The Opposite of Me by Sarah Pekkanen Read Free Book Online Page B

me and almost propelled me back a few feet. Ah, now the name of the club madesense. A Bee Gee was wailing in what could’ve been misery but just as easily could’ve been ecstasy, a waitress with Farrah Fawcett hair and love beads passed by with steaming red-and-green-colored drinks on a tray, and even Mason was wearing bell-bottoms. Welcome to the seventies, because apparently we didn’t get enough of them the first time around.
    “Matt, great to see you!” Mason shouted, detaching himself from a knot of people and walking over to us. “Lindsey, can I borrow you for a second?”
    Without waiting for my answer, he pulled me past a giant TV screen that was suspended from the ceiling. It was airing our top commercials of the year in a continuous loop. Every two feet or so, a waiter wearing John Lennon glasses or platform shoes was passing around a fresh tray of drinks, which meant new and inventive combinations of colleagues would hook up tonight and spend the next year suffering violent coughing fits and looking at the floor whenever they bumped into each other in the office hallways. In the weeks after our holiday parties, it always sounded as though our office had been hit with a record number of cases of bronchitis.
    Mason motioned toward a corner, where oversize beanbag chairs were clustered in a semicircle under a disco light.
    “Any word from Fenstermaker?” I blurted, eyeing a chair and deciding that, if I sat down, I’d never be able to get enough traction to stand back up again.
    “Not yet,” he said. “It may take him a few days to decide. Look, there’s nothing to be nervous about. I wanted to tell you that you’ve done a great job for us this year. A great job.”
    Mason was slurring his words ever so slightly; those holiday-colored drinks must have been potent. I made a mental note to order a seltzer with lime that could masquerade as a gin and tonic.
    “Thanks,” I said. “That means a lot.”
    He leaned closer and whispered, “I shouldn’t tell you this, but we voted this afternoon.”
    Time shuddered to a stop. I could feel each individual hair on my arms stand up.
    “What?” I croaked.
    “You’re the new VP creative director,” Mason said.
    I closed my eyes as relief crashed over me, making my legs weak and unsteady. I’d done it; I was the youngest ever vice president creative director of Richards, Dunne & Krantz. All the vacations I never took, the movies I’d missed seeing, the weekend mornings when I got up to work while everyone else slept in or curled up with the
Times
or went hiking in the sunshine—they had all culminated in this glorious moment. Now I could buy my apartment. I could celebrate by splurging on any restaurant in the city, and even take a car service there instead of a cab. Maybe I’d make a grand gesture at Christmas and hand my parents plane tickets to Europe. I’d get a bigger office, one with an amazing view. I’d get my own monogrammed company stationery! I couldn’t wait to get to a phone and call my parents and Alex. Inside I was exploding in joy, but I kept my face calm and professional.
    Mason grabbed a passing waiter. “Get this lady a glass of champagne.”
    “I can’t thank you enough,” I started to say, but Mason interrupted me.
    “You earned it,” he said simply, smiling at me. How could I ever have thought Mason was an alien? He was the warmest, kindest man alive. A beautiful, beautiful specimen of a man. He should be an exhibit in MoMA.
    “I’ll announce it in about an hour,” he said. “I want you to say a few words, too.”
    “Absolutely,” I said, a giddy grin spreading across my face.
    I took a gulp of champagne to hide the fact that I was blinking back tears of joy. It was sweet and delicious against my parched throat. God, I loved champagne. Why didn’t I drink it more often? I should drink it every day. I should
bathe
in it.
    “Enjoy,” Mason said. “I’ll signal you when it’s time.”
    He walked away, and I hurried