Page 7 of Beauty and the Grease
“Did you book time at the spa, or is this trip all business?”
“Spa?”
“Didn’t you look at the website? Read a brochure? The place you’re going is swanky.”
As if I had time to look at those things. Or go for a…whatever people did at spas. I should be rehearsing what to say to my boss. He thinks I’m a screw-up and not committed to the company. He’s old school. Hates that I’m divorced. I’d say I don’t care, but he’s commented more than once how my divorce diverts my focus off of client work.
Out the window, the gray sky tinges with an odd greenish glow. I glance to Jenny. It’s like I’m seeing straight back to nearly twenty years ago when we first met. She’s Perennial Jenny, unchanged, but somehow completely different. For as well as I knew her then, she’s a total mystery now.
And pretty. Just so pretty.
When she’d worked for the art gallery, I was struck by how her simple style and beauty stood out from the gallery owner and the high-end clients. She had a class and style all her own. A confidence money can’t buy. She came from humble roots, but you’d never know it seeing her shine in her element.
Back then, her element was art. Now…car parts? “Your shop looks great, by the way. I can see your stamp all over it.”
“You can?” She sounds surprised.
“Yeah. The artwork above the coffee station. Even if it isn’t yours, it’s your taste. The sign out front and your logo. It matches with the salon and the vintage thing going on.”
“Thanks.” She shifts in her seat.
I’ve made her uncomfortable. Welcome to today—everything is uncomfortable.
“When Annabelle signed on, things clicked,” she says. “That’s when I ordered the new sign. When I hired Kara, she offered to take over the social media accounts, which brought us some attention outside of Derby. I set up the accounts, but I can’t keep up with posting while I’m running everything else and taking shifts on the tow.”
“Delegating is the key to running a good business.”
She cuts me a dirty look. “Thanks for the advice.”
Commenting on her leadership is not welcome. Got it. A low rumble sounds. “Was that—”
“Thunder. We’ll be fine. It’s only a twenty-minute drive to your retreat center.”
Suddenly, the time feels too short. I have twenty minutes to say whatever I have left to say to Jenny. Once she drops me off, we might never see each other again.
I don’t like that thought.
No, this is dumb. So what, we ran into each other? I’m surprised it took so long. Yeah, it’s uncomfortable, but we’re adults. We can handle it.
What I can’t shake is the uneasy sense in my gut. Unresolved thoughts and feelings I’ve stuffed down for years are poking their heads up. Like little gophers in the ground.Those little gophers that ruin a golf green. I do a lot of golfing with clients.
It’s pointless to talk about the past. Maybe it’s a good thing we’ve only got twenty more minutes together.
Light rain starts again and Jenny taps the wipers on. “So, uh. This retreat. Are you still in sales? What was it, B-4-B something with imports not exports?”
I snicker. “B2B sales—business to business sales. And yes.”
She gives me a playful look and my knees go to jelly. She used to tease me with made-up business jargon to get me to laugh. “Is it still miserable?”
A sigh escapes. “Yeah.” I debate telling her what’s on my mind, but I’m so used to bottling up what’s inside, I don’t. “This retreat is your nightmare. Full of corporate speak.”
“Oh, I bet.” She perks up. “Synergies and bandwidths.”
“Disrupting the system.”
“Customer touch points.”
“Alignment.”
