Citizen Girl (12 page)

‘This is his baby, I’m just rockin’ the cradle.’ Guy sloshes more bread around, spilling olive oil over the sides of the diminutive dish. ‘He was my mentor at The Bank, taught me everything I know about survival —’

‘Rigatoni special?’ the waitress asks, placing two steaming plates on our table.

‘Thank you,’ I say as she extends the pepper grinder.

‘Rex’s one of the few to come out the other side who
don’t think entrepreneur’s a dirty word. He brought me in to infuse this place with a little of my DNA.’ I nod, picturing Guy rubbing himself all over the office equipment. ‘Seriously, Girl, one million women click through his site
a day.
Rex and The Bank were sitting on a fucking cash cow with this subsidiary, but he had some tool running it down the recession drain, afraid to color outside the lines. No balls to leverage this company’s biggest asset.’

‘Enter you?’ I smile, sprinkling Parmesan over my pasta.

‘Yeah, I’ve got’em. Big ones. Some say too big.’ He smiles from ear to ear. Is this another metaphor, or are we actually discussing your testicles?

‘Here’s the vision, okay?’ He wolfs down his meal while continuing. ‘And I’m letting you into the inner sanctum sanctorum. This hasn’t been shared with the rest of the MC family,
or
the public. We’ve just gotten it approved by the board, so this is between you, me and The Bank. Okay?’ I nod enthusiastically and he shoves his empty plate aside, cheeks flushed as he slides his hands on the Carrara. ‘MC, Inc. has millions of women out there that we know naked. We’ve tracked their every move for months and we’ve got a shitload of hard data on what they want to know – what they’re hungry for. Hell, I could even get back into their computers if I wanted to, which,’ he coughs, ‘of course, I don’t.’ Well, that’s something.

He wipes his mouth with his napkin and drops it on the table. ‘We’re steering two million eyeballs a day to
our advertisers. With the right manipulation, we could direct their attention
anywhere
we want.’ He squeaks his chair back, stretching to lift his hint of a gut above his monogrammed belt. ‘
I
stood on the fucking mountain, looked around, and thought, fuck, this is an opportunity
squandered.
MC, Inc. could evolve from tech shop to consulting firm. I know, I know, every consulting joint has gone belly up, yada-yada. But they didn’t have our knowledge base. A knowledge base that makes us extremely fuckable to companies with a large, feminist consumer base.’

‘Such as?’

‘Nike, for one.’

‘You’re going after Nike?’

‘Well, we have a lot of irons in the fire. Getting the
Ms.
archive on the site would demonstrate an undeniable commitment to that whole thing. With the consulting industry in shambles, this is
the
moment to compete at boutique level. Whad’ya think?’

‘Wow. I think … this sounds like an incredibly exciting time to join your crusade.’

‘I love your energy!’ Guy lurches over the table to shake me by the shoulders. ‘That’s what this place has been missing, some fucking enthusiasm!’ He drops me to drain his espresso. ‘You’ve got the feminist pedigree and we’re on the same page. Took awhile to get Rex on board —’

‘Yes, the men’s club thing’s a little weird.’ I glance down to fold my napkin. ‘I didn’t even know those were still legal.’

He clatters his cup onto its saucer. ‘Got to have something left.’

I smile fervently, overriding my instinctive grimace. ‘No, I just mean that it feels a little … antiquated.’ Backtrack! ‘But I’m sure people are entitled to, you know, gather with their peers and …’ Guy nods slowly and I trail helplessly off.

‘Uh-huh.’ With each downswing of his head, the gulf deepens between us as he seems to be steeling himself for my pronouncement of reverent Wiccan worship. Oh, come back,
come back
.

‘Sorry, I actually interrupted you. I want to hear more about your vision.’

He appraises me for a nauseating moment longer. ‘You’re a hoot.’

‘Thanks.’

He smiles tentatively. I grin winningly.

He leans in conspiratorially. ‘So, obviously, it’s a competitive mess out there. Lotta sharks.’ I listen heedfully as he continues, my pulse recovering. ‘What I’m about to share with you is highly confidential, but I think you’re going to be pretty damn happy to hear it.’ Adequately warned, I lock that smile in for the long haul. ‘The passion I feel about the feminist thing, that you feel about the feminist thing, MC doesn’t show on paper yet. So we’ve decided, as a gesture of commitment to the female community, to offer up to a million dollars to a fledgling social service organization who shares our concern for women.’ He beams, clearly savoring giving me this news, as well he should.

I still don’t know what it is, couldn’t explain it to a stranger on the street, but I want this job even more than I did an hour ago.

‘That’s incredibly generous. So then the conference would be beneficial on two fronts. You’d get instant exposure to a number of potential recipients, and demonstrate to
Ms.
that MC, Inc. has their issues at heart.’

Guy leans forward to rest his chin in his hands, his energy draining away for the first time that I’ve seen, his face going slack as he runs out of show. ‘Great.’ He waves over my head for the check. ‘I gotta get back. You wanna come with?’

Still optional? ‘Of course, I’m very eager to get a jump on —’

Guy’s cell trills and he claps it to his ear while shrugging on his jacket, leaving me to jog-trot beside him.

‘Guy, accounting’s waiting for you,’ the receptionist greets us.

‘Okay.’ He claps his hands together. ‘Girl, why don’t you, uh … generate a list of people you think we should … approach for this thing. And remember, the confidential stuff, that’s, uh, confidential. For now.’ People smile up from their desks as he rushes past.

‘Hi.’ I turn to the receptionist. ‘Where should I set myself up?’

‘Oh, I don’t do desk assignment. You have to see Joe, he’s HR– I mean, People. I’ll call him for you.’

A few moments later Joe shuffles out, hands stuffed deeply into the pockets of his sweater vest, a thick binder
tucked under one arm. ‘Hello, again,’ he says, taking a seat beside me in the highly trafficked path between the staff mailboxes and the rest rooms.

‘Hello. I’m very excited to meet my desk.’

‘So you’re official?’ He cocks his head as he clicks open the binder.

‘Aren’t I?’

‘Well,’ Joe nods down at the first page illustrating fire exit routes. ‘I haven’t gotten confirmation on you just yet, although that’s not unusual around here. I guess we should probably wait for me to do my spiel.’ He snaps the binder closed. ‘I don’t want to get my wires crossed with Guy.’ He lets out a horselike flutter of his lips.

‘Will I get a desk?’

‘Yes,’ he laughs. ‘You remind me of my daughter. Yes, you’ll be assigned to a desk cluster for total immersion. And hopefully enrolled in an orientation program I’m trying to restart. Supposed to meet with Guy about it all today, so I’ll know more soon. But I can’t put you in the computer till we get the go-ahead from him. I’m sorry, you’ll have to sit tight.’

‘Okay,’ I sigh. ‘Thanks.’

‘I’ll keep my fingers crossed.’ Joe looks out towards the windows and I follow his gaze to the winter clouds tumbling over the Hudson.

‘How old is she, your daughter?’ I ask as a light patter of snow brushes against the glass.

‘Seventeen. Just finished applying to schools.’

‘Urgh,’ I shudder. ‘That’s such a hard time.’

‘The waiting’s the worst. Hang in there.’ He pats my
knee paternally before walking back into the sea of desks.

Determined not to leave without written, signed, sealed, notarized confirmation, I pull out my yellow pad and address book to list all the conference contacts I made over my time with Doris. By seven o’clock I’ve written down not only the contact information and directors’ personal quirks of every women’s organization I’m thrilled to pester about something other than a job, but have moved onto writing long, hideously detailed letters to my peeps abroad. I’m completely engrossed in describing the texture of the receptionist’s spiky sweater to Kira when a familiar voice asks the receptionist for Guy.

‘Is he expecting you?’

‘Yes, he is.’ Seline Saybrook takes one glance in my direction, shakes open her crimson shearling, and strides off across the office, her sleek hair swinging. And I’m up, tailing just a few paces behind her. Pushing Guy’s door open, she drapes her coat over his empty chair, revealing yet another impeccably tailored suit.

‘Hi,’ I say from the doorway.

She takes me in. ‘Hi.’

‘So you have a meeting with Guy?’

‘He’s expecting me,’ she says, rounding the desk to straighten his wall-sized
Metropolis
poster. ‘Why, do you?’

‘I do. I didn’t realize he was still interviewing.’

‘Oh, is he? I didn’t know.’ We’re interrupted by a flush as Guy joins us from his private washroom, wiping his hands dry on the front of his trousers. ‘Hi. Great. Ready to leave?’

‘Yes.’

‘No.’

He looks from positive her to negative me. ‘Seline, I need five. I keep putting off this fucking meeting with Joe. Girl, you all set?’ he asks, looking down at the yellow pad in my hands as if it’s papyrus with a derisive, ‘Huh.’

‘I completed the list,’ I say, reluctant to hand it over for
her
initiative.

‘Guy, Bella Russe won’t hold our reservation.’ Seline checks her gold tank watch.

Guy tugs the list from my hands, slinging it onto a stack on his desk. ‘Oh, well, I have a friend who can get us into Smith and Wollensky later, no worries.’

‘Okay, then, lovely.’ She smiles broadly at him before pulling a folder out of her pebbled leather briefcase and sitting on the chaise to work. ‘Actually, I had sushi for lunch, so that’s perfect, Guy. Take your time.’

‘What?’ He looks up from his computer screen. ‘Yeah, great.’

‘So,’ I turn my back to Seline and lower my voice, ‘Joe says he’s waiting on my confirmation so I can go ahead and —’

‘Shit!’ Guy leaps up and jogs out the door, ‘Shitshitshit.’

Shitshitshit.

‘Hi, it’s me. How’s the call going?’ Seline’s voice downshifts into a professional gear as she curls over her cell. ‘Might as well patch me back in; I’ve got my notes right here …’ I listen to Seline listening while I watch the lights come on in the apartments across the river.

‘Can I just ask you?’ I whisper, as it would seem this is a woman with a job of her own.

Holding a finger to her lips, she presses the receiver against her shoulder.

I click my pen and lean into a blank page of my Filofax. ‘Are you still applying for the job?’ I write in large script and hold it up.

She motions for me to hand off the Filofax. She hands it back. ‘
No.
’ My whole body relaxes and I give her a thumbs-up. She motions for the Filofax again, scribbles, and passes it back, ‘Are you still interested in him?’

‘
NO.
’ She returns my thumbs-up and her shoulders relax. I’m holding, ‘Really, never!’ over my head, Norma Rae-style, when Guy darts back in, a manila folder under his arm. I quickly drop the Filofax back in my bag.

‘Hello, ladies. Shit —’ He juts his head out the glass door. ‘Stacey, where the fuck is Joe? Don’t let him leave – I’ve got to talk to him
tonight
.’

A beleaguered woman, who looks to be maybe ten years older than me, nods from where she’s packing up her beaten satchel, her owlish glasses matching her oversized vestments. ‘I need him in here!’ She skitters away across the floor and he follows with an impatient stride.

Seline flips her phone shut and slides it back into her briefcase to address me. ‘About five minutes into the interview we realized I wasn’t a fit. So he asked me for a drink and we’ve been dating ever since.’ She smiles, slightly smug.

Guy sticks his head in the doorway. ‘Give me five seconds to do this thing with Joe and we’ll be outta here.’ He cants his head toward me. ‘Girl, there’s a package for
you at the desk. Take a look at it and, uh, we’ll see you Monday.’

YES YOU WILL.

‘
Thank you
for this opportunity, Guy. I’m very excited about creating this … with you.’

I practically skip to the elevator as I rifle through the envelope. Tax forms and company brochures and contracts. Down in the lobby I dump the whole stack onto the security desk, shuffling the papers around like a shell game. Finally, tucked a third of the way through, and detained by a paper clip, is my offer letter.

Oh. My. God.

Borrowing Guy’s macho swagger, I stride out into the night to throw my proverbial beret in the air and tell New York, I’ve arrived.

6. Show Her What She’s Won

Monday morning I make my way, in my new Gucci coat, breathlessly purchased second-hand on Prince Street, around the now-familiar, but no less dicey walkway to My Company. In the matching bag jostles an exciting assortment of personal effects to decorate My Desk. The few divas allotted ‘space’ at the Center considered a yellowed
New Yorker
cartoon and decade-old Saltine box décor. But at MC, Inc., desks are feng-shuied with whimsical eighties action figures, the requisite
Simpsons
paraphernalia, and eco-challenge vacation snap-shots. I’ve spent the sliver of the weekend not consumed by fruitless apartment hunting, rummaging through Jack’s artwork and photos of Kira, et al to create the perfect installation that says, ‘I’m the colleague you’ll want in your wedding party.’

‘Hi,’ I introduce myself again to the receptionist. ‘I’m official now. This is my first day.’

‘Hi. Girl, right? I’m Jennie – I, E.’ She extends her hand as the phone rings. ‘My Company?’

I wait until she’s transferred the call. ‘Jennie, do you know which desk cluster I’ve been assigned?’

‘Sorry, no, we haven’t hired anyone in ages. Ages and ages …’ She taps her pen on her message pad. ‘Let me see, Joe should be in any minute. Why don’t you take a seat —’

Guy flies out of the kitchen, coffee splashing. ‘Shit!’ He shakes off a scalded finger. ‘Girl, great, you’re here.’