Reaching Lily. Vivacia Ahwen K

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      ‘Two birds with one stone,’ she said, smiling at us, ‘because what we started calling those “Freer-Than-Free-Weights” weren’t exactly flying off the shelves before this month? Like as soon as the video came out? Well, not to toot my own horn?’

      Hmm. I mean, HMMM? For the record, I came up with the Willy Wonka concept, which was so not part of my job, and wrote the copy. Gwen designed the Golden Ticket and made it look all awesome. Basically if you bought the speed yoga DVD, you got a free set of pink dumbbells, and then a discount on all future free weight purchases. For the double record? Me, myself and I wrote the workout ‘You go, girl’ patter, to which perky speed yoga babe Joni Smith kept forgetting all my hooky one-liners. Grr.

      Sorry, we all have our sticking points. I worked so hard to sell Apollyon shit, yet never so much as saw my name in a pretty font in the rolling credits. Furthermore, Ms Famous Fitness Guru Joni Smith miscounted reps. Now, I’ve done that speed yoga/free weight workout. Fuck, from the hours I spent in front of the flatscreen (refuse gym, prefer private fitness, despite the awesome bennies and personal trainer all Apollyonians have as an option), I knew from what. Learn to count, Joni.

      Jealous, much, Lily? Why, yes, I was.

      ‘Great,’ said Mr Colossimo, his booming voice bringing me back to earth. ‘Let’s start putting those Golden Tickets in all the DVDs.’

      Whatevz.

      ‘Let’s not forget about the killer copy on the back cover, and the script, which was occasionally forgotten by Joni Smith. Or rather, set aside by Joni Smith, if we want to give her the benefit of the doubt,’ piped up Jay-Jay Tanaka. Jay-Jay was the most agreeable fellow in my department. He loved me to death, for no reason that I could fathom. ‘Lily, your writing was nothing short of scrumptious.’

      ‘Jay-Jay,’ I mumbled, and wished he would stop. I was fine with Mr Colossimo refusing to remember my name, or ever having the word scrumptious planted in his mind regarding anything about any part of me.

      ‘Lily, you are the goddess of copy.’ Jay-Jay shoved his black-rimmed glasses up his small nose. ‘And, if memory serves, the Golden Ticket was your idea.’

      I winked at him, while clearing my throat. Jay-Jay had never said a word at any of our meetings before. Apparently that was a wise decision, if this was his idea of how to conduct himself around a conference table. ‘Thanks, Jay-Jay.’

      ‘Since we currently have no creative director, coming up with ideas is every department’s job. We don’t have time to be patting ourselves on the back.’ Mr Colossimo gave me a brief glance. ‘You’re all Idea Men, now.’

      Wow, really? I was an Idea Man. Just what every girl wants to be. Jesus. Why did Jay-Jay have to open his big gay mouth?

      I ask that politically incorrect rhetorical question with total love and affection, btw.

      ‘Before we get on to other business, I need to tell you quickly why I called this meeting for nine, rather than ten. I apologise if it inconvenienced any of you –’ his eyes shot daggers at Gwen and me ‘– but there are about to be some changes around the office, not all of which are to my liking. And if they’re not to my liking, chances are they won’t be to yours, either.’

      I sat up higher in my chair, already liking the ‘changes’ that supposedly wouldn’t be to my liking. Oh, boy! Maybe Mr Colossimo was going to take another one-month leave of absence to a ‘health club,’ also known as the psych ward, and get some shock-treatment therapy. Boo-ya! It had happened twice since I started at Apollyon. I reckoned he was due for another breakdown.

      Yes, my boss was certifiable.

      ‘Apparently, Corporate is talking about me behind my back,’ he continued.

      Here we go. Paranoia is how it all begins. Monday was improving with every passing minute.

      ‘They’re sending one of their “guys” from Denver to come see what we’re doing “wrong” –’ he gestured a few more air quotes ‘– and “suggest” some “changes”. Meaning, tell us how to do our jobs.’

      Lots of serious nods and murmurs of ‘How could they?’ ‘How dare they?’ For the record, the entire office loved it when Mr Colossimo went all Blanche Dubois and left us to our own devices. We all performed better, no two ways about it.

      ‘Well, team Apollyon, I say we’re doing just fine.’ He paused, looked at us and thumped a rather flaccid fist upon the marble tabletop. ‘Can I have a round of applause for the May numbers? There was only the slightest drop. Slightest. Marginal, even. As opposed to April’s slightly more than minor setback. Which was a mistake in the books, in my humble opinion. Which, trust me, I will take up with accounting.’

      Yeah, like there was humble anything about Mr Colossimo. We all clapped, anyway, because Apollyon associates are sheep. Clapping, applauding sheep. Fact is, Mr Colossimo just couldn’t think of any other positive news to report besides the success of our new DVD. That was just sad. What was a ‘slight drop’, anyway? A drop was a drop, we were looking at summer, when people obsessively exercise for bikini season, and our sales should have been rising. Significantly rising. Our club memberships were too expensive, our equipment was too expensive, we hadn’t done anything remotely cool in a gazillion years, and … now we were just another jungle-gym, yo.

      Sorry, just channelling the Funky Bunch.

      ‘… despite what I see as a heckofalotta positive change.’ Colossimo sighed, drumming the table. ‘Just remember that I’m your guy. There’s one supervisor in the office, and it’s Mr Colossimo. Period. The end. End of story. Finito!’

      Was Mr Colossimo speaking of himself in the third person again? Uh-oh.

      ‘Whoever this clown is from “Corporate”, you check with me before running off to do his bidding. I am your boss. Period.’ He stood up. ‘Are we clear?’

      We all nodded, except for New Joey in HR, who raised his hand. ‘Sir?’

      ‘What do you want?’ Mr Colossimo’s face had begun to grow red. ‘I’m trying to run a meeting here.’

      ‘May I be excused to use the restroom?’ His voice squeaked from what I assumed was intimidation by our asshole boss. Poor kid.

      ‘Whattaya think this is, grade school?’ Colossimo waved a hand dismissively. ‘Go.’

      And so the next fifteen minutes crept by. Handouts with charts, photocopies of some bullshit article about ‘team-building’ and STRETCHING AFTER ONE HOUR NOW REQUIRED BY DEPARTMENT OF LABOR flyers were passed around. Each department from my floor gave its discouraging report, and I tried desperately not to nod off. Until the door swung open, and banged loudly as it smacked against the wall.

      Holy hell.

      Adonis – yes, that one, as in riding the morning T – strode into the room, all piss, vinegar and Armani anger.

      Cool anger, though.

      Oh, yeah. He’s had this one.

      Gwen shot me one of her ‘I don’t friggin’ believe it’ looks.

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