“So, even if he is hot, which hasn’t been confirmed, he’s about to be powerless and poor like the rest of us. Not good. I’ll have to go back to Tinder and hanging out in clubs if my new job can’t produce a hot CEO,” Marj teased.
“You better hope he gets things straightened out because Lena Cates will flush us right down the toilet. She has the business sense of your average trophy wife...heavy on the narcissism and light on the administration side.”
“Maybe she’d just bask in the wealth and leave us alone? Hire a manager?”
“Remember the King Herod thing from Sunday school...kill all the babies in case one of them is Jesus? Imagine King Herod as the wicked queen from Snow White. If it’s a woman, fire it because it could be fairest of them all.”
“Is there any basis to this or is it just an urban legend? I mean, seriously, I’m sure there are plenty of women who have inherited businesses and run them like rational human beings. Botox doesn’t make her a bad person or wildly jealous of other women.”
“Her husband, when he was alive, gave her a company to run because she wanted to try her hand at being an executive. Within six weeks every woman was either let go or quit and was replaced by young men. It was like she was building a harem. There was an article about it in Business Week with a really tacky picture of shirtless men serving her coffee while she sat on her desk in a tight top and a short skirt,” Angie sniffed.
“So she’s doing wonders for feminism, I gather. Maybe she just thought...hell, I can’t defend something that stupid. She’ll turn this place into the boy version of Hooters and we’ll all be out of a job,” Marj lamented.
“First Vegas, then the soup kitchen.”
“What?”
“Marketing is going to Vegas for the merger. The executive suite and three reps from Marketing, yourself included. The deal is they want this to sound like a real merger, like an opportunity for the company to expand, not like we’re being taken over. So the best spin doctors are going to press the flesh with the new owners and figure out ways to make this look like a good idea to the stockholders and the media.”
“I’m going to Vegas? Oh, thank goodness. Maybe I can hook up with an Elvis impersonator and get a quickie wedding. That way I won’t have to get at the end of the breadline when the Wicked Queen takes over. I’ll have his salary to live on.”
“I don’t guess you’ve ever been to Las Vegas then,”
“No, but I’ve seen it on loads of sitcoms.”
“Clearly. Well, there’s not a lot of Elvis going on there anymore.”
“Fine, I’ll get a nice Mariah Carey impersonator and we’ll tie the knot,” Marj said dubiously.
“Make sure it’s a talented impersonator and not just somebody in a wig and a pair of Spanx.”
“Well, obviously I don’t want to wind up hitched to a crappy impersonator who doesn’t make any money. I’ll have to get out my sexy clothes and pack them. When do we leave?”
“You’re leaving Friday after work.”
“Oooh, weekend in Vegas, baby! You just cheered me up. If I have an expense account for food and gambling, it would be better. Do I have one of those?”
“No. But you can eat those ninety-nine cent buffets and nurse one drink all night.”
“Or I could wear my shortest skirt and get someone to buy my drinks.”
“Good plan. Just be sure to do some marketing while you’re there.”
“I will. I’m always marketing. Just now I’m trying to figure out how to market myself to a successful celebrity impersonator,” Marj teased.
“Great. If you get rich and decide to quit, call me.”
“I will, babe.”
Marj hugged her and took off. She had a wardrobe to inventory and a boot camp class to attend. She hurried to her apartment and swiftly yanked every usable article of clothing from her closet and piled it on her bed. She flopped open her battered weekender suitcase and started loading it. In went her high heeled boots and her red stilettos. Never mind that the stilettos had come from Goodwill, and she’d had to use a Sharpie to cover the scuff marks, they were still nice shoes.
Then she grabbed her stretchy black miniskirt. She’d had that since college and never once had it failed to showcase her perfectly toned butt and thighs well enough to pull a hot guy. A sparkly tank top she’d inherited from Britt who decided it was ‘too flashy’ for herself. She chose leggings and a tight blouse for her arrival—sort of naughty-secretary wear. Dinner would require something more formal. She dug through her club dresses—bits of glittery Spandex—and sighed. Everything was too trashy looking for a business dinner, even if Marj was hoping, half-jokingly, to attract a rich guy. She was going to have to buy something.