Citizen Girl (34 page)

The programmer scoots back from our fivesome and strides up to Lynn. ‘I just want to share how when I worked at this tech shop, out in Seattle, there was this chick who always wore these real thin tank tops. One time, it must have been, like, November … maybe December? Anyway it was cold and …’ SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! But he gabs on, his experience sparking a lively debate about whether or not it’s appropriate to compliment ‘someone’ on hisorher haircut. ‘What, so if I tell Sally she has nice hair, you’re gonna arrest me?’

‘Yes!’ I pop up, done. ‘Yes! That’s
exactly
it. Could someone get him a mike, please? Because I know I can’t get enough—’

‘Role play time!’ Lynn cuts me off.

I make a beeline for Guy. ‘Where’s Rex?’ I tap my hands on the thick documents stacked high at his table. Looking down over the piles, I see that his companion is a good six months pregnant.

‘He’s on his way. Sign this.’ Guy thrusts something in triplicate at me along with a pen. I read ‘
RELEASE OF ALL CLAIMS
’ printed in bold across the top.

‘I’d prefer to take this home and—’

‘Sign it,’ Guy repeats, smacking the papers with his pen. ‘It’s just to verify that you attended the training.’

I power-scroll through the boilerplate that essentially absolves MC of
all
responsibility should I feel uncomfortable ‘as a result of my gender in this environment’. ‘This is ridiculous,’ I mutter. ‘I’m not signing it.’

‘Here we go,’ he says, rolling his eyes at his brunette companion.

‘Guy, what am I supposed to take away from this?’ I whisper furiously, flinging my arm to encompass the sing-along Lynn is now leading. ‘That
I
can harass
you
?’ I stab the tip of my pen in his direction and he leans back ever so slightly. ‘How is it effective to indulge us in an hour-long debate over whether or not it’s
legal
to compliment a colleague on a haircut? Isn’t that just a
tad
off point? Aren’t we kind of
obscuring
the whole issue here?’ I look into his obtuse face. Over it with a capital O.

‘And what
is
the whole issue?’ the woman asks in a nasal Scarsdale twang, her dark eyes glinting.

‘That somehow people manage not to harass
up
the chain of command. It’s not nuclear physics. If you wouldn’t say it, show it, or share it with your grandma, don’t say it, show it, or share it with me at work. As far as the complexities involved in even needing something like this … this …’ I shake the stupid document. ‘I can’t even … Look, Guy, the minute Rex gets here we need to formulate a plan to address the money that we don’t have, that I promised on your behalf. We can’t,
can’t
leave Julia Gilman and Magdalene hanging any longer.’

‘You’re Girl.’ She gives me a reserved smile. ‘I don’t think Rex’ll be here anytime soon, but I can fill you in on the funding.’

‘You can? I’m sorry, I missed your name.’

‘Manley.’ She extends her small swollen hand to me as I return the form to the pile. ‘Okay, then I think everything is finally under control here.’ She heaves her petite, encumbered frame out of the folding chair. ‘Don’t let
anyone else leave without signing that. Guy?’ She snaps her fingers in the direction of her mustard yellow Birkin on the floor and, after a moment’s incomprehension, he bends to retrieve it.

‘What about hers?’ he asks, tapping the unsigned document.

‘She doesn’t have to sign it now.’ Manley winks at me. ‘I’m ravenous. Girl, care to join me?’

‘Sure …’

‘Good.’ Without further goodbyes she starts for the door. Despite the disproportionate weight in front of her, she huffs on with determination, her tailored blouse falling smartly around her. ‘Have these people never heard of walls? Open plans don’t make workers productive at anything other than faking it.’

I hold the door for Manley at Bella Russe, the doorman seemingly gone the way of the lavish floral arrangements after only a few short months of ‘itness’. ‘My husband and I have been meaning to drive down and try it,’ she says, doing a quick inventory. ‘Looks like we missed it.’

‘Can I help you?’ the hostess asks, smiling graciously, all but one table behind her sitting forlornly empty.

‘Snacks,’ Manley says. We’re shown to what once must have been the prime spot, beneath the floating bust of Trotsky, and the surplus of idle waiters descends.

‘So, I read your proposal,’ she says once the waiter slides a tasting platter of tartares onto our table. ‘Actually I’ve read all your materials. Your ideas for feminist modifications of the site were spot on. Too bad he couldn’t
be bothered to implement them. What a fucking circus.’ She rolls her eyes as she pops a raw steak tartlet in her mouth.

‘How did you get my material?’ And who are you?

‘I asked. Anyway, aside from the fact that Guy was clearly yanking you twelve ways from Sunday, you did good work.’ She takes another tartlet, going into the same paroxysms of ecstasy.

‘Thank you. Are you with the company now?’

‘The board’s brought me in. Tuna?’ She pushes the dish of pink cubes towards me. ‘I’m not supposed to eat this, either.’ She spoons a dollop on a sliver of baguette. ‘Rex talked The Bank into letting Guy take this place in a harebrained direction. Rex’s track record was impeccable, so, of course, they indulged him. But Guy neglected to put any resources into shoring up relations with the magazines,’ she gestures indignantly with her spoon as she swallows, ‘or improving the technological offerings. He just hemorrhaged money wooing Bovary. That’s no way to run a lemonade stand.’ She fixes herself another slice. ‘Anyway, I’ve committed to getting The Bank’s investment back in the black inside two months.’

‘Can that be done?’

‘I wouldn’t have promised if it couldn’t.’

‘Right, of course.’

‘So.’ She pours herself a large glass of Fiji. ‘I wanted to talk to you about your role moving forward. Thanks to Guy’s profligate spending, we’re in no position to hire from the outside, so people are going to be asked to fill roles outside their original job descriptions.’

‘I never had one.’

‘Not surprising.’ She smiles at me before taking a sip. ‘The next month is going to be challenging and there’s a surplus of cowboy energy up there. I want you to work with me as we get our costs down and our revenue up. I like your assessment of that less-than-stellar sexual harassment training. I like your report. You have a good head on your shoulders and that’s what I need by my side. Okay?’ She rubs her hands gently over her protruding stomach as I stare at her, taking in her frank request.

‘I’m sorry,’ I begin, working through my wariness, ‘it’s just that it’s really been, well, as you said, a lot of cowboy stuff and I’m feeling a little burned about …’ She stares at me patiently. ‘Sorry, I’ve become unaccustomed to finishing my thoughts.’

‘I understand you’ve committed a million dollars.’

‘I have, I was told to.’

‘The company intends to come through on that promise, but responsibly to its own welfare. We’ll be making one hundred thousand available to Magdalene in the next seventy-two hours, the balance to be delivered, should all go according to plan, in no later than a month.’

‘Just like that?’ I ask.

She snorts. ‘You
are
shell-shocked. We can’t afford bad publicity right now. So you have my word.’ She waves for the check. ‘Can we move forward?’

‘Yes, this is great. I’m going to call Julia Gilman right now.’ I pull out my cell. ‘She’s the—’

‘I know. Will you ask for the check while I go to the
bathroom. The peeing – not a myth. Be in by seven tomorrow. We have a big day ahead of us.’

As I stagger bewilderedly off the elevator, pulling out my keys, I’m in hope. Conservative, impartial, just-here-for-the-paycheck hope. I will not love her, I will not hate her, I will just work for her.

Using my hip to push open the front door, my grocery bags fall heavily against my ankles. ‘What the—’ I’m greeted by the sound of the evening news broadcasting from my living room. ‘Hello?’ I call out hesitantly, holding the door open.

‘Hey.’ The TV clicks off and Buster walks into the entryway, stopping a few feet from me.

I let out an audible breath, closing the door. ‘Hi.’ My body pulses to hug him, but I don’t.

He smiles sheepishly. ‘So I guess we need to talk.’ He presents a fresh bouquet of white tulips from behind his back.

I cringe at the repeated gesture.

‘I’ve been trying to reach you.’

‘I know.’

He clears his throat. ‘So, is this over?’

I look at him, unsure. ‘What was that?’ His face is unreadable. ‘In bed. What was that?’

He shrugs, his eyes on the floor.

‘It just …’ I struggle to describe the encounter. ‘It felt like you were with someone else.’

‘What’re you talking about?’ he asks blankly.

‘Buster, you checked out.’

‘I woke up and you were so into me and so sexy, and you were laughing …’ His face darkens. ‘I can’t believe this. You’re the one out at some orgy, you didn’t want to talk, you couldn’t get my shorts off fast enough.’

‘I know.’ I put my hand up to stop him, my stomach tightening around the memory of the dance floor.

‘I thought we were both into it,’ he says. ‘You were laughing.’

‘Buster, it was … it was like …’ I feel the chill of his disappearance afresh. ‘You were pissed at me.’ He tinges crimson. ‘Are you? Pissed at me?’

‘No!’ he protests. ‘What do I have to be pissed at you about?’

‘I don’t know. It just seemed like – felt like – you were.’

‘God, G,’ he explodes in frustration, ‘I watch every word I say around you, everything I do – my friends are giving me shit – you need to cut me some fucking slack!’

We stare at each other, strangers again. ‘How did we get here?’ I ask, tears wetting my eyes.

His head drops. ‘I’m just tired, Girl. I’m really tired.’

‘Okay …’ I say, a spike of anger drying my eyes. ‘I don’t know what to do with that.’

‘It’s just frustrating.’

‘Okay, so … we’re in a relationship where you’re going to arbitrarily work your frustration out on my ass.’

His eyes meet mine. ‘Okay, maybe,
maybe
there was some of that going on, but you gotta acknowledge that you were working something out, too.’

‘I do. I was.’ I release a long breath. ‘But then later you passed out and I cried in the bathroom.’

‘Shit.’ Regret twists his features. ‘I didn’t know. I’m sorry.’

‘I’m not trying to change you, Buster. But if we’re gonna do this … I have to know that you’ll talk to me, and not ever let it get to a point that’s so … volatile.’

‘Yes. I mean, I love you—’ his voice catches. ‘It doesn’t make this mess go away, but …’

‘No, it doesn’t.’ I take him in, his ruffled hair, his bitten lip, the flowers. ‘It doesn’t, but I want it to.’ I reach to take the bouquet from him, but he maintains his grasp, pulling me into him. I let my weight rest fully against his frame.

At six thirty the next morning I’m halfway across the floor of MC, Inc. before I realize that the dawn light has been blocked by the addition of opaque gray curtains drawn across the glass wall of Guy’s office. A stark ray of sunshine escapes through a narrow crack, throwing the honeycomb of empty desks into chiaroscuro.

‘Good morning.’ I step up through Guy’s door and nearly topple over the displaced pony skin chaise.

‘Yeah.’ Sleeves rolled, Guy shoves his chair away from a brand-new floor-to-ceiling partition cleaving his palace in two, his toys now chaotically crowded into half of their former space.

‘What’s going on?’ I ask as he straightens up, red-faced from his exertion.

‘These yours?’ Manley appears at the partition door, a cardboard box overflowing with Nerf Balls balanced on her bulging belly.

‘Yup.’ Guy, surprisingly jovial, maneuvers in the cramped room to retrieve them.

‘Oh, morning, Girl.’ She gestures behind her. ‘Take a seat inside. Guy, get settled later.’

‘’Kay, sure.’ He squeezes around his uprooted desk to follow us into the other side, the half with the private washroom. Transformed overnight into Manley’s office, additional gray curtains are drawn across the windows, and a series of graphs and charts have been laid out on the walls. Her desk neatly tucked in one corner and a worktable coolly lit in the center reveal an organizational logic new to these parts.

‘Let’s take a seat, then.’ We all pull out chairs. She lowers herself in at the table and turns to me. ‘So that you’re aware, Guy has been privy to prior discussions about the topic at hand. I’ll now fully apprise you of our task within the bounds of what I’m allowed by the board. And I’ll have a donut.’ She flops back the lid on a box of Krispy Kremes and takes three big bites of a classic glazed before dropping it back. Licking her lips clean, she tucks her brown hair behind her ear. ‘Now I’ll share what’s pertinent to your role.’

‘Okay.’ I grin as she pushes aside the Krispy Kreme box to reveal a yellow legal pad of her own, densely covered in a tight cursive. Guy drums his fingers, oblivious to our shared preference for ‘school paper’.

‘So, we have a pretty significant re-org ahead of us—’

‘Sorry?’ I pause her. ‘Sorry, I’m not familiar with “re-org”.’

‘Don’t apologize. Questions are good.’ Manley flips
the box lid and retrieves her doughnut stub, popping it into her mouth. ‘Re-organization. We’re redesigning this company to streamline its efficiency; our current staffing model is completely outmoded.’ She squeezes a napkin with her sticky fingers as if it were a stress ball. ‘Essentially conducting a layoff.’

‘Oh.’

‘I’m not going to lie to you, it’s substantial. And one hundred per cent necessary.’ Guy’s jaw clenches. ‘You’ll be working together to make plans, but I’m looking to you, Girl, to execute the event.’

‘Me?’

‘You’ve been working independently, an ideal position in relation to the floor, and you’re capable of it. We’d have looked to your human resource group,’ she snorts, ‘but Guy saw fit to dismantle them.’ He clenches again.

‘So when is this supposed to happen?’ I ask, trying to grasp what she’s asking me to do.