Nobody believes me about Monica. Nobody.
Sam adores her. He believes everything she says unquestioningly.
My ex-boss Denise thinks she’s a prodigy. She’s probably going to get my job soon.
I have to figure out some way to prove Monica isn’t as great as she said she is. I need some sort of evidence of wrongdoing on her part. But what? Absolutely the only person she’s targeted is me. Well, except for…
Gertie.
When my former assistant came to visit, she mentioned she felt like she had been pushed down the stairs. She claimed she was joking, but I’m not so sure. What if Gertie really was pushed down the stairs? What if Monica wanted to get her out of the way so she could take the role of my new assistant?
It’s a long shot, but then again, it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do today.
I find Gertie’s home number in my cell phone. When I call her, the phone rings several times, and I start to get worried maybe Monica finished her off to eliminate any loose ends.
Wow, maybe I really am getting paranoid.
“Hello?” Gertie’s voice shouts into the phone. When Gertie is on her cell phone, she seems unable to modulate the volume of her voice. It was something that used to drive me crazy about her, but now I miss it desperately. I’d take Gertie’s shouting over Monica’s clipped efficiency any day. “Who is this?”
“Hi, Gertie. It’s Abby.” “WHO?”
That’s another thing. Gertie can’t seem to hear anything coming out of the phone. Which could explain why she shouts. “ABBY ADLER! FROM WORK! ABBY!”
There’s a long pause. “Oh! Abby! It’s so good to hear from you, dear!” “Listen, Gertie,” I say, “I was wondering if I could ask you a few
questions?”
“WHAT?”
I grit my teeth. “Can we meet somewhere Gertie? I’ll come to any restaurant you like.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet, but I just ate lunch, dear!”
“Gertie,” I say patiently. “I just need to talk to you. Coffee, maybe?” “Oh! Well, that would be lovely!”
I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s a long shot, but maybe Gertie remembers seeing Monica in the stairwell that day. I don’t know if anyone at work will believe it, but maybe Sam will. I’m desperate to get him on my side. I’m not just being paranoid about Monica. I’m not.
Gertie selects a small coffee shop just down the block from her apartment. I arrive before she does and order myself a black coffee, although what I really want is a stiff shot of whiskey. Probably better not to get drunk in the middle of the afternoon though. Also, I suspect this coffee shop doesn’t stock whiskey. They probably don’t even have a liquor license.
I settle down at a small round table between a guy with a goatee typing furiously on his laptop, and an older woman who’s staring wistfully out the window. I take a long sip of my black coffee, shuddering at the bitter taste.
Gertie arrives at the coffee shop a few minutes later, leaning heavily on her four-pronged cane. She is limping so badly, it makes me want to burst into tears. Prior to her spill on the stairs, Gertie was always bustling around the office, a little ball of energy. Her injury clearly took a lot out of her. I wonder if she’ll ever be the same again.
When she makes it to our table, I get to my feet and we hug. Probably for far too long. Long enough that Gertie feels a need to comment: “Is everything all right, Abby dear? You seem so sad.”
I take a deep breath, struggling not to cry. These are the first kind words I’ve heard all day. “I’ll be fine. How are you doing?”
“Oh, you know…” Gertie smiles and pats her puffy white hair. “Retirement has its benefits. I’ve been getting to spend more time with my little grandson. What a handful he is!”
“That’s wonderful.”
“We spent three hours yesterday playing with Legos!” she sighs. “I never thought I was capable of playing with Legos that long! They’re
actually sort of fun though. What a great idea for a toy. Although I’m not entirely sure how they managed to make so many movies about them. I mean, they’re just blocks, aren’t they?”
I force a smile. “Yes.”
“Anyway, you’re going to have your hands full with that new baby, Abby! I’m so happy for you.”
A lump rises in my throat. Don’t cry. Don’t cry, Abby.
“And how’s your husband Samuel?” she asks. “He was such a sweet man. He must be very excited too.”
I know she thinks she’s being polite, but I can’t do this anymore. “Listen,” I say, “there’s something I need to ask you.”
“Of course, dear.” Gertie places her wrinkled hand on mine. “What it
is?”
I take a deep breath. “Do you remember the day you fell down the
stairs at work?”
She winces. “Of course I do. It’s hard to forget something like that.”
I feel a stab of guilt. The last thing I want to do is dredge up bad memories for her. But I need to know. “You told me you thought someone pushed you.”
“I didn’t mean that though. It was just, you know, the usual pushing and shoving.” She laughs lightly. “Show me a young person who isn’t pushing or shoving!”
“If I show you a photograph,” I say, “could you tell me if that person is familiar to you?”
Gertie never had the opportunity to meet Monica. If she recognizes the photo, then that means there’s a chance Monica was in the stairwell that day. And maybe it will jog her memory about other things too.
Like that Monica was the one who pushed her.
I pull out my phone and bring up the one photo I’ve got of Monica, taken in the waiting room at our first OB/GYN appointment. I wanted to take a photo to commemorate the whole thing. In retrospect, it seems so stupid. Who knew it would all go so horribly wrong?
Well, aside from Sam, Shelley, my mother… well, everyone but me.
I slide the phone across the table to Gertie. Who then takes out her reading glasses. God, I forgot all about Gertie’s reading glasses. She has this pair of purple-rimmed giant reading glasses that she always keeps
stashed away in her purse. Whenever she’s asked to read anything, she takes about five hours to pull out those stupid reading glasses. I’m beginning to remember how annoying Gertie used to be.
Finally she gets out her reading glasses and peers through them at the image on my phone. She squints a bit, then lifts the phone up in the air to get more light. Then she turns it around. After about sixty seconds, I’m ready to shake her.
“Well?” I say.
“She does look a bit familiar,” Gertie admits. “So you think you’ve seen her before?”
“Yes, I think I have.”
My heart speeds up. “Do you think she’s the person who pushed you down the stairs?”
Gertie looks up sharply. She pulls off her giant reading glasses and her eyebrows bunch together. “Abby, are you all right?”
“No!” And now I can’t hold it back anymore. I really am sobbing. I had so much hope for this meeting, but that was stupid. How could Gertie remember something that happened a year ago, when she couldn’t even remember you had to press “send” on the fax machine before a fax would go through? “I’m not all right. Somebody slipped drugs into my coffee at work and I got fired and my husband thinks I’m a drug addict and…”
Her eyes widen. She gawks at me for a moment, but then she pulls me in for a hug. “This is going to be okay, Abby. I promise you.”
“No, it’s not! How can it be okay?”
“Trust me,” she says so convincingly, I almost believe it. “You’re a good person, Abby. Everyone knows you didn’t do anything wrong. It will all work out in the end.”
While Gertie is hugging me, I hear a buzzing noise coming from my purse. I pull away from her embrace and find my phone in my purse. My eyes widen when I see the name on the screen.
Denise Holt is calling.
