American Beauty

The celebration took place in the private room of a bar that many of the Marketing people frequented. When I got there the room was festooned with silly banners sporting messages like "Free at Last," "Peter is Available" and "Look out Ladies." I thought it was all pretty juvenile and in bad taste, but apparently everyone else felt differently.

The noise level was high, thanks in part to several kegs of beer that were quickly being drained by the crowd. I thought it was nice that his team held Peter in such high regard, but when I saw him in the crowd, it looked to me like he wasn't enjoying the celebration as much as the rest of them.

Someone tried to get him to make a speech, and after futile attempts to resist he clambered up on a table. But instead of making humorous remarks, he kept things short and to the point. After thanking everyone for the party and paying tribute to their efforts again at Expo, he invited them all to carry on enjoying themselves. Then he quickly jumped back down into the crowd.

As the revelry resumed, I quickly made my way over to him, and we grabbed an unoccupied table and sat down. "Thanks for coming, Jess," he said. "How do you like the party?"

I looked carefully at his face and saw the lines were still there around his eyes. "More to the point, how do you like it, Peter?" I asked.

The jovial expression that he'd been trying to maintain slipped away, and I could clearly see how unhappy he was. "I know I'm supposed to be all fired up and excited about being a bachelor again, but honestly, what I feel right now is depressed, and I'm not even sure why."

"I think I can tell you, because that's exactly the way I felt after divorcing my husband. My guess is that you're down because you're mourning the loss of your marriage."

"But that doesn't make sense, Jess. I don't want to be married to Callie any more, not after the things she did and the way she treated me. There's no way I could ever trust her again," he said fiercely.

"Of course not," I said soothingly. "But what you're mourning is something different. You probably always pictured yourself in a committed relationship. Maybe you wanted to start a family at some point. Callie destroyed all that. It's no wonder you feel depressed: you've lost the picture of how your life would be."

He looked at me closely for a moment, then nodded slowly. "There's a lot of truth in that, Jess." He looked at me again. "Thanks for being such a good friend."

Just then, some of his workmates came over and grabbed him by the arm. "This won't do: too much solemnity, too much sobriety. Come on, Peter!" With that they pulled him away, but as he left he smiled and waved at me.

I soon slipped out the door and headed home. Parties like that aren't my style, but I felt good about being helpful to Peter, and I found myself smiling all the way home.

Now that his divorce was behind him, I kept waiting for Peter to brighten up and come out of his depression. In some ways it was clear that he was on the mend, but that didn't seem to translate into any change in the way he acted, at least toward me. He'd wave and smile when he saw me, and we still seemed to be on the same wavelength whenever we talked. But I kept looking for something more that I never seemed to find.

A week or two later, Mr. Moffatt called me into his office. After asking me to close the door, he gestured to me to have a seat. "Please keep what I'm about to tell you in confidence, Ms. Martin" he said. "You remember that Executive Committee meeting that took place during Expo? Well, I actually did tell the Committee that I was planning to retire. But once I found about the debacle with Scott Benson the Committee asked me to stick around and try to clean up the mess he had made.

"But now everything seems to be running pretty smoothly, and I'm going to go ahead with my plans to step down. I'll be making the announcement after lunch today, but I wanted to give you advance notice so you wouldn't be caught by surprise."

I was shocked at his news but grateful for his courtesy to me.

"The other thing you need to know," he said, "is that you'll be getting a new boss: Peter Hammill. I hope you'll be pleased at that news."

"Oh, Mr. Moffatt, I'm delighted for Peter, but you've been so wonderful to work for I'm really going to miss you." With that I stood up and stepped around his desk to gave him a big hug. He beamed at me and gave me some very nice compliments. Then he asked me to call Peter and have him come up.

When the two of them finished their meeting and Peter came out, I made a point of congratulating him on his well-deserved promotion. "Thanks, Jess," he said warmly, "that really means a lot to me."

As he left the office, his warmth lingered with me for a while but then the feeling began to fade as I gave the whole situation more thought. By the afternoon I was in a blue funk.

At the end of the day Marge popped her head around the corner and asked me to come with her to the tavern after work. "Marge, I've got some things I need to do at home," I told her, but she wouldn't take no for an answer. I guess part of what makes her so valuable to the CEO is that when she pursues something she is absolutely dogged about it. Ultimately, I gave in.

Once we were seated in the tavern, she leaned over the table and fixed me with an intense stare. "Alright, Jess, let's have it: what's eating at you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Marge," I protested.

"Bullshit!" she said, which shocked me because Marge almost never curses. "You've been moping around for the last few weeks like a little kid with a sick dog, and today you're acting like your dog died. I would have thought you'd be happy about working for Peter. Tell me what's wrong."

I tried to resist but suddenly something gave way inside and I found myself wiping away my tears while trying to put my feelings into words. "Peter's promotion is the last straw, Marge. I just don't think I can bear to see him and be so near him every day."

"I don't understand, Jess, why not?"

I sniffled. "I know that his wife's affair and their divorce were rough on him, but once the divorce was final, I thought he'd relax around me, maybe want to get together or go out with me. But whenever I see him he still treats me like a friend, like one of the gang. It's killing me."

She looked at me sympathetically. "You really have it bad for him, don't you? You've always felt that way about him."

"No," I protested, "I didn't have feelings for him when he was married. I mean, I admired him and enjoyed working with him, but it was strictly professional. I'd never let myself get interested like that in a married man."

"For someone who wasn't interested 'like that,' you sure managed to spend a lot of time with him," she remarked dryly.

"But I had to," I said. "He was a key part of Mr. Moffatt's team."

"Uh-huh, sure," Marge said patronizingly. "But after you saw his wife with Scott, the way you thought about him started to change."

"How did you know that?" I gasped.

Marge just grinned at me. Then her face grew serious again. "So you thought you had a relationship with Peter, and you hoped it would grow into something special, is that right?"

"I guess so," I admitted quietly.

She looked at me in silence for a minute. Then she said, "You know, you really are a dumb blonde!"

"Now wait just a minute, Marge," I said angrily, "you may be a friend but you have no right to speak to me like that!"

She folded her arms and leaned across the table. "I stand by what I said: you're acting like a dumb blonde. Now be quiet and listen to me for a minute. I think half the people at Magnetadyne know you have a major crush on Peter Hammill. But what have you ever done to let him know that?"

"I've done lots of things," I said indignantly. "I go by to see him every chance I get. I make it a point to have lunch with his team when he eats in the cafeteria. I . . ."

"Isn't that what you did back when he was married?" Marge asked.

"Well, yes," I admitted, "but not so often," I added weakly.

"So how would he know that your feelings have changed if your actions don't show it?" she asked.

Before I could answer, she demanded, "Have you ever even touched him?"

"No," I gasped, "I would never do that!"

"I mean touched him on the arm or the hand - anything to make a physical connection with him?"

"I'm sure I have," I temporized, but for the life of me I couldn't recall ever having done so.

"You're afraid to touch men for fear they'll take it the wrong way, aren't you?"

"Maybe a little," I admitted.

She continued to gaze at me. Suddenly she asked rhetorically,"You know what's wrong with you, Jess? The problem is that you're too beautiful."

I opened my mouth to speak, but Marge cut me off. "All your life you've been able to rely on your looks. You didn't have to worry about finding men, they kept coming out of the woodwork for you. I'll bet your first husband found you, not the other way around."

I looked down at the table. "Well, maybe. The first time we met he came up to me at a party in college."

"And that's my point: you've gotten used to being passive, waiting for the guy to make the first move. If he doesn't pass the test, you wave him away, then sit back and wait for the next one to show up."

"But . . ."

"And that's not all. The fact is you use your beauty as a shield to keep men away, even ones you might actually be interested in."

"But . . ."

"And the reason you do that is not because you're arrogant or egotistical but because you're scared. You're afraid to take a risk, afraid to put yourself out there because you might make a bad choice. So you wind up hiding behind your beauty, hoping that Mr. Right will eventually find you and break through your defenses."

I was speechless.

But Marge wasn't finished. "And I'll bet the reason you're so scared is because the one man you did choose, the one you thought was Mr. Right, turned out to be the biggest mistake of your life. Ever since you've been afraid to venture out and take a risk again. So even though a part of you is desperate to try to build a relationship with Peter, another part of you says to stay back and wait. All you do is hang around and hope he'll break through your barriers to pursue you."

I couldn't look at her.

She came across the table, gave me a hug and kissed me on the cheek. "Think about what I've been saying, Jess. Just see if there isn't some truth there." Then she left.

That night I tossed and turned in bed thinking about what Marge had said. Some of it had been painful and not all of it was true, but I had to admit that she'd been right about a lot of things. Finally, sometime in the early morning hours I came to a decision. Even then, I slept only fitfully.

As soon as I got to work, I made a phone call and then went off to put my plan in action. I didn't know if I was doing the right thing, but at least I wasn't being passive.

Shortly after I got back to my desk, Peter came up to meet with Mr. Moffatt again. They spent a long time going over marketing plans together, but finally the session broke up. As he was leaving, Peter stopped by my desk and said, "I'm really looking forward to working more closely with you, Jess."

I took a deep breath and stood up. "Peter, earlier this morning I met with HR and made arrangements for a transfer. In two weeks I'm going to start working in another department."

He took a step backward as though I'd slapped him in the face. "But why, Jess? Have I done something to offend you?"

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mr. Moffatt standing in the doorway to his office with a look of concern on his face. I focused on Peter.

"No, Peter, you haven't done a thing, it's me. Over the last few months I've developed strong feelings for you. But the company strictly prohibits relationships between employees and their bosses, and since I intend to pursue those feelings, I can't work for you."

Over Peter's shoulder I spotted Marge peeking around the corner, but I kept my eyes on Peter, holding my breath to see how he would respond. He stared at me in surprise. "But you never said or did anything," he said.

I glanced at Marge. "I know," I said, "but I am now."

Peter said nothing, and time seemed to slow down. Then, as I stood there with my heart in my throat, he suddenly stepped forward and grabbed my shoulders in his hands. "Under the circumstances, I think we can dispense with the customary two-weeks' notice," he said, and kissed me with such passion and promise that I could scarcely hear the applause coming from Marge and Mr. Moffatt.