A short story created for the sole purpose of a creative writing assignment senior year of high school. Still, I must say...it's not exactly dull ;)

• author: jh/aj
• synopsis: sometimes you have to crawl through the worst times to get to the best
• dedicated to... sarah/vicious/mrhydeisme

SEVEN TO ONE

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Drowning her sorrows in a glass was probably not the wisest thing to do, but heaven help her, Laney Parker felt the alcohol numb her pain. Scotch was her preferred form of morphine. Leaning her head down on the counter, Laney watched the bar's television screen blur and swallowed another shot. The amber liquid burned its way down her throat, warming and comforting her aches and pains. She should stop after one more, hangovers were not something she enjoyed, after all, but the past week had been filled with one disaster after another.

Seven Days Earlier...

"No, no. I have a meeting at 2, Claire!" The wind blew roughly against her coat, sweeping her short hair around her face and yanking her umbrella in the opposite direction.

Putting the phone to her chest, Laney raised her free arm to the street and yelled for a cab. After five sped by, one finally screeched to a halt in front of her. The rain was pounding everywhere, the puddles growing larger by the second, and the air began to cool. That morning the weatherman had reported hail, and Laney was not about to be caught in this storm in a skirt and heels, so when some pushy business man cut her off as she was about to open the door, she murmured a string of curses that would have made a sailor blush. Today just wasn't her day.

After four years of working for Karr & Orton Advertising Inc., Laney had yet to be praised about her numerous successful ads which had gained the company its popular and desired status. Though the job stifled her creative methods of working and she didn't get the respect she deserved, the pay was good and the company was known. She'd never been one to be aggressive and take charge, which was probably the reason for her stationary position as just advertising agent. The company never offered her more than one client a season, when she could have handled at least four. Her fear of rejection and the unknown kept her from fulfilling her full potential. No promotion had ever been directed her way, and she had set up an appointment with the head of directors for this afternoon. Claire, Laney's dependent roommate, decided to spring a bucket full of favors just as she was leaving her client's office. It seemed that Claire Rolands was pleading her to pick up a friend from the airport at one, which wouldn't have been a big deal except that the airport had traffic that took hours to get through, despite its convenient location to the advertising building.

Rain poured around her, blowing beneath the umbrella and soaking her overcoat and plastering her hair to her face. That was just what she needed to make an impression: running mascara and a pasty complexion. In a business where first impressions made or broke you, her drowned mouse impersonation was not going to sit well with David Templeton and Mark Hall, the two Head of Directors of Karr & Orton. Finally, a taxi slowed down and stopped in front of her. Climbing in, she brushed the hair away from her face. “Seventh and First,” she told the driver as she fished out a compact to check her hair. Hopefully, she'd have enough time to make a quick pit stop at the ladies' room to "freshen up".

Her hope died the minute she spied the bumper-to-bumper traffic ahead of her. Sighing with despair, Laney dropped her head back and stared at the ceiling of the cab toward the sky behind the tin roof. Why her? Why now?

"There's an accident on Fifth and Hunt," the cab driver said through the glass wall. He had a New Orleans accent, the "th" making a "d" sound and a rhythmic cadence to his words. He looked at her through his rear view mirror with sympathetic brown eyes.

"Could this day get any worse?" Laney grumbled and fumbled with her cell phone to inform Shirley, David and Mark's secretary, that she'd be at least ten minutes late.

After thirty minutes of agonizingly slow traffic, Laney raced out of the cab and threw a twenty to the driver as he flashed a smile. Sometimes she wished she wasn't such a push-over.

To her luck, Mark and David hadn't arrived yet and she had a couple of minutes to fix her mascara and hair and rehearse her persuasive speech. She needed to nail the EStart account in order to get the promotion, and her only competition was the promiscuous Darlene Hutch, a twenty-five year old blonde bombshell with legs a mile long and a figure that would have made Barbie green with envy. Darlene was renown around the office; her reputation preceded her even to the far corners of Data Processing. The former Miss Dairy Queen held a determination most underestimated, her ambition fueling a "take no prisoners" attitude and a ruthless "do whatever it takes" mantra to climb to the top of the advertising ladder. Her methods, of course, were prone to the sexual nature of her male bosses, and her reward was another step to the top. Darlene was the type of woman that made Laney pause and question her own talent. Was substance and uncanny intuition more valuable than appearance and favors? The timeless question was about to be put to the test.

As the two women set up their presentations, Mark and David had entered the room. The head of directors were both cut from the same cloth: wealthy men born and raised to wield corporate power who dressed in Armani, Versace, and other foreign named designer clothes. They were not exactly handsome with their receding hairlines and bloating physiques, but their presence commanded attention and respect. Yet where Mr. Templeton was hard edged and serious, Mr. Hall was more congenial and approachable. They were both in their early forties and single, which made the game a whole lot easier for Ms. Hutch. Laney scowled as the buxom blonde sashayed her way to welcome the two men. Unlike her, Darlene hadn't just come from a meeting with a client. No, it had been Darlene who had set up the time, because for some reason that Laney couldn't fathom, David had bent head over heels to accommodate the young advertising agent.

"It's so great to see you, David," Darlene smiled impishly toward the older man then nodded to his colleague, "Mr. Hall."

>Gritting her teeth, Laney pasted a smile on her face and stepped to Darlene's side. "Welcome back from your trips, Mr. Templeton. How did the meeting in Detroit go, Mr. Hall?"

The four people walked to the center of the room where Laney's Power Point presentation awaited, along with some graphics she'd drawn earlier that week, and Darlene's printed outline. The next hour was spent discussing the EStart account, an up-and-coming tech company that might just be the competition IBM and Microsoft needed. Not only was the software ergonomically friendly, but they created a variety of products for entertainment: mp3 players, DVD players, palm pilots, the works. Laney gave her rehearsed speech with persuasive arguments for her methods and ideas while Darlene, who actually did have some talent outside of the bedroom, expressed her thoughts about publicizing the new company.

As both women concluded their speeches, the men glanced at each other, then at Laney and Darlene, and once again back at each other. Laney started to panic. What were they thinking and why were David's eyes glued to Darlene's chest? Great, so they were going to choose the Barbie clone. Laney's heart began to race; probabilities of situations ran through her head one after another: they'd politely and emotionlessly tell her that the account wasn't for her, then they would go to a bar later that night to celebrate. She could see Darlene drinking toward her victory with the two men and flirting outrageously as David and Mark competed for her favors like besotted schoolboys blinded by lust. Unbeknownst to her, Laney's thoughts made her facial expression more determined and grim. She was jerked from her wild imagination when Mark cleared his throat.

"Well, ladies, your presentations were excellent. But since we can only have one representative for the Estart account and both of you are equally qualified," Laney mentally snorted, "there's only one thing left to do." Darlene's smile began to wane.

"That's right. We want you to create a campaign of ads publicizing all the products. Then, we or Gabe Powel, EStart's executive CEO, will choose the better one. The one who is chosen will be permanently assigned the account and be promoted to Director of the LA office."

Laney didn't know if she was relieved or outraged. Had she not proven enough of herself to the company? Had she not dedicated the past four years of her life to them? Seething, because she decided to be outraged, Laney roughly opened her apartment door. She had one week to prepare a full company campaign for Mr. Powell, who would undoubtedly succumb to Darlene's "charms".

She should have noticed something was wrong the minute she opened her door, but Laney was too preoccupied with thoughts about work to notice the missing television, sofa, and stereo. It wasn't until she'd tripped over a stray moving box and fell fully on her face that she realized that her apartment had been ransacked and robbed.

Hair awry, clothes disheveled, Laney shrieked as she ran around the room with her hands waving at the space her furniture used to occupy. As she was about to call the police, Laney noticed the scribbled note on the fridge. It took her a few seconds to comprehend what the message said and the meaning to sink in.

"I'll kill her!"

Claire's friend turned out to be some past boyfriend who came back into her life. Apparently he was back for good and they decided to move in together. The only connection to Laney was that Claire had moved out, without paying half of that month's rent and taking Laney's furniture. Incensed, she shrieked some more then began sobbing; the day’s frustration releasing itself through her tears. Mondays sucked.

If she thought Mondays were horrible, Laney was in for a huge surprise for Tuesday. Unfortunately New York weather was not being its predictable self and instead of the sunny skies that usually graced the city's atmosphere, the May weather was decidedly gloomy, reflecting Laney's mood perfectly. She hailed a cab with surprising ease, but as she stepped out to walk to the office, a bike messenger whizzed by and knocked her brief case from her hand. When Laney bent down quickly to retrieve all the papers before they were soaked by near by Monday's puddles, another cab had driven past and ran through a large puddle in the street, streaming water over her slacks and blouse. Shocked, Laney gathered her things and made a bee-line for the restrooms. The street water managed to dry relatively quickly under the blow-dryers but left its dirt stains. She grumbled and cursed under her breath as she made her way to her office, hoping to avoid Darlene, Mark, and David. With her luck, she'd probably get coffee spilled on her by all three. But as she took the messages from her secretary's desk and entered her glass menagerie, it wasn't Darlene, Mark, or David that greeted her. It was Gabe Powell.

>Unlike most of the CEOs she had met, Gabe was not elderly or intimidating. Taking a second glance she made a correction: he was not professionally intimidating. Standing at six feet and two inches, Mr. Powell was an impressively handsome early thirty-something year-old man. But Laney's luck was not on her side and as she made a move to go forward, he had done the same resulting in disastrous coffee spillage on both of them. It took what little control and patience she had not to throw her head up to the ceiling and growl.

"Damnit. So sorry, Mr. Powell," she wiped her blouse, again, and handed him some napkins for him to do the same for his coat.

"Ms. Parker, I presume?" His voice was deep and made the hairs on her neck stand up. Though she'd never met him in person, she'd read about him in Fortune magazine. He wore a business suit like no one else, filling out the jacket with broad shoulders and a lean and muscled frame. He had sandy brown hair and dark brown eyes that eyed her shrewdly. Critically. She'd seen the pictures of him in the society section of the paper and had admired his physical attributes as any normal red-blooded woman would, but to hear his voice made her extremely uncomfortable. Nodding to his question, Laney offered him another apology, which he graciously accepted without offering one of his own, and motioned to a chair.

"I didn't realize we had an appointment set up for today, Mr. Powell," she ran a hand through her black hair, unconsciously trying to put it back into place.

"We didn't. Templeton and Hall told me yesterday of their decision and I decided to contact both you and Ms. Hutch about your ideas," he watched her carefully, taking in her disheveled appearance and calm demeanor. The woman was a walking contradiction.

While she was doing whatever she was doing before coming into the office, thirty minutes late where he was concerned, he had looked around the room. She kept a couple of potted plants around the office, a few lights, comfortable chairs, few pictures, two lap tops, one desk top, and many sketchbooks and post its. They were filled with words and arrows, obviously idle thoughts and ideas about accounts she had. He had to admit they were good. She seemed unaffected by his close gaze and lack of conversation. Instead, when he didn't speak she looked at him and said: "Yes, well since you caught me off guard, I'm sorry I don't have anything available right now for you to look at." But she did. He had seen some of her ideas in the sketchbook on her desk. They weren't quite developed but she had a good concept and idea of the company, as well as how to market it.

Laney Parker was trembling inside. She had to look a mess. After the morning's misfortune, she was sure her hair was frizzy and her clothes wrinkled and stained. He was watching every move she made, not saying a word. Though she wasn't a talkative person, she liked having other people babble and fill in the silence. She knew what game he was playing: one always got more information with silence. She wasn't going to fail this little test. So, Laney began retrieving files and pictures and sipped her coffee. She wasn't going to touch the stereo in the office, if he wanted quiet, she'd give it to him. Renewed with little anger, Laney determined she was going to impress this man and get that damned promotion if it killed her. He seemed to approve of her tactic and began asking her about her previous accounts.

"My last account was the Target ads: paper leaflets, radio announcements, television commercials, Internet pop ups, the works. Their sales improved by one hundred percent. Before that I worked with Dell computers, Nike, and some smaller businesses. The improvement in their markets corresponded with the change in advertisements."

Reluctantly, he was impressed. He looked through her profile, reviewed her background and experience. She had excelled in college, worked long hours, and even though she started out at a pretty high position as an agent, he noticed she still hadn't been offered the opportunity for a promotion. Ms. Parker was confident, casual, and he unwillingly found himself admiring her. She had spunk.

"I looked through some of your stuff when you weren't here," he confessed, "your work is pretty good even if a little undeveloped."

Her dark green eyes widened and she curled her lips into a smile, "thanks."

The next hour she informed him of her ideas for the campaign and listened to his responses. She reassured him she knew his products, the fact that she owned two of his lap tops already spoke volumes, and amazed him with her knowledge of how he'd want the company marketed. By the time he left, she wasn't as nervous with him, though she still felt jittery when he spoke or when he shook her hand. Unfortunately, later that day, she saw him say goodbye to Darlene in a very friendly manner. Upset, Laney locked herself in her office and worked like a mad man. When she came across the designs she had for EStart, she took a dart from her drawer and through it at the target on her wall, nailing the bulls eye.

The following days passed without much chaos and Laney was grateful for it. She had regular phone meetings with Mr. Powell, who was very attentive and engaged in their discussions, and set out an ad in the paper for a new roommate. Wednesday was pretty uneventful. Laney stopped by the gym and ran a couple of miles on the treadmill, took a kickboxing class to vent the past days aggression, and had a dinner meeting with Gabe. Unfortunately, topics ranged from business to hobbies, family, and friends. To her amazement, she found he was a pretty good friend. By Thursday, she found Claire's forwarded address and paid her ex-roomy a visit. Armed with a threat of a law suit, she managed to get her television, stereo, and couch returned to her apartment. That night, she changed the locks and set up a security system. Heaven help the person who tried to steal from her. Darlene showed up in her office Friday morning. She had a smile on her face and a sneaky look in her eyes. Laney was immediately wary.

"Hey Darlene, what's up?" Laney amiably asked. Sighing wistfully, the blonde rolled her neck. "No offense, Lane, but I've got this account in the bag." She wiggled her eyebrows to get her meaning across.

Laney shook her head. Now this, she had predicted. The clever Ms. Hutch managed to nail the account in more ways than one, but she wasn't about to let Darlene get any satisfaction yet. "Really? Gabe never called to announce his decision, and I spoke with David yesterday. He didn't say a thing."

Darlene smiled a vicious smile. "Ah, but Laney, dear, there are other ways to know." Then, she sashayed out of Laney's door.

"God, that woman has NO ethics. And neither does Powell or any of those corporate pervs!" She screamed at the window.

Extremely suspicious that it probably hadn't taken just a quick roll in the sheets for Powell, Laney snuck into Darlene's office during lunch. After hacking into the woman's computer, she discovered a folder labeled "EStart copy". It was unbelievable. Everything in the file was a copy of Laney's ideas and designs. There were even her back copies of the Target and Nike accounts. She never showed Powell her exact plan, wanting to make sure it was perfect before presenting it on Monday, but it seemed he didn't need perfect.

Since it was Friday, the office had implemented a "casual dress day". Laney wore her old jeans, tee-shirt, and tailored jacket. Grabbing her purse, her booted heels clicked as she walked out of her office.

"Hey Mitch," she said to her secretary, "if anyone calls, tell them I'm at a meeting."

Laney stepped out of the taxi and looked at the gray building in front of her. Made a decision had he? Degraded what should have been a just competition did he? Well, Laney had a few choice words for the creep.

"Ms. Laney Parker to see Mr. Powell," she told the receptionist.

"Mr. Powell is in a meeting, Miss. Is there a reason for your unscheduled visit?" The small brunette looked up from behind her glasses.

Laney leaned to the side and could see through the crack of the door; Powell was most certainly not in a meeting. She smiled sweetly at the girl and pushed the paper away, "Oh, just some business of retribution. Don't worry. There'll be enough pieces of him to get your pay check."

Marching through the door, she slammed the files down on his desk. "So, you gave Hutch the account in exchanged for sleeping with her?! You're no better than all those asinine directors at Karr & Orton! You're like dogs. All you people need is a quick screw to make your decisions. Well, you know what? I'm not going to let you get away with it. I've worked too damn hard for her to take my work and put her name on them!"

He took a sat back on his desk and looked at the screens behind her. "Sorry guys, I seem to have an interruption, we'll schedule another meeting for tomorrow." Then he took a remote and turned off the video phones on the wall.

"You were saying?" He crossed his arms and glared at her.

Determined to make him feel horrible, Laney refused to apologize for making a scene in front of his business associates. She understood professionalism, but he deserved the humiliation. She pointed at the file.

"Did you look at her report and presentation before you slept with her?" Her voice was a deadly calm.

"Yes."

"And the ideas, the phrases, didn't look at all familiar?" She looked up at him, eyes blazing.

"They were similar, I admit--"

"Similar? Similar? They are my concepts, Gabe. And you knew it. Darlene can't tell the difference between an mp3 player and a vibrator, and you're saying the ideas she presented were similar to mine? Please. Don't treat me like I'm stupid."

He began to get angry then. She only knew him for a week and she could tell the anger he was expressing was the dangerous kind. He didn't yell, no, he eyed her coldly.

"What makes you think I slept with her?"

"She announced it to the office, already. I went to see Mark and David before I came by, and they confirmed her claim. When I showed them the files, they said I was behaving inappropriately--that they had no way to verify my side of the story. So for the first time in my life, I stood up to my bosses. And imagine my surprise when they sorrowfully dismissed me!" She was almost hysterical.

"I hadn't made my decision. I said I would decide by Monday, and I would. For your information, Laney, I didn't sleep with her. She got drunk yesterday and wouldn't be taken to her house. I let her stay at mine. Now, if you're through with your tantrum," his voice was cold, "you can show yourself the way out."

That was the last she'd heard from Gabe. It was Sunday, and she sat at the bar, depressed. She'd wrongfully accused a friend and colleague, though there was pretty convincing evidence, and she had put her job on the line. No one had answered her ad for a roommate, the rent was due in four days, and two days after the arrival of her furniture, her sofa broke and the stereo's CD changers appeared to be jammed. Leaning her head on the counter, Laney wished things would turn around. She fell asleep at Pub Five with a tissue sticking to her cheek.

Hangovers were not her thing. Her head pounded, her mouth was dry, and she smelled like something that died and rotted. Laney dragged herself to the shower and stood under the hot running water for thirty minutes before actually washing herself. A cup of coffee and lots of concealor later, Laney arrived at work to face the consequences of her actions. She decided to find a cheaper place to live. Who needed a three bed room, two bath apartment in Soho, anyway? Last night was full of epiphanies: she was a good advertising agent and knew how to work the clients. She’d interned at Blue & Blue, the top rated advertising company, when she was in college. She had a Masters in business. It was a feasible plan to quit and start an agency of her own. When she spoke with her clients, Target and Nike decided to stay with her. Laney murmured to herself: "I can pull a Jerry Maguire, I can pull a Jerry Maguire."

As she exited the elevators, she went to her office to pick up her things then met David and Mark at the top floor.

"Gentlemen," she smiled at both of them, she felt no resentment, "I've worked for your company for the past four years and brought more income than any of the other agents combined, plus some. I don't know why I haven't been offered a promotion, it may be the fact that all other agents who have been promoted are either friends of yours or former bed buddies, but I'm afraid this just isn't working out."

David stood up, "Parker if this is about Darlene getting the-- She put up a hand to stop him. "No, Templeton, it isn't. I'm sorry, but I quit."

To her amazement, Mark jumped up and sputtered while turning red. "But, but, you can't!"

"Actually, when I joined, I made up a contract that said I could, and that I can take any of my clients with me with their consent. Nike and Target are coming with me. I'll see you boys around."

And with that, Laney Parker walked out of the life she always knew.

Two days later, Laney got a call at home. She was packing her moving boxes when the phone rang.

"Laney here," she pulled the clear masking tape over the lid of the box.

"So, you started your own firm?" The deep voice asked.

"Yup, what's it to you?" Laney set the tools down and went to the window.

"Who have you got lined up?"

"I don't see how it has to do with you, but I got a new season of ads with two clients and a small business called Hanes."

Doesn't sound like a lot. I need some professional advice," Gabe said into the phone, "see I was in the midst of choosing an agent when the one I wanted quit the company she worked for and started her own. Now, do I go with this entrepreneur or stay with a reliable and established agency?" Laney was about to answer when he beat her to the punch. "How do you feel about taking on another client, Parker?"

Her shriek of laughter was so loud, Gabe moved the phone away from his ear. He took that as a yes and hung up with a smile on his face.

Dancing in the middle of bubble wrap and chunks of Styrofoam, Laney finally felt a sense of relief and contentment. Maybe hangovers weren't such a bad thing and maybe taking chances were worth the risk.

THE END




Layout and graphics © 2006 Penning AJ. Short story written by JH © 2002.