Social Girl

Birthday Girl

We walk past Ami on our way to pick up our purses.

"Hey bestie!" I greet, and then pause in the hallway to chat. 

Adrienne, coming to a stop next to me, stiffens. Years of sneaking around and flouting company policies, raising hell and bullying for title changes, and pretty much doing whatever she needs to make more money, has made Adrienne allergic to anyone in human resources. 

I do what I can to make sure the burning itch and intense irritation is fully reciprocated.

"Thanks again for this morning," I say. "Have a wonderful time this weekend! Weather's supposed to be great. Make sure you a wear a life vest and reapply sunscreen often because UV is supposed to be off the charts." Ami melts when she thinks someone cares, and Adrienne can't stand maternal concern. Or when Ami's happy.

The HR Director touches my arm in genuine gratitude. I ignore the impulse to shake her off, silently cursing her insane biological impulse to nurse something, anything with a working heart and mouth pretty much, because career ambitions and pipe dreams of gender equality have her reproductive organs tied in knots.

"I'll be safe, mom," she patronizes. "Are you and Keith doing anything special to celebrate, you know, this weekend?" Ami's eyebrows pucker in concern and I can tell that she really wants to say something else. Something we both know I don't want to hear, so she holds her tongue and keeps it to herself.

Smart girl.

"Nothing special. Just the usual."

She smiles at me, and then turns to Adrienne.

In the tones of a frigid bitch, "Good luck next week. If you find that you're in sudden need of a reference, don't hesitate to reach out to anyone on my team. They already know to put you in touch with me."

Adrienne crosses her arms and her hip juts out. The air between them freezes over, and I have to work to keep from laughing.

"Thanks for always thinking of me, girl," Adrienne shoots back, making it clear that she's implying a very different and much less flattering noun. "I'll keep it in mind."

I realize, suddenly, that I will be sad without Adrienne. For a time anyhow. I've got so much to be grateful for, like her unbridled messy ambition. And her inability to stop herself before making what is very clearly a rotten mistake. Like that time she tried to kiss Ami's swarthy husband at the office holiday party last year. Granted, Adrienne was lunatic drunk at the time, but her behavior didn't do anything to chip away at the iceberg that had already begun to poke up between the two co-workers.

With surface smiles intact, we go our separate ways. Evelyn with Adrienne, Ami with renewed vigor to eradicate oppressive language in the workplace. What a joke. I'm rejuvenated by the quick spirited encounter, and I look forward to spending a night getting drunk alongside one of the few people I can honestly say that I like.

Ducking eye contact with anyone who daydreams of joining us, we swipe our keycards and exit the glass doors of our banal building. It's tall and red and boring. Without MIT, this place would be a dump. Everyone goes on and on about how wonderful the Innovation District of Cambridge is, but I couldn't care less. All I care about are the opportunities that being here affords me.

As soon we get outside our black car pulls up. It has a telltale U sticker on the front windshield, and my phone's going off like a vibrator in my quilted leather classic Chanel.

"Sexy," Adrienne says, congratulating me on my timing.

"I know."

We get seated and confirm our destination with the driver. As soon as we're on our way, Adrienne begins to blow off steam. "I can't believe I never have to see her again. It's almost too good to be true. She just gets under my skin. You know? How I imagine having herpes would."

I'm surprised to discover that herpes is something Adrienne needs to imagine having.

"Poor Ami. That's disgusting."

"Oh my gawd," she groans. "Would you stop with the lip service already? I'm an ex-employee. You can badmouth HR to me as much as you want!"

"I know hearing this will probably make your ears bleed, but I actually like Ami."

"She's the one person there I can't stand. She's just so... babysitters club. Self-righteous hypocrite comes to mind. The kind of person who'd promise to buy you condoms, and then lecture you on the virtues of abstinence once you handed over all your money."

Without fail, Adrienne's theatrics amuse me. One more thing I'll miss about having her around. How novel.

"She's not that bad."

"You're killing me. Can't you just pretend to agree with me? Or, better yet, why can't you just hate people based on arbitrary, irrational feelings like the rest of us?"

She pretends to fume and I laugh. She thinks she's being clever —obviously I'm irrational and arbitrary because I'm just like her; I laugh because I do hate Ami, but mostly because for all that she's got going for her, Adrienne's a complete fucking moron.

"Try not to let it ruin your evening," I tease.

She sighs dramatically, drawing the curtains on our charade.

"Fine. But you owe me."

Being Adrienne's wingman is a guaranteed good time. Ever since she discovered the joys of consensual prostitution via mobile apps, surprisingly later than I would've expected for someone with her proclivity for one night stands, it's not a role I've had the pleasure of filling as frequently. Especially not since Keith and I moved in together. Getting Adrienne laid has become a crime of opportunity for me. If I'm good at getting Adrienne what she wants, which I am, then I get what I want.

I've got some excess steam to blow off too. Soft dewy kisses from Keith aren't going to cut it. And, to Ami's wisely unspoken point: tomorrow's my birthday.

I always get what I want for my birthday.

"I live to serve," I purr.