The Bedroom Blog

How Workplace Drama Took Over My Life

Chloe thinks she might be in too deep.

By Alessandra Torre

"Tell me!" I demanded, standing in Cammie's room, Dante on speaker, my newfound independence — not to mention any chance to move out of Cammie's apartment — at stake.

"Mr. and Mrs. Brantley talked about you most of the way home from the airport. She — Nicole — doesn't think that you are the right fit for her brand. She says trouble and drama seem to follow you."

I could maybe see her point. With the New Year's Eve party flooding/streaking and now the AVN awards kiss/fight/vomit extravaganza, I was starting to accumulate a trophy case of disastrous public events. I tried to sputter and look offended, but Cammie just rolled her eyes at me. That's the problem with true friends. They see through posturing.

"What'd Mr. Brantley say?" Cammie asked. Good question.

"He asked if you had a boyfriend."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Cammie barked, right before my slow lips made it to the question.

"That's what Nicole wanted to know. Then — and sorry to be the bearer of bad news Chloe — but then they got in a fight. And Mr. Brantley said it was a character question, he was trying to put your award show kiss in the proper context — it's Vegas, it's a porn convention, Nicole's a condom heiress so why's she being so uptight — and Mrs.Brantley kept yelling that she never should have hired you in the first place."

She never should have hired you in the first place. The last sentence repeated in my head, like a mantra.  She never should have hired you in the first place. An ugly, dirty sentence.

Dante had stopped talking, but I wanted more. There had to be more. Where was my happy ending? The moment when they decided, like intelligent logical adults, that they were going to chalk this up as unimportant and move on. At some point during this disastrous ride home, hadn't anyone mentioned what a great employee I am? How organized I'd helped Nicole become? How well Chanel and I get along?

This can't be the end. I can't be FIRED. I just can't. Not with so little money in the bank. Not when there are no other job prospects on the horizon and finding a job in NYC is as elusive as a great apartment. I looked at Cammie and she frowned regretfully at me.

"Anything else?" I finally asked.

"That was about it, Chloe. They rode in silence the last few blocks of the drive."

I gave Cammie a hug and slunk off to the living room. Even with her bedroom door closed, I could still hear their mushy pre-date pillow talk.

I really need to get my own place. Not that a new apartment seems even feasible right now, but I want some privacy. The ability to shut a door and whimper into my pillow. I want to call my mom and cry, but things have been so icy between us since the financial debacle, I'm not even sure she'd answer my call.

I need a plan. Dante thinks I have at least a week before I'm fired.  So … one week. One week to convince the Brantleys that I am indispensable. How hard will that be?