“So other than dressing well, what else does it take to succeed at Gisele?” I asked Stevie through my chocola-tini goggles.
“There are three cardinal rules to get ahead at Gisele: (1) always dress for success; (2) if you don’t know what you’re doing or saying, just bull shit with confidence; and (3) don’t get romantically involved with someone more senior than you.”
“Hmmm, have those cardinal rules been validated?” Even in my punch-love drunkenness I did not believe that Stevie had cracked the code.
“Those that don’t follow the cardinal rules have not lasted long,” Stevie warned. “I have seen people at Gisele build their careers on bull shit. The truth is, no one knows what the hell they’re talking about! The secret to success is that you can’t let people know that you don’t know. You need to figure out who can’t know that you don’t know and let them know that you know, especially if you don’t know.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I laughed. “There’s no secret to success. You just have to be great at your job.”
“No. That will get you nowhere. People will use your hard work to advance themselves and you’ll be stuck in your cube forever.”
“That’s so cynical.” Stevie was killing my buzz.
“One more thing – avoid CLMs like the plague.”
“What’s a CLM?” It sounded gross, like an STD.
“Career Limiting Move,” Stevie replied. “Like sleeping with your boss. Bad news.”
“Isn’t that career-advancing?” I joked.
“We have a lot of work to do,” Stevie shook his head. “We need to start at the beginning. I’m taking you shopping.”
Needless to say, we did not address world peace that night. On the cab ride home and many martinis later, I questioned: (1) my ability to function at work tomorrow and (2) why can’t straight men have gay conversational abilities, fashion sense or knowledge of good martini mixes? Stevie may not have had me at hello but he definitely had me at expensive and fabulous. Who knew?
My second date with Stevie was at Holt Renfrew over lunch hour the next day. Holt Renfrew had a feeling of luxurious authority and cold sterility similar to the Gisele offices but with more pretty and shiny things. I had never had the desire to set foot in Holt Renfrew before but it was fun with Stevie as my fashion coach.
Stevie flourished in his natural environment, like a deer released back into the wild. He moved swiftly and gracefully in his familiar surroundings, intensely focused, his senses heightened and gay-dar never sharper. As he scanned and assessed the merchandise, his muscles were tensed under his impeccably groomed garb, ready to pounce on the perfect accessory.
“So, what’s the deal with Heidi and her entourage of BFFs?” I asked as we browsed the handbag section. It smelled like expensive leather and rich people. I imagine that this was like a pheromone to Stevie.
“Heidi’s a sweetheart.” Stevie said, carefully examining a handbag with more gold bling than my mother’s jewelry box.
“Are we talking about the same Heidi?” I checked the price on a large brown bag emblazoned with initials. Strange, did they accidentally add another zero at the end of the price?
“She may come off as a little excessive,” Stevie admitted, “but once you get to know her, she’s as gentle as a smitten kitten.”
“What in the world!? $1,700 for a purse? Who in their right mind —” I dropped the handbag like it was already burning my wallet.
“Shh!” Stevie looked around, embarrassed. “And be careful with Louis. Come, I’ll show you the Coach handbags.” I didn’t care to ask about or apologize to Louis.
Stevie selected an elegant hobo bag from the shelf. “Ronnie,” he said seriously, as if bestowing me with a great honour, “It’s Coach time.” He delicately placed the bag on my shoulder.
“It’s nice,” I assessed, admiring it in the mirror. Now I needed an expensive outfit worthy of the handbag. As advised by Stevie’s mantra of less is more, I was dressed as minimally and simply as possible and all in black, as a temporary solution before Stevie could completely overhaul my wardrobe and destroy my credit rating. With white gloves, I could pass as a mime, I observed. Or a Saturday Night Live Sprocket, if I slicked my hair back.
“It’s wonderful,” Stevie gushed. “Classic. And only a fraction of the price of the Louis Vuitton handbag you rejected. A Coach handbag is a good investment and keeps its value, like a Honda.” Maybe I was bedazzled by the bright lights and all the pretty shiny things but it seemed like practical advice.
“So, how do I get on Chloe’s good side?” I asked as I purchased the handbag at the cash. Or better yet, higher on The Tracker. I had a feeling that the two might be linked.
“You just need to stay away from her bad side.” Stevie advised. “Her left side. Never take a photo from her left side and post it on Facebook.” He flinched in memory of the incident. “And stay away from her territory. She’s very protective. But other than that, lovely girl.”
As the sales associate completed the sale and grandly handed me Holt Renfrew’s pretty pink shopping bag, I felt special and girly. It was thrilling. I was overcome with strong feelings of freedom and guilt, like the morning after a one-night stand. Not that I had ever had one, but I imagine that’s how it would feel.
Stevie stopped in his tracks and held his hand to his mouth, gasping. “Ronnie! OMG! Are you blushing from your Coach purchase? I’m so excited for you! You like good fashion!”
“You coached me to buy Coach!” I exclaimed. He hugged me and we jumped up and down together in joy. Apparently this was not an uncommon occurrence at Holt Renfrew because no one stopped to pay any heed.
“Honey, we can’t stop now! Follow me!” Stevie clapped and led me upstairs.
“OK, so back to Chloe — forgive my ignorance but what is her territory?” Stevie was walking quickly, like a man on a mission, and I almost had to run to keep up.
“GiGi is launching a new line extension. She’s been working on the launch since she joined the company. It’s her baby and as per her Tracker, her ticket to promotion once it launches.” Stevie was quickly rifling through a rack of expensive-looking dresses.
I tried to remember where Stevie’s name was on Chloe’s Tracker. He seemed so wise and omniscient, like a beauty marketing yogi. It was hard to believe he was still an entry-level marketer.
“What’s the difference between Gisele and GiGi products?” I asked. After our Coach bonding experience, I was comfortable enough to ask stupid questions.
“Umm…nothing. Marketing. GiGi is targeted towards teens and twenty somethings — edgy, urban women who like to take risks.”
I was baffled. “What? Gisele and GiGi are exactly the same product?”
“Not to an edgy urban risk-taking university student who wouldn’t be caught dead buying Gisele products,” Stevie corrected. “Just like you won’t be caught dead wearing those harem pants again. By the way, MC Hammer called. He wants his pants back.”
“Too late, I already burned them. Wow, I have a lot to learn,” I was disenchanted by how manipulative Gisele’s marketing seemed.
Stevie triumphantly held up a harlot-red wrap dress. “The Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress. Nothing short of brilliance. Be still my heart.”
“Be still my credit card.” I protested. “It’s not my style.”
“Ronnie, you have a great bod and you need to show it off. Gisele is throwing a party to celebrate gaining the #1 share position in the Lip market. You are going to make your grand entrance in this dress. You vixen.” He handed over the dress with authority. “And you need to fix your hair and get decent shoes, but we’ll deal with that later,” he added.
Needless to say, we didn’t quite get to cover world peace on our second date either. I returned to Gisele’s offices with an empty stomach and a full credit card statement.
Chapter 4: Forbidden Fruit
“Welcome to Gisele!” Savannah was back from New York and appeared at my cube like a pimple before a first da
te: without warning or welcome. Luckily, her expensive fragrance preceded her so I was not as startled by her aggressively sudden appearance as I was by her imposing presence.
Under the harsh lights of Gisele’s sterile environment, Savannah no longer had the friendly, cool-boss guise that she embodied during our coffee chat. She now had an air of self-entitled superiority and power that you dare not question. I found myself slightly cowering in her shadow. She had long curly hair, which she styled like a lion’s mane. Or Medusa.
She ceremoniously leaned in to kiss me. Unaccustomed to this greeting, I panicked, not knowing which way to lean, and we ended up kissing on the lips. I flushed as Savannah burst out in what sounded like mocking laughter, throwing back her lion’s mane. Mateo would have enjoyed this moment.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
“Follow me,” Savannah announced and took off. I ran to keep up with her as she strode purposely to her office.
Savannah was seated importantly at her desk when I entered, breathless. How can that lady walk so fast with four-inch platform heels? Did she disapparate like a Harry Potter witch?
Savannah’s office had the same minimalistic coldness as the front lobby. Behind her desk was a huge, framed poster of a stark naked model, strategically positioned to hide her nudity, standing by a frozen tree in a fantastical garden. Lipstick tubes hung from the tree instead of apples. The colours were frosted shades of blue and white except for the lipstick tubes and the model’s lips, which were slut-red. The distressed model held a lipstick to her open mouth.
“It’s the Forbidden Fruit campaign that I launched last year.” Savannah said, following my stare. “It’s the most successful launch we’ve ever had in Canada. As a result, we received the #1 share position in Lip for the first time ever.”
“It’s amazing,” I said truthfully. Whether I thought it was amazingly stupid or amazingly ridiculous was a detail that was not necessary to share.
Savannah smiled proudly and patted her lion mane. She looked like a scary clown, except with nicer make-up. “So. Welcome to the real MBA. How have you been enjoying your first two weeks?”
“It’s been great!” I said, putting Stevie’s Cardinal Rule #2 into effect. “The people have been really nice and Heidi has been so helpful. I’m totally up to speed now on the Lip and Nail segment.”
“Great. What do you think of our Forbidden Fruit lipstick?” It was posed more as a test question than a question of curiosity.
“Oh, I don’t wear makeup,” I blurted, brilliantly failing the test.
There was a chilling silence as Savannah frowned, confused. “That’s impossible.”
I sat agonizingly still, almost afraid to breathe, frozen in silent fear.
“Did Heidi give you access to the product closet? You must immerse yourself in the product. How can you market Gisele if you don’t know our product and how it compares to the competition?”
“You’re right,” I replied, exhaling with relief and making a mental note for Stevie to take me to all the competitive makeup counters. “Heidi encouraged me to immerse myself in the business plans and the research first.”
Savannah raised an eyebrow. “I will speak with Heidi.” I flinched. Shit, I did not mean to get Heidi in trouble.
“I am sure you are wondering what your first assignment is,” she leaned forward onto her sparse mahogany desk. I nodded obediently and emphatically. “Have you heard about G-Spot?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer but I’m sure my face betrayed my discomfort and confusion.
“GiGi’s Gi-Spot launch,” she clarified, barely hiding her irritation. “It’s our biggest launch this year. A team has been working on it for a year. It’s GiGi’s follow-up to the Forbidden Fruit campaign.”
I displayed what I believed to be appropriate expressions of awe and excitement.
“You have a meeting with the Vice President of Human Resources.”
Terror struck my heart. What? Have I failed Oompa Loompa already? Maybe someone from Human Resources overheard my rant at the Betty Ford Clinic.
“Etienne’s office is located on the executive floor. Your meeting with Etienne is scheduled right now.” This was my signal to leave immediately. I was relieved to be released from her clutches.
I took the mirrored elevators to the thirty-seventh floor, looking back at my deer-in-headlight expression. The elevators opened opposite a flat screen TV, playing Gisele’s advertising so that visitors were instantly greeted with an onslaught of branding.
I watched the TV spot currently playing on the screen. A supermodel was alone on the roof of a downtown high rise, as supermodels are apt to do, with gusts of hurricane-like wind whipping her long hair and dress around her. Helicopters circled around her, filled with shouting paparazzi, snapping photographs as the model reveled in her freakishly unnatural beauty.
“Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful,” the model pouted. “Love me.” I instantly hated her. The TV spot ended in a burst of blinding flash photography and the words Love Me beside a bottle of fragrance.
I waited with trepidation in the unwelcoming executive lobby, avoiding the glare of the equally unwelcoming receptionist. Oompa Loompa soon emerged, greeting me like a long lost relative, enveloped in strong cologne. It did not make me love him but reminded me about our dream in a bottle conversation. I had gone through my dry run with Savannah and fortunately was able to avoid kissing Oompa Loompa on the lips.
He and his cologne beckoned me into his office. He appropriately offered me chocolate.
“Has Savannah told you about the purpose of this meeting?” He asked after I feebly turned down the chocolate.
“No,” I croaked.
“Don’t worry,” he assured me. “It is good news for you. Please. Have a seat.”
I sunk, relieved, into the leather armchair. There was no reason for Savannah to send me terrified to the executive offices other than to exercise her power to inflict fear.
“Gi-Spot, as you know, is our most high profile launch this year. I want you to start your career associated with the success of this launch.” It was even more uncomfortable for me to hear Oompa Loompa speak about Gi-Spot. The only thing that interested me about this launch was why they chose such an absurd name for it.
“That is very kind of you but isn’t Chloe managing the launch?” I remembered Stevie’s advice regarding Chloe’s territory.
“My dear, it takes more than one person to plan and execute a successful launch. The team has been doing a great job but they can’t do it all. I am pleased to give you a very special assignment. It is the Gi-Spot launch party!”
Seriously? I completed my MBA to plan a party for some sort of sexual makeup?
“It sounds great,” I lied, praying that the launch wasn’t GiGi’s foray into sex toys. I’m quite sure this would not be recognized by Amnesty International as transferable experience.
However, as I had previously experienced, Oompa Loompa knew how to close the deal. “There will be Gisele executives from the New York office at this party. It will be great exposure for you. If you are successful at this party, it can very well lead to a transfer to the New York office.” And with that, I accepted the Forbidden Fruit.
I was seated in the cafeteria at lunchtime later that day, waiting for Stevie to join me when Chloe confronted me. “Is it true? Are you planning the Gi-Spot party?” I was caught off guard and unprepared. How did she find out so quickly? I looked around furtively for Stevie.
“I’ve been working on my Gi-Spot all year!” Chloe exclaimed loudly. People seated close by stopped talking to observe the unusual confrontation.
“The launch is still yours,” I said, trying to clam her down. “I’m just planning the party. That’s all.”
“You can’t take my Gi-Spot party!” She exclaimed and stormed off. I tried not to laugh at how this statement may be misconstrued. I hoped that those around us knew about the Gi-Spot launch.
“Gi-Spot is a product launch,” I explained to
the people at the table beside me. They looked blankly back at me. “We’re not talking about the actual, you know, sexual G spot.” I further clarified. “I’m not planning a sex party or anything.”
Disinterested, they resumed their conversation. Am I the only one uncomfortable with this name?
“I heard! The Gi-Spot party!” Stevie rushed to join me. “That’s fabulous!”
“I’m encroaching on Chloe’s territory,” I sighed, “She hates me.”
“Well, of course. You’ll only be working for a few months on the party, while Chloe’s been slaving for a full year, and you’re both going to share in the glory. Well done, you vixen! My, my, you are Etienne’s little pet, aren’t you?”
“Well, he did say it was my ticket to New York,” I agreed. “Now I just have to figure out what Gi-Spot is.”
“Don’t you all?” Stevie winked.
Later that night Gisele threw their ‘We’re #1!’ celebration, a private party at the Panorama Lounge and Restaurant on the fifty-first floor of the Manulife Centre, which had easily the best view in Toronto. Gisele had strategically chosen a venue that made us feel on top of the world. It was a lavish proclamation of Gisele’s Lip leadership.
The night began with the President of Gisele Canada giving a victory speech, which could have easily been borrowed from any political leader after winning a world war. Our President, Klaus Veicht, was from Germany and his accent seemed eerily fitting as he declared Gisele’s world domination and swiftness in conquering the Canadian lip market. Drunk with power and expensive wine, we clapped and cheered in solidarity, his cosmetic army.
It seemed that Klaus was born for world domination. Veicht was German for fight. Klaus was transferred to Canada after his success leading several Western European markets to market leadership. He was still quite young and was destined to continue the momentum in larger markets. I wondered if, as a child, Klaus exhibited any early signs that he would take over the world with makeup, like playing with his mother’s makeup rather than G.I. Joe. Maybe he played with makeup and G.I. Joe at the same time.
Why I Love My Gay Boyfriend Page 3