Page 55 of Perfect Composition
It’s like watching the privileged abandon theTitanic.All of the celebrities are fleeing New York for the holidays. Our sincere hope is the employees at Teterboro, La Guardia, and JFK are being treated with kindness and respect.
— Stella Nova
Edited to add:Sorry, Newark! Didn’t mean to leave all of you out!
A few days after the confrontation in LLF, I arrive unannounced at the offices to find a battle royale going on with the women ostracizing the men as they plot out their demise. “What did you do this time, Dave?” I ask Carys’s husband.
He mutters something unintelligible, clearly more surly than usual. Ward, the cheeky bastard, has no problem informing me, “He passed along work Carrie earmarked for him to me to be double-checked. Now we’re both up a creek because Angie figured out we were billing incorrectly.”
“How in the hell did you manage to rook that up? Do I need to request an audit of my account?” I demand.
Ward holds up a placating hand. “Nothing of yours, Becks. I swear. Angie looked at all the billing on our flight back from Montana and…”
“Montana? What were you doing out there?”
“Kris’s holiday party. You know, the one you RSVP’d for and missed?” Ward says pointedly.
I always reply I’ll attend the owner of Wildcard’s holiday to-do at his winter residence in Bigfork, but usually something or another always comes up. “Kris always understands.” I wave off his comment with a flick of my hand.
“Must be nice to have a boss that understands,” David finally speaks. When he does, his voice is so glum both Ward and I shake with our laughter.
“Do you want me to find out just how bad it is?” I offer. After all, I do owe David a solid after he found out the information about the firm in Texas.
He momentarily brightens. “Would you? The last time I poked my head in there, Carrie was threatening my annual bonus.”
I stifle the laugh threatening to erupt as I straighten my obnoxiously awful holiday suit I decided to don this morning. “Just call me Santa.”
His normally serious countenance splits with a wide smile. “Not a chance in hell.”
I stroll to the conference room door and fling it open. “Ho, ho, ho, darlings. Who else is getting in the holiday spirit?” I proclaim.
Angie drawls, “I can just imagine the headlines tomorrow. ‘Who wants to sit on this Santa’s lap?’”
“Are you volunteering, Angie?”
“Fuck you, Becks” is yelled by Ward from behind me.
Then Carys announces, “Ward, David, we’re ready for you both now.”
“And that’s my cue to go,” I declare.
“Oh, no, Becks. Stay. Please. This impacts you as well.” Carys’s smile when her brother and husband walk in can only be classified as pure malice. When everyone’s seated around the conference table, Carys preens. “Bad boys generally get coal. This season, David, Ward, you both are getting Becks.”
They groan unanimously. I demand, “What the hell did I do wrong?”
She turns on me. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
I wink, my good mood going unperturbed. “I always do, don’t I?”
And that’s when Ward says, “Shit.”
“’Tis the season, brother. Enjoy your present.” Angie taps at her watch insistently. “Now, the lot of you, get out. Angie and I have an important meeting we have to attend.”
But just before we all exit the conference room, there’s a commotion at the door. “Let me by, yougoons! I’m here to see Carys.”
“I’m sorry, do you have an appointment?” one of my security details asks my daughter calmly.
“This is an emergency. I shouldn’t need one,” she snaps.
