The Night I Got Lucky by Laura Caldwell

was on the phone with one of the salesmen and browsing their Web site for different computers and monitors. I final y settled on a sleek, flat-screen monitor and a top-of-the-line computer that had tons of memory and would al ow me to burn my own CDs and download lots of music. Not that I knew how to do that. Not that I even owned one of those cute MP3 players. But then maybe that was different now, too. I’d gotten what I wanted overnight, and I’d always wished I could be one of those iPod people. It might al just flow from my hands as soon as I got the new computer.
    When that was done, I buzzed Lizbeth. “I’m going to look for new office furniture,” I said. “I’l be back soon.”
    “Don’t forget about your 1:30 lunch meeting.”
    I looked at my watch. It was 12:00. “No problem.” I clicked the intercom off, and sat staring at my watch for another minute. It had a large mother-of-pearl face and a burnt orange leather strap. My mother had given it to me for Christmas last year, and she’d selected it careful y. Was she now selecting dresses and skirts from a runway in Milan?
    I knew where the company-approved furniture store was because I’d been there with Evan. Outside our building, I fought the tourists for a cab and headed to the intersection of Ohio and Franklin.
    The showroom was a loft space with brick wal s and high ceilings. I found a salesman and told him I needed a new desk and chair, explaining that I already had a pine credenza I planned to keep.
    The salesman, a short, balding man in a suit, clearly saw a purchase ready to happen. He practical y clicked his heels together before whisking me around the showroom, pointing out various styles of desks.
    “You know, maybe I should just focus on the chairs,” I said after a few minutes. Who knew how ridiculously expensive desks could be? And my stipend wasn’t that large.
    The smile on the salesman’s face dimmed a little, but he gave me a pert nod and began showing me chairs. Al of them seemed to be black leather—black leather with chrome bases, black distressed leather, shiny black leather with buttons.
    “These are al so—” I searched my mind for the word “—typical,” I said at last. I thought of the wine-colored chair in my office. It was entirely too huge but at least it was a little different.
    Maybe I should stick with that.
    But then I saw it. Across the showroom, next to a mod, curved desk was a smal , butter-yel ow leather chair. I quickly made my way and sank into it. The chair hugged me like an old, comfortable sweater, yet it was stylish and sleek.
    I glanced at the price tag. One hundred dol ars more than my furniture stipend, but I could pay that out of my own pocket. “I’l take it.”
    When I got back to the office, I cal ed Chris. “I have some news.”
    “What?” He actual y sounded excited.
    “How about dinner tonight and I’l tel you?”
    I waited for him to “cry swamp,” as I cal ed it— I’m so swamped with this merger, I’m swamped with my billing statements, I’m swamped with this deposition. But to my surprise, he said,
    “Absolutely.”

    “How about Spring at six?” Spring was a restaurant in Bucktown where Chris and I first started talking about getting married. We’d been giddy that night with our plans for our future. For some reason, we’d never been back.
    “Perfect,” I said.
    “I’l make the reservation.”
    Just then Lizbeth buzzed me. “Your meeting is about to start.”

    I grabbed my purse from under my desk, patted powder on my face and swiped lipstick across my mouth. Ready. I ditched my purse again and looked at my watch. One-thirty exactly. I felt a rush of nervousness. I’d insisted for years that I was cut out to be a VP, but I wasn’t sure what to expect from the role.
    In the conference room, a long thin space with an oval glass table, Roslyn was studying a file and silently munching on a plain green salad.
    “Hi, Bil y,” she said, glancing up. “You prefer