The Girl He Used to Know (Page 37)
I wrinkle my forehead in confusion. “Aren’t they?”
“Of course they are, but we can’t admit it.”
“I don’t understand this at all, and I don’t think it has anything to do with the way my brain works.”
Jonathan laughs. “It’s corporate culture. No one has to understand it as long as we play by the rules.”
“It sounds horrible.”
“It’s just the way it is.”
“What if you decided you didn’t want to do it anymore? What else could you be?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it. What would you do if you decided you didn’t want to work in a library anymore?”
“I would write plays. All day long, just”—I mimic pounding on the keys. “But I can’t imagine ever leaving the library. I love it too much.”
“You’re lucky,” he says.
I shrug. “I just know I couldn’t spend my life doing something that doesn’t make me happy.”
36
Jonathan
CHICAGO
SEPTEMBER 10, 2001
“That’s not going to help us at all,” Brad says after a junior member of the team makes a suggestion that contradicts what Brad has proposed but will, in fact, help us quite a bit. Our petulant boss punctuates his statement by throwing a stack of reports across the conference room table like a child throwing a tantrum. Brad suffers from a raging case of impostor syndrome, and he’s terrified someone will discover that, most of the time, he’s talking out of his ass. But he’s what they call “good in a room,” energetic and animated, and it’s masked his overall incompetence and made him look smarter than he is. It doesn’t hurt that the solutions I generate for this team, through my own hard work, are often delivered via his big mouth, making him look like the superstar he only wishes he could be.
The whole team is catching the last flight to New York tonight so we can be sitting in our seats in a conference room by eight thirty tomorrow morning to give our presentation and, even more important, dazzle our clients. Unfortunately, we’re not adequately prepared, which is why our fearless leader is in such a rotten mood. During our last five-minute break, I ducked into my office, shut the door, and called Annika.
“Don’t expect me tonight. Things are not going well and there’s no way I can break away to meet you for dinner. I’m sorry.”
“But then how will you eat?” It kills me that Annika’s focus is on whether or not I’ll be able to feed myself.
“I don’t know. Brad usually has dinner brought in, but he decided not to order anything because he didn’t want us to be distracted by the food. The way things are going I can tell you right now that none of us will be leaving until we have no choice because we have to head for the airport. I’ll eat something there.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Annika says.
“It’s okay.” Really, dinner is the last of my worries at this point. Brad has hinted repeatedly that my contributions and performance in New York will be directly tied to the likelihood of me being named director of the division, which is only one step below his position. There are three of us gunning for the job, and Brad has been wielding his decision-making power like the most giant of tyrants. Lots of musing out loud about our strengths and weaknesses, but with a hint of uncertainty sprinkled in to keep us guessing. I hate pandering to him, but I want this job and he knows it. Brad might be more surprised if he knew what I really wanted, which is his job. This department would flourish under the leadership of someone who cared more about making smart decisions for the company than making sure everyone knew how much power he had.
Brad’s extra cranked up tonight because while we’re in New York, he’ll be attending meetings with his boss and he’s panicking. He’ll have to navigate those on his own, and I’m sure he’s worried about being able to think on his feet without the rest of us there to feed him the information.
“I’ve gotta go,” I tell Annika after glancing at my watch. I’ve been gone for five minutes and if I’m the last one back in my seat, I’d better have a good reason why, and talking to my girlfriend on the phone will not be an acceptable option. “I’ll call you from the airport.”
“Okay, bye.”
Somehow, I get lucky, because when I return to the conference room, everyone is in their seats, but Brad is nowhere to be found. Brian, who is also up for the promotion, leans over and whispers, “Heard he’s on the phone with his wife. Kid’s got pinkeye or something.”
Brad comes back into the room five minutes later, red-faced and a little flustered. We’re really cutting it close with this presentation, and the result is starting to show on his face. Over the next hour, we provide enough viable options and solid research for Brad to cobble together a halfway-decent pitch. We lean back in our chairs. Push our legal pads toward the center of the table.
We’re all a little punch-drunk and exhausted from the late nights and seven-day work weeks, and when I catch of glimpse of Annika outside the conference room’s glass walls, I do a double take to make sure I’m not hallucinating. She’s smiling and holding a take-out bag from Dominick’s. She spots me and waves enthusiastically. I wave back, but before I can excuse myself and intercept her out in the hall, she pushes open the door. Every man at that table turns to look at her, and boy is she a sight for sore eyes with her big smile and her swinging ponytail as she bounces into the room. I have no idea how she managed to get past the security guard and into the building, and I don’t care. The almost childlike glee on her face is the only thing that’s put a smile on mine all day.
Wives and girlfriends have occasionally swung by the office to say hello, to deliver an item forgotten at home, or show off a new baby. But rarely has one ever walked right into a conference room during a meeting. They would know it was something that simply isn’t done. But not my Annika. And there’s something about the fact that she doesn’t that makes me admire her even more. Because really, when did we start taking things so seriously? It’s not like it’s ten in the morning. It’s six o’clock at night and we’ve been working for ten hours straight. Longer than that, actually, because every single person in this room probably started working before they left their homes this morning. Can we not drop the façade for a moment and admit that we’re human? That not everything we do has to be done to show how hard we’re working?
A few starving members of the team have resorted to raiding the vending machines, and the conference room table is littered with empty Coke cans and candy wrappers, but whatever’s in the bag Annika’s holding smells incredible. I know these people well and have worked with several of them for years. Their amused expressions are also kind, because they know what I went through with Liz, and also because how can anyone not see how sweet—if ill-timed—Annika’s gesture is?
Well, for starters, Brad can’t.
“Hi,” he says, and the tone of his voice sets me on edge immediately. I sit up straighter in my chair. “Monica, is it?”
He gives her one of those fake and condescending smiles, and it’s at that moment that my blood begins to heat up. Annika smiles back at him, although her smile is sincere. “Annika. No ‘M.’ Everyone thinks it’s Monica, but it’s not.”
“Okay. Well, Annika, we’re in the middle of a meeting here.”
“I can tell,” she says. “But I’m sure Jonathan is hungry since there’s no food, so I brought him some dinner.”
“Let’s take a break, guys,” Brad says. The team pushes back their chairs, stretches. Most of them start to leave, but the nosier ones hang around. Annika walks over to me and sets the bag down on the table. “It’s ham and cheese.”
I push my chair back and stand so I can kiss her on the cheek. Before I can grab her hand and coax her gently out of the room, Brad comes over and stands next to us.
Annika is wearing a dress and while the neckline isn’t low, there’s a gap in the front because it’s a little loose on her. If she moves at all, the material moves with her and I catch a glimpse of her bra and the tops of her breasts. Brad’s height makes it possible for him to look straight down into the gap, and he’s taking full advantage of it, as if Annika’s interruption somehow gives him the right—as if it would give anyone the right—to do that. I want to smack the entitled look off his face.
“Jonathan, I’d like to see you in my office,” Brad says. He’s doing his best “you’re about to get in trouble” routine, like he’s the principal and I’ve been caught skipping class.
I lead Annika to my office.
“I got you in trouble, didn’t I? I just wanted to do something nice.”
“Annika, it’s okay. Really. It was a sweet thing that you did, and I’m going to eat the hell out of that sandwich.”
Probably not in front of Brad, but still.
“Are you mad? I can’t tell if you’re mad.” She sounds so worried.
I reach for her hands and squeeze them. “I’m not mad.” And I’m not, at least not at her. Mostly I’m mad at myself for being willing to walk on the eggshells Brad has thrown down and worrying more about my professional life than the things that really matter.