Smoke Break

Barrow found her outside, seated ungraciously on a set of cement stairs leading down from the loading docks behind the building. Abby was on her second cigarette, bummed from Kaitlyn York during a quick trip back up to HR. She was lost in contemplation as the Director of Human Capital joined her, and she almost didn't notice him at first.

"I didn't know you smoked," he remarked, and sat down beside her.

"I don't," she replied with a smile, and then took another puff. "It's just been that kind of day."

Barrow paused, and then offered, "I wouldn't get too hung up on Kristen Metkovich. I wouldn't let her get to you."

Abby didn't answer.

"Casey Campbell..." he went on, "should count for two."

Abby raised an eyebrow. "So then we're good for the day?"

Barrow chuckled a little. "No, not quite. I'm just telling you, she's a vision."

"Are you smitten?" Abby teased.

"Why didn't we lead with her?"

Abby exhaled, the smoke dissipating in the gentle, late summer breeze. "We had better leverage with the first two. Credit card debt...? I don't know. I wasn't sure that'd be enough to entice her."

"What did she buy? Where did it even all come from...?"

"I don't know."

Abby thought about her own situation. She was thirty, divorced, and stuck in a mortgage that would bankrupt her eventually. Jon was gone, and it had been Jon whose money had been tied up at the time of the condo's purchase; because of that, it was Abby's name and Abby's name alone on the bank loan. He'd paid his fair share the first month after he'd taken up residence out in Bushwick with Traci-With-An-I. And he'd eventually done so the second month, after Abby had chased him. Her father had helped out after, but the condo was now on the market and Abby had been looking to downsize. That alone, though, wouldn't have been enough to sign her life away like Mailgirl Number Three had done.

Barrow reached inside his jacket, and produced a packet of paper that had been stapled and folded in three. He extended it to Abby, and said, unceremoniously, "I have a proposal for you."

Abby smiled, shook her head, and took another puff. From beneath her, as she'd been sitting on it, she produced a packet of her own. She held it out for Barrow. "I already signed it."

This clearly caught Barrow of guard. But, he recovered, took the packet, and glanced it over.

"Congratulations," Abby teased. "You're buying me out of a one-bedroom walk-up in Chelsea."

"Am I?"

"The University of Pennsylvania also thanks you for settling the matter of my student loans."

"That's generous of me."

"I'm worth it."

"We'll see."

Abby puckered. That stung. It had been the opportunity for Barrow to compliment her, or to say something nice. Instead, his response was ominous and condescending.

"I guess we will," Abby sighed. "I'm also in-line for Stephanie's job, down in Miami." Stephanie was Chris's peer for the South Atlantic and Latin American divisions; the job would be a step up from where Abby was today, with the opportunity to travel down to Panama, Rio, and Buenos Aires. More importantly, Miami was over a thousand miles from Jersey City.

"What am I doing with Stephanie?"

"You've got twenty-four months to figure that out. I'm sure you'll think of something."

"Anything else I should know?"

Abby leaned over, flipped through the pages in Barrow's hands, and pointed to a dollar figure. "There's a nice little completion bonus in there, too."

Barrow whistled sarcastically. "This is getting expensive."

"I've seen the bottom line. I know what a mailgirl is worth to the company."

Barrow continued to flip through the document, eventually finding the signature he was looking for. Holding up that particular page to Abby, he pointed out, "You understand that, with this, with Power of Attorney, I can go inside and re-write all of this right now?"

Abby shrugged. Of course she did. Of course. She expected the company to fuck her over at some point, maybe with the promotion or maybe with the bonus. Or maybe she'd get bullied into a subsequent contract. It was just how these things worked. But there was nothing overly unreasonable in the contract she'd marked up, even if the dollars and cents were on the higher end when compared to the contracts she'd done for girls Three, Four, and Five. And even if Barrow screwed her on half of the things in here, it still meant he'd be honoring the other half.

Abigail Wagner Williams would become Mailgirl Number Six.

For now, though, she extinguished what was left of her cigarette on the stairs beside her.

"Why?" Barrow asked. Why was she doing this? Why had she taken this on?

"It seemed inevitable," she answered, snark evident in her tone.

Why? Why, exactly? It wasn't the money. Nor was it the promotion. Nor was it even the fact that she likely didn't have much of a choice anyways -- it was probably either this, or returning broke and broken to her parents' house in Massachusetts. She wasn't sure how she'd ever explain this decision to Jim and Angie Wagner. But it was her decision, a decision she'd reached in the ladies' room down in the sub-basement, a decision that was likely the result of being still drunk on a cocktail of post-orgasmic hormones. There was no denying that she was turned on by all of this, so why not lean in? She was no longer Abigail Wagner, up-and-comer. Nor was she Mrs. Jonathan Williams. It was time to see who Mailgirl Number Six would be.