Citizen Girl (15 page)

‘They finally sent over the Valentine’s sales numbers.’ I hear Guy, only slightly muffled by the thin plasterboard. ‘Through the roof across Europe. Some charity tie-in with thongs and deforestation.’ I hear spurts of urine.

‘When’ll Girl be back with the data?’ Rex asks.

‘What time is it?’

‘About eight thirty, and I need to get up to The Bank tonight – the board wants me to squelch some asinine harassment brouhaha before it blows up.’

‘Yeah, she should be back.’

‘BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP!’ Aaaaaahhhh! I throw myself over the box to muffle the shrill ring of a cellphone. ‘Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep.’

‘What the fuck is that?’

In stealth Cold War mode I flick off the bathroom light
with my foot. The door swings open just as I stuff both hands through the mass of papers, clamping my palm over the phone, and flatten myself against the wall.

‘Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep.’

‘Nah, there’s nobody in there,’ Guy shouts from the hallway as the door swings shut. ‘Someone must’ve left her cell.’

‘Let’s wrap this up. I promised Ashley we’d get to Greenwich before midnight,’ Rex says.

‘Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep.’

‘Hello?’ I whisper into the phone as I hear their retreating footsteps.

‘Hello?’ an older woman’s voice speaks. ‘Is this the Marriott?’

‘No, hi, I organized the conference.’

‘Oh, Girl, hello, this is Julia Gilman. I … addressed the mêlée over the little parking dispute —’

‘Oh my gosh, hi. Hi! Thank you so much for this afternoon. I was about thirty seconds from committing hara-kiri with a scented marker.’

‘You handled it fine. You’re whispering. Am I interrupting you?’

‘No, I’m just …’ I dare to return my voice to normal. ‘I was really impressed by your intervention.’

‘Well, I was happy to help – they’re a rather contentious crowd, aren’t they? I’m sorry to bother you, but I just realized my cell phone was missing. It must’ve gotten mixed in with the materials I returned.’

‘I’ll messenger it to you.’

‘Thank you, but I’m at immigration.’

‘Is everything okay?’

‘Better than okay. They’re
finally
being released. Of course, we’ve waited months, and then, with no warning, they shunt twenty women out into the cold.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Sex slaves. A brothel in New Jersey was raided last fall.’

My addled brain reruns the afternoon. ‘Right. Sorry, you said you’re with Magdalene.’

‘I
am
Magdalene. This has been my first call to arms.’

‘Well, I can come to you —’

‘No, no, I’m in Jersey now. I don’t think I’ll be back until Sunday.’ Her voice has an exhausted scratch to it. ‘At the earliest.’

‘Well, just call when you get back. I’d be happy to drop it by your apartment. I owe you that much.’

‘That’d be a real help, actually. I more than have my hands full. Thank you.’ Julia gives me her address and I hang up, scooting the forms over to where a thin beam of light is shining from under the door. Not letting myself take a breath, I dive back in.

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‘Guy?’ I step into the darkened room around a large rolling whiteboard, surprised by the late-night circle of
accounting staff encamped at his desk, which is paved with take-out containers and glowing laptops.

‘Yeah, Girl, over here.’ Guy’s head lifts off the back of the Eames chair where he’s slouched in the shadowed corner.

‘Sorry.’ I turn. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I just wanted to give you the forms —’

Rex’s deep voice reaches me from where he’s sprawled on the chaise nearby, stirring a golf club in slow circles on the carpet. ‘Come here, Girl, we were just discussing women.’ But neither motions for me to sit, and I end up hovering awkwardly above their lounging figures as if about to slink into a lap dance.

‘Folks?’ Guy speaks to the ceiling. ‘Can you give us a minute here?’ The men wearily pull themselves to standing, arch their backs like baseball players, and shuffle groggily out. ‘Oh, and turn the whiteboard, will ya?’ One of the accountants reaches out as he passes, swinging it to the wall before I can catch the headings.

‘So, here are the surveys.’ I pass them to Guy, praying I’ve made enough distinction in my fraudulent circles.

‘Great.’ He hands the stack off to Rex, who begins to flip through.

‘Sorry to be back so late. The conference was a great success. We hit a bit of a rough patch, but by the day’s end I really feel we’ve secured a good place in their pantheon —’

‘Cool, yeah.’ Guy waves his hand to the side. ‘We have a few things we want to discuss.’ He slouches farther, his chin hitting his chest. ‘We think what’d be great is if you
hunker down and create a comprehensive pitch for this initiative.’

Right … ‘Okay, just to be clear, when you say “this initiative”, you’re referring to attracting
Ms.
magazine. When you say “pitch”, you mean something similar to a grant proposal —’

‘Oh Christ. Haven’t you talked to her about this, Guy?’

‘Of course, Rex. We’ve covered this a number of times, right, Girl? A pitch! A pitch! A pitch, for … a hypothetical client.’ Guy leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

‘I guess …’ His gaze tells me that ‘yes’ is the only answer. ‘Like,
Ms.
?’

‘Yes, Girl, exactly,’ Rex says, ‘
Ms.
Write it for Steinem.’

‘Exciting stuff, huh?’ Guy taps my calf with his outstretched loafer. ‘So we have a meeting with the Board and I’m gonna run your pitch by them first – you know, show them what you’re up to. So if you could bring it to us Monday morning – anytime before seven thirty should work. Really talk up our history of feminist commitment. Great.’ He slumps back into his chair. Rex continues to draw silent circles with his golf club.

‘I might need a little … background.’ As I have yet to meet with you or anyone else and, as far as I can tell, I
am
the feminist commitment.

‘I can give you fifteen at, umm.’ Guy rubs his forehead. ‘Just give me a call on my cell tomorrow morning. Before eleven.’

No problem. I can move all of my worldly possessions
across the island of Manhattan while writing an initiativepitchwhatever for Gloria Steinem, as long as you give me fifteen minutes on your cell phone. That’s like fourteen more than you’ve given me in the last three weeks, so I’m golden.

‘We cool?’ Guy looks up at me and I can barely make out his eyes in the shadows.

I smile confidently in case he can see mine. ‘Cool!’

Early the next morning I stand on the interminable line at U-Haul, excruciatingly sleep-deprived and caffeine-jangled. I just have to get all my stuff into the new apartment, grab a quick nap for an hour or two, and then pull a
pitch!
out of my ass in forty-eight hours. No problem.

‘Next!’ the man behind the glassed-in counter calls.

I scurry up with my ID and confirmation number. ‘Hi, Ireservedacargovan.’

He glances at my info and snorts, punching leisurely at his keyboard, then speaks into the screen. ‘Nope.’ He blows his cheeks out slowly. ‘You’ll have to come back Monday.’

‘What? What do you mean? I have a confirmation number —’

‘We can’t make people bring the vans back on time. Your’s not back yet.’

I flash to my van waking up in Vegas with a hangover. ‘Then I’ll take a different one.’ I point behind me at the lot packed with vans just outside the window.

‘Reserved. Can give you something bigger, but I’d have to charge you more.’

‘No way. That’s ridiculous. I reserved a cargo van and if you have to upgrade me —’

‘Hold on, hold on. Let me talk to my supervisor.’ He heaves himself up and strolls leisurely past the other teller windows. Buster and Co. will be standing on my stoop in exactly half an hour.
Pitchpitchpitchpitchpitchpitch
. I start to shred the corners of my confirmation sheet into tiny slivers.

‘But I reserved!’ A man in a leather bomber jacket at the next window throws a fit about his own renegade van.

‘Of course, sir,’ the woman behind the desk acquiesces warmly. ‘We’ll just upgrade you at no additional cost and give you an extra day free.’

‘My boss says we can split the difference.’ My service man shuffles back, gut first.

‘What? Why’s he getting an upgrade and an extra day
free
?’ I point at the man getting the red-carpet treatment.

‘No idea. Not my customer. Help you, sir?’ He leans sideways to address the person waiting behind me. I square my shoulders, plant my Pumas, and stare at him through the thick plastic with a force that should make his last hairs fall out.

‘Look, baby, make up your mind. I got a line behind you.’

‘Fine!’ Beaten, I toss over my credit card and tap my sneaker on the floor while he processes it as s-l-o-w-l-y as humanly possible.

‘Okay, that there’s Jesus,’ he says, indicating a young boy who’s leaning near the door, one Timberland against the wall. ‘He’ll take you to your vehicle. And don’t be too
long, now, Jesus,’ he winks. ‘I know she’s a cute one.’

Jesus leads me out into the vast parking lot, where the sun has risen to a blindingly crisp New York winter’s day. I follow him to the far end, where he stops in front of a humongous truck and reaches out to offer me the keys.

‘I’m sorry, I think there’s a mistake. This isn’t mine.’

He smiles and tries again to hand the keys over. ‘No.’ I shake my head and point at the truck. ‘No. Too big.’ I extend my arms, shaking my head more vigorously to indicate danger. He points at the number on the keys and the corresponding digits painted on the truck. ‘Something this size should come with a crew to swab the decks and a lookout for whales! I can’t drive this!’ Jesus stares at me blankly. I give up, take his hand, and tug him back to the overheated office where I’m made to wait in line a second time.

‘Only size we got left.’ My service man shrugs. ‘What’s a matter, you don’t like’em big?’

I throw up my hands and we run back out to the behemoth. Scrambling into the cab, I look down at Jesus, who has shrunk to ant-sized proportions, and give him a totally unwarranted thumbs-up. I maneuver gingerly out of the lot, trying to get a feel for the size of my automotive ass, and inch downtown, taking only wide streets in deserted neighborhoods. I alternately pray for Buster and his roommates to still be there, for them to have remembered to show up in the first place, and for all dogs, children, and elderly to stay inside. Finally, I touch down on Avenue B and double-park, over an hour behind schedule, but blessedly accident free.

I’m thrilled to spot Buster sitting on the front stoop behind the
Post
.

‘Holy shit! What is that thing?’ Buster calls as he tosses the paper into the trash and jogs up to greet me.

‘It’s all I could get,’ I say, failing a graceful exit from the cab. He grips me firmly by the waist and helps me gently to the curb.

‘How much stuff do you
have
?’ His hands linger on my hips.

‘About a Pinto’s worth. But it was this or nothing.’ I step reluctantly back from his grasp to open the door to the building. ‘Where’re the troops?’

‘Oh, yeah. I may have, uh, overestimated their enthusiasm. But they said they’d meet us at the new place later and give a hand.’

‘Thank you so much for agreeing to do this. It shouldn’t take very long.’ I lead the way up the stairs.

‘How many years you been here?’

‘Almost three. My friends moved me in the week after graduation.’ I unlock the door, remembering the hours it took and how afterwards we went to neighborhood bars to pick up unsuitable men.

‘And where are these friends today?’ he asks, surveying the many boxes.

‘Abroad till June. I missed the boat. Everyone else figured out that with the job market apocalyptic this is the perfect time for grants and programs and homework. We can start over here.’ I point to a large crate. ‘Let’s get the books out of the way first.’

‘Yeah, it’s a good time not to be doing the work thing.’
He crouches down and I’m met with a flash of abs. We lift the box and trudge out to the stairs together. ‘How’s the new job going?’

‘It’s ten times better than what I left. I have a ton of independence. And they have a digital copy machine with
eighteen
settings—’ The full weight of the books pushes me against the flimsy railing.

‘Here, let me go backwards,’ he says, and we do a slow dance to exchange positions. ‘Well, I’m glad you missed the boat.’

‘Hope you still feel that way when the truck’s loaded,’ I say, the weight of the box shifting away from me.

It is a shockingly massive effort to remove all evidence of myself from one very tiny closet. We chitchat at first, discovering a shared penchant for fried oysters, kickboxing, and Eddie Izzard, falling into the rhythm of a team so quickly that I get flashes of us moving our daughter into her dorm someday and sharing a private giggle over this memory. But as each five-flight trek makes only barely visible dents in the piles, we shift into silent just-get-through-it mode, jogging sweatily past each other on the stairwell with grunts of greeting.

‘Only … four … more,’ I wheeze, meaning piles.

‘Uh-huh.’ Buster powers on.

Eventually, I find myself leaning against the water stain I hid with the Audrey Hepburn poster Kira gave me as a house-warming, ready to bid farewell to the cracked plaster motif of my early twenties.
Pitchpitchpitchpitchpitchpitch
.

HOOONK-HOOONK! ‘Toss me the keys!’ Buster yells up.

Happy to be relieved of steering the Death Star, I flout U-Haul regulations and exchange the keys for Buster’s cell. ‘Hi, you’ve reached Guy. Please leave a message and I’ll call you back at
my
earliest convenience.’

‘Hi, Guy.’ I pull on my seatbelt. ‘It’s Saturday morning and I’m just calling, as we discussed, to talk with you about the pitch. Of course I’ll sell our
new
initiative, but that’s fairly recent, so it would be really helpful to get more background on MC’s feminist history from you or someone else on staff. I know you said it’s confidential, but I think the strongest weapon in our arsenal is MC’s plan to consult feminist-oriented companies. Maybe we should mention Nike, Ford, or The Body Shop? So, should I include this? I really think
Ms.
might need additional incentive. I just moved, so you can reach me at my new number.’ I leave it for him, praying that when I plug my phone in I’ll hear a dial tone. I hand Buster back his cell as he climbs in. ‘Still like me?’