Roomie Wars Box Set

I recap my weekend, again leaving out the bit about Drew and the kiss. I can’t bring that up, especially to people who know us both. Gigi loves Drew, but she will be the first one to tell me to be careful. Roomies have this special code—and if you break it, you’re pretty much screwed. Don’t play with fate or karma because they don’t play nice.

Gigi lifts my left hand and trails her fingers along the crease. Great. This is where she tells me I’m going to meet the man of my dreams and have three kids.

Her hands are covered in rings, my favorite being an oval turquoise ring she picked up on her travels with a gypsy and a bunch of carnie folk. Flowing past her knees is a purple dress. She’s rarely seen wearing any other color, amethyst being her birthstone.

Her long gray hair sits just above her waist, styled in a tight plait. She closes her eyes briefly, then releases a deep breath humming some unknown tune. “There’s something troubling you,” she tells me. “A man.”

“Well, I don’t exactly care for the seafood buffet if you know what I mean.” I laugh at my joke. Gigi is smiling at my humor. Having known me for so long, she’s accustomed to my awkward jokes.

“You’ve got to get your groove back. Stella did, and now so can you,” she says, continuing to trace my hands. Her frown worries me. Can she really predict the future? Am I dying? I have cancer, don’t I?

Calm the hell down, Zoey!

“I’m trying, Gigi. I really am this time.” Patti jumps off my lap abandoning my need for affection. It’s all about her. “But it’s like everyone is shocked when I try to change. ‘Predictable Zoey eating pizza. Predictable Zoey in her sweats,’” I complain, slumping further into the sofa.

“So? Who cares about everyone? This is your life, doll. One you’re letting slip away. Did you speak to your boss about that promotion yet?”

“No,” I sulk.

“Tomorrow’s a new day. A new Zoey. I read your horoscope today, and it said exactly that.”

Okay, so I said Gigi was a nutcase—throw in cuckoo as well. Did I mention that her apartment is covered in candles and crystals, and she reads her horoscope like it’s the Bible?

She enjoys traveling, returning with more junk and clutter each time. Her last trip was to India. One look at her bedroom and one would think they have entered the Taj Mahal.

Oh, and my horoscopes. God forbid she forgets to read mine and inform me of how my life will suddenly take a positive turn overnight. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard that.

“Did it say I’ll meet some hot guy who’ll give me multiple orgasms because of his pierced cock?” I humor her.

She laughs and passes me the newspaper. To be polite, I skim my star sign, only to be let down. Well, that blows. Perhaps Drew’s right. I need to stop comparing my life to the books I read. Fictional boyfriends are great on paper, but they aren’t going to keep me warm at night.

“You know, you’re right.” I stand up, embracing the sudden confidence, imagining myself as He-Man standing on top of Castle Grayskull telling everyone I have the power. “Tomorrow’s a new day, and first thing in the morning, I’ll march into my boss’s office and ask for that promotion.”

***

I shuffle nervously at my desk trying to muster up the courage to ask my boss for that overdue promotion which was promised late last year. It’s silly of me to be so insecure and tense considering he had praised me on my work several times, even mentioning often how my talent is being underutilized. That, and I have been with the company for a solid five years. Either you consider that dedication, or work in reverse, a poor decision on my behalf. Only time will tell.

In an attempt to boost my confidence, I’m wearing my charcoal tunic dress with a white collared shirt and paired it with my patent leather Mary Janes. My hair’s been washed and styled into a tight bun, neatly pulled back from my face. Makeup isn’t my strong point, and I’ve never spent much time on learning since I honestly can’t be bothered. I did, however, apply a thin layer of foundation and a few strokes of mascara. Drew has this thing about women and makeup, often complaining about how cheap it sometimes looks and how most women look better without it.

And why am I thinking about what Drew thinks? Focus!

For extra luck, I’m wearing my gold pineapple earrings. Gigi bought them for me during her travels to Asia last year. Now, all I need to do is walk into Mr. Becker’s office and deliver my speech. One I’ve been practicing numerous times in my head and in the shower.

“Zoey.” My name is called, and I swivel my chair around to see Mr. Becker standing beside my desk.

Mr. Becker had inherited the business from his late father, but is a well-known architect with the reputation of a shark. Luckily for me, he also has a soft side to him, taking me on board, knowing my passion for architecture and a keen interest to further my career. But much like a hormonal pregnant woman, he has his mood swings. Hence, the paper incident last week. Today, he’s dressed in his favorite brown suit, which is a sign he’s in a pleasant and giving mood. I bet he got laid by his wandering wife!

“I’m heading out today to visit a potential site where an investor is looking into building some condos. I would like it if you could make it out there around three.” His face shows no emotion.

With an overenthusiastic smile I respond excitedly at being given the opportunity. “Sure, I’ll be there. I was hoping to have a chat with you sometime today.”

“Anything urgent? I have back-to-back meetings, and then my wife wants to catch up at lunch.”

“It can wait,” I say, instantly scolding myself for letting the opportunity pass once again.

“Great. I’ll see you at three.”

He disappears around the corner and out of sight. My disappointment is short-lived as the excitement of being on site with a potential new project takes over. Turning around to face my computer, I let out a small squeal, excitedly tapping my feet under the desk. I don’t know what it means, but I take it as a positive sign that things are progressing in my career.