't let go when she touched it.
"Why, hello, Tomasina. Nice to meet you." An abundance of Texas charm poured out of him.
"Tommi. No one's called me Tomasina since Sister Aloysius Gonzaga in fourth grade."
"Hmm, a Catholic girl. Tell me, Tommi, did you start too late?" Tommi giggled like the schoolgirl he had reduced her to. He used the license to pull her closer over the bar and said, "A Paloma, right?
That's a very sexy drink."
Tommi replied, "And a very sexy man will make it, so that's good." Are you kidding me?
The bartender let go of the license and winked at Tommi. He turned away without asking Valerie for her order.
Valerie called out, "I'll have a red wine, if you give a shit?" He didn't appear to have heard her.
"Jesus, what the hell, Tommi? What was all that?" Valerie snapped. "What? Just a little harmless flirting. It don't mean nothing." Tommi laughed. "You might want to wipe that drool off your boobs. I thought he was gonna crawl in and take a nap."
Tommi smirked. "With great boobage comes great responsibility. You should try it." She wiggled her shoulders, making her breasts sway.
Valerie looked down at her own petite, pathetic breasts and smirked. She cupped them briefly, and as usual, they filled up her hands.
Oh, for chrissake.
She heard Rod's voice in her head, "More than a mouthful is wasted," and every time he said it, the same disgusting laugh would burst out of him, like he'd come up with it on his own.
The bartender returned with the Paloma and a special garnish: two cherries with a celery stalk carved to look like a penis and balls.
"I made this special for you; I call it a Wanton Trollop," he chuckled, waiting for her response.
Tommi saw the garnish and laughed. "Oh my God, that's hysterical!"
She picked up the celery stalk and sucked it into her mouth, eyeing the bartender the entire time. The bartender's eyebrows raised, and he said, "I get off at nine. Wanna get off before that?"
Tommi pulled away and, with patient kindness, said, "Darlin,' I'm married, and we were just playing. Settle down."
Without missing a beat, he responded, "Can't blame a guy for trying." He twitched his eyebrows at her. "Enjoy the drink." He turned to walk away, but Valerie stopped him.
"Hey, excuse me, but I'm standing right here... with my tiny tits. How about a red wine, please!"
The bartender looked at her, actually seeing her for the first time, and said, "Sure." He walked away and took the drink order of another customer at the other end of the bar.
Valerie said, "That really pisses me off. Asking for your ID like you were a college student. Asshole."
Tommi smirked a bit and, grabbing each breast, said, "Hey, I can't help it if my boobs are irresistible." She manipulated them as though they were speaking. In a deeper voice, she said, "Don't hate the boobs, hate the system." Tommi laughed and released her boobs from the pantomime. "Personally, the best thing I ever did. I highly recommend it."
Later that night, the weight of work, her body image, and life itself kept her down in the dumps. Lounging alone on the couch, Valerie replayed the scene with the bartender. Maybe Tommi had a point: Don't hate the boobs, hate the system. And she sure as shit wasn't getting anywhere fighting the system. Maybe she needed an advantage.
I mean, it was like I didn't exist. If bigger boobs make me more visible,
maybe that's the answer?
By the end of the evening, she knew: if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.
Looking down at her minuscule boobs, she sighed.
"I'll do what I gotta do."
Opening her laptop, Valerie started researching.