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He never seemed grateful for any bit of attention I tried to give him or his clothes. He always ended up yelling at me. Never once said thank you, and when I tried to offer, he would always come back with “no, I only know what I like. You don’t have any clue, and I’d rather you didn’t get your hands all over it when I’ve gotten it just the way I like.”
In my head, I see Tommy’s face light up with happiness and thankfulness with everything I tried to do for him. I remember him soaking up my comments to him that he is better looking than the clothes he wears, and that he deserves better.
He’s like a thirsting plant that’s never been watered, whereas Dennis is like an overgrown, overstuffed garden. He’s gotten way too much attention from everybody, so much so that he doesn’t even express any gratitude for it anymore.
That’s what happens when you’re super attractive. You don’t think anyone deserves a word of thanks because you’ve never known what it’s like to go without.
I hope things are going well for you, Tommy. I hope people see you for who you are. How sweet and dedicated you are, even though you look the way you do, and shallow people are often turned off and away by that. I hope you know how handsome you are, and that you hold yourself with a bit more confidence today. Get that job that you deserve, and don’t let anyone put you down ever again.
I smile.
And thank you for making me feel useful today. Thank you for your gratitude and appreciation. I know you had no way of knowing it, but that really made my day. I hope you come back and tell me how things go. I hope tomorrow I don’t see you getting off on a lower floor. I hope I see you riding up past the eighth floor and going to the legal floor. After five years of working here, you deserve nothing less.
Isabella’s exasperated sigh pulls my thoughts away from Tommy.
“These people,” she says, “they think we receptionists run the whole dang universe.”
She pauses, laughing.
“Well, we sort of do in the universe of corporations, but come on! I can’t make magic happen!” She shakes her head.
“If the person you want to see or speak to isn’t in the office, I can’t just make him appear for you!” She sighs again. “Anyway, the boyfriend, back to him. You told him he should come to see you if he wants to see you that badly, and what did he say?”
I hate to have my thoughts brought back to Dennis when it felt so good to remember how appreciative Tommy was for my wardrobe help, but Isabella’s one of those people who likes to finish the conversations she starts, even if they are uncomfortable.
“He said he wouldn’t. He doesn’t want to even come to visit.”
“Then let him be a grumpy Gus about everything, and don’t worry about him today.” She smiles. “I know it’s easier said than done, but Melissa, honey, he doesn’t get to get mad at you for something he won’t do himself. He doesn’t get to ruin your mood because he’s deciding to be moody.”
She puts her hand on mine, though she has to reach over the little bit of my desk to do so. “Think of something else. Something that makes you a little happier for a while.”
I have no objection to that. Just as another phone call comes in, I think of Tommy and the possibility that he’s signing papers with Ms. Vanacore at the moment, and therefore, getting his promotion.
A bit of a smile starts on my lips, just thinking about him. How handsome and sweet he looks, even with his tall stature; I think about his doe eyes, and his charming smile. It’s the kind of smile Prince Charming would wear if he grew up as a poor boy and was only beginning to dream of the crown he could wear.
Good luck, Tommy. You deserve every bit of what this world can offer you.
I hang up from the latest transfer.
And I’ll count myself lucky if I’ve even contributed to a bit of that luck in the smallest way.
Chapter Nine
Tommy
Once the paperwork is all signed on the dotted line, and in triplicate, I feel like how people must feel on their wedding days or nights: full of jitters.
I’m feeling free and yet bound. These feelings overwhelm me as I leave the conference room and follow Vanacore toward an elevator. It’s one of the newer ones, added to this side of the building to accommodate the expanding partner floors, and the greater usage of offices up here.
When the elevator arrives, Vanacore holds it open for me. Awkwardly, I walk under her arm, ducking low, and feeling again like some kind of bride.
