Athena's Story Ch 2

The pitcher and glasses are the giveaway, and that almost gives Sal Dupont a touch of nerves. Anyone can put a few bottles of water on a boardroom table, and even if those bottles are glass or something fancy, that means nothing. A pitcher and glasses, though? Where was the pitcher filled from? Where are the glasses washed?

They’re as spotless as the table, as perfect as the glasses one sees in an ad for dish soap. It means that there’s someone here in charge of this, and that person is paid well enough to do a decent job. It’s only one thing on a long list of corporate class signifiers, but it’s impactful.

Sal gets to her feet as women enter the room. She knows Dulcita Salazar and Annette, but not the third woman. Annette is as blonde and harried as ever. She could look great if she wanted to, but she can’t be bothered. Her jeans, white top, and cursory blazer are quietly tasteful, and almost defiantly unspectacular. A professional probably hasn’t touched her hair in years. Sal finds her intriguing.

Dulcita Salazar by contrast is a staggering Spanish beauty. Sal ordinarily doesn’t go for glittery maximalist vibes with lots of jewelry, but Dulcita makes it work with her softness, curves, and general aura of glamor. Her presentation is as perfect as it is ironic. Sal finds her intimidating, and not only because Dulcita is her boss.

Sal gets up, and Annette waves absently for her to sit. The third woman is much younger, probably fresh out of college. Her professional attire is much more conventional than Annette’s. Her hair is dark and she’s wearing a serious necklace: the charm on it is the size of a cigarette lighter. It doesn’t really go with her navy pantsuit, and the pantsuit doesn’t go with her body. Her legs aren’t long enough for that cut. She needs high-waisted slacks and—and a lot of things. Sal pauses her mental makeover and shakes Annette’s hand.

The young woman stays on her feet in the corner, clutching an iPad.

“What do you think?” Annette asks, rubbing her eyes before focusing on Sal.

“That’s what I’m asking you.”

“I like your work. That’s why you’re here.”

Sal shakes her head. “I’m missing something. FUTA already has a pretty big line. I mean, I saw an Aki Aramaki T-shirt in a gas station the other day. The redesign, sure—”

“It’s about the international market,” Dulcita says, cutting her off. “FUTA wants more than T-shirts in Target and Wal Mart.”

“Not Wal Mart,” Annette says, resting her chin on her hand. “We stay out of there. Our viewership’s really picking up overseas, Sal. I need some clout with my board to launch a big partnership with Salogal. If this redesign is a hit and you give me a nice proposal, and then you can play nice with my designer, we could have something really meaningful.”

“I think you just want to poach one of my best people,” Dulcita says, smiling at Sal.

“Sal’s work is good, but I don’t need Sal. I need Salogal. If I just wanted her, I’d have bought her. No offense,” Annette adds.

Sal smiles. “None taken.” She looks uncertainly at Dulcita, who taps her fabulous fingernails on the table.

“How long do you expect this to take?” Dulcita asks.

“Stop acting like it’s some great hardship. This is a good deal.”

“It looks like one. I’ll have to be sure.”

“What do you mean?”

“It will be a big commitment. I need to see more before I make it. So, the tour that you have planned for Sal? I’ll be on it.”

Annette raises an eyebrow. “Do you really need to shake me down for a free vacation? Fine.” She waves a hand. “You’re in. We leave tomorrow. Questions?”

“Are you hung over?” Dulcita asks.

“Who’s the kid?” Sal asks as the same time.

ATHENA’S STORY

There is something odd yet exciting about the fact that instead of Salogal North America paying for the hotel room, it’s FUTA instead. All kinds of excitement surge through Sal as she waits for the fancy jet tub to fill. She looks critically at her reflection. Knowing what’s coming makes her more vain than ever, but her skin is good. Muscle tone is pretty good. She knows it’s a losing battle against time, but she’s still got it.

She sinks into the bath and picks up her phone and Coke Zero.

Athena answers the Facetime call and Sal’s eye pop open. “Oh my god! Your hair!” It’s in a ponytail. Sal can’t remember the last time she saw her wife like this.

“Shut up. I’m about to go play pickleball.”

Sal can’t hold back a guffaw. “Pickleball? Then what? Bingo?”

“OK, you don’t have to make fun of me.”

Sal’s mirth goes away. “OK. Sorry. What brought this on?”

“I don’t have a fucking job, in case you forgot.”

“No, I remember.” Sal takes a drink. “It’s cool. It’s cool. Now I want to come home so we can play together.”

“Is there like doubles?”

“You don’t know?”

“It’s my first time tonight.”

“Oh. Good luck, baby. I hope you kick ass.”

“Thanks. What are you doing? How’d it go?”

Sal takes a deep breath, unable to keep the stupid grin off her face. “Well, FUTA’s moving ahead with it. I’m going to Ireland first to talk to all the tennis players, then Scotland for golf. Then we’ll go to Brazil—that’s why Dulcita wants to come, I just realized—then Australia, and then New York. I can’t talk too much about New York, even to you. But it looks like I’m going to be designing lots of new uniforms and if it goes well, Salogal takes over all of FUTA’s apparel design merchandising. It’ll be big if it works out.” There’s a knock at the door. “Hang on, babe.” Sal puts the phone down and hauls herself out of the bath, grabbing a robe and putting it on. She goes to the door, finding Mia, the girl from the meeting, in her suite.

“Here is the itinerary, Ms. Dupont,” Mia says very formally, looking a little embarrassed as she averts her gaze. Sal is wet and in a robe, but it’s not like anything’s showing.

“Thanks.” Sal takes the single sheet and closes the door, putting it aside and returning to the bath.

“Who was that?”

“My new assistant.”

“Wait, what?”

“That’s what I said! I was like, do I look like Meryl Streep to you? But FUTA said I needed one. Dulcita says she’s spying on me. I don’t know. I think FUTA’s just flexing. She gave me the schedule for tomorrow.”

“What’s she like?”

“Annette? She’s running the fastest-growing media company in the world right now, so if there’s one word for her, it’s tired and stressed.”

“That’s two words, and I’m asking about the assistant.”

“Oh.” Sal frowns. It occurs to her that her wife was recently laid off, and although she acts fine, she’s having a hard time with it. Maybe bragging about runaway success isn’t the best idea right at this moment.

Downplay how things are going?

Or answer honestly?