by Jason Letts
“I’d seen the name, but there were never any pictures,” I said.
Martin ran a hand up his arm and over his bicep. If I didn’t know any better I would’ve thought he was trying to flex.
“To get back to what I was saying, we run a complicated operation here and everything has to be on point. Roche has exacting standards for all of us and as much as we like to have fun doing it we can’t fall short of our goals by even the smallest degree. We need to be bringing in people with the greatest knowledge base and the most diverse set of skills.”
I could see the axe falling and was impatient to get it over with. My next interview was as shift manager at a Dunkin Donuts, a place I worked at while in high school. If I managed to land it, it might be enough to get me by for a little while.
“Right, I understand. I’m really not qualified to do what you need done,” I said, but he’d said something at the same time that I didn’t catch because we were talking over each other. “Sorry, what was that?”
“When can you start?” Martin asked, looking expectedly with his eyebrows raised. I let out a short laugh, unable to believe my ears. I had to be sure I wasn’t imagining things.
“What do you mean, when can I start? You just got through telling me all about how I won’t be able to do half the things you need me to.”
Martin nodded, exhaling as he took another look at my resume on the screen.
“The fact of the matter is we’re swamped with a really important project from one of our long-time clients, Connoisaurus, and we don’t have much of a choice but to get more hands on deck. It does mean that someone is going to have to work closely with you to facilitate properly deploying your material. Considering everyone’s workload, I think that someone would have to be me. Now what do you say, will you give us a hand?”
He broke into a mild smile while I tried to gather myself after a sudden case of whiplash.
“Just one question from something I noticed when walking in. Do you have any other women working here?” I asked.
“Women?” He began to look anxious.
“You know, the female gender.”
“The fairer sex, double X chromosomes, like men without penises?” His awkward attempt at levity made it difficult to conceal a cringe.
“That’s not how I would put it, but anyway…”
“We do currently employ one woman, Chelsea Wheeler, and are always on the lookout for talented individuals who can help us meet our diversity goals. If all goes well here we’ll be doubling our female representation!”
I nodded. At least I wouldn’t be the absolute only woman here. It was getting hard to resist the lifeline from poverty that was materializing in front of me. Of all the nonverbal cues I’d given out over the course of the interview, the only one Martin seemed to grasp was the gradual acceptance that I would take the position.
“Come on, I’ll show you to a workstation and we can get started right away. That is unless you have another commitment today that you can’t break.” He came around from his desk as I stood up and held the door open for me.
“It’s not that. We haven’t talked about the salary or benefits yet. I’d like to get paid for my work,” I said.
“Of course you would.” He chuckled and let the door swing closed. “We can pay you twenty-five thousand a year. That’s common compensation for an entry-level position like this. I can have the documents for you to sign in just a…”
“No, it’s not, unless you’re talking about entry level at McDonald’s. Doesn’t that work out to like twelve dollars an hour? That would barely cover my rent. Do you know what it costs to live around here? Are you planning on feeding me breakfast, lunch, and dinner as well? Do I have to guess that no one else around here is making anything close to that little? Try again and this time give me a real salary.”
The indignation was seeping into my voice at the assumption that I wouldn’t know better than to take a slave-labor wage. Martin clearly was stunned and may have been having second thoughts about bringing me on.
“OK, thirty-two, but you’d better prove you’re worth it and find a way to manage some of those tasks I’d told you about.”
“Fine, I’ll take it,” I said, unexpectedly feeling relieved that I hadn’t blown the entire opportunity. Although the new offer only worked out to around fifteen dollars an hour, it would be enough to squeak by on.
“Perfect. Now let’s get you settled in and started,” he said, escorting me down the aisles. He took me on a quick tour of the floor, smiling and nodding to the other guys at their desks. I caught a glimpse of Chelsea, who was in a far corner near the office’s only potted plant. Keenan’s office had no windows and was hidden behind an undecorated cement wall and brown door.
“Over here are our mailboxes. Roche has an unusual predilection for hard copies. There’s a small kitchen in there. Elevator. The building does have parking if you have a car. You can have a seat right here and go ahead and click the login. I’ll put in a password to get you started and send you your own soon.”
As I sat down and surveyed the space around me, I tried to get a sense of if I were comfortable. The desk had space for two or three people, and Martin sat down in the chair right next to mine and scooted it closer until he was only a few inches away. Comfort could suddenly be defined by the amount of space between this slightly overbearing guy and myself.
He walked me through filling out the employment forms. We took a look at what was going on with Connoisaurus, which consisted of a complete website, advertising, and social media revamp. Martin talked continuously in my ears about every little detail of what they needed at a volume that was slightly too high and soon became grating.
“Excuse me, sorry,” I said, cutting him off. “I usually write alone and I think it’s going to take some getting used to this sort of arrangement. Is there any way I could have some time to absorb all this and work up a few pieces of draft copy on these parts? I’ll check in with you later,” I said, trying to be sweet about it.
He thankfully agreed and headed out of sight, leaving me room to work. As I was going over everything, in the back of my mind I had severe doubts that I’d be able to stand this job for more than a week with Martin all over me like that. But it turned out he had meetings in the afternoon, leaving me both time to familiarize myself with their system and do some writing. The end of the day was nearing and I decided it’d be best to seek out Chelsea and introduce myself.
A woman in her early thirties sat behind a desk in the corner with her back to the wall, where no one could sneak up behind her. She had curly black hair that bunched around her shoulders and a frizzy pea-green jacket covering them. Like everyone else, she wore jeans. A closed-mouthed smile greeted me as I approached. I was looking for an ally and already felt like I had a few grievances I’d enjoy commiserating over.
“Hi there, Chelsea, right? I’m Sarah Faverly, just started here today. Sorry I didn’t come over sooner. They got me right to work and the day disappeared in a flash,” I said.
She leaned back, giving me space to come around her desk and take a spot against the wall after shaking her hand.
“Welcome. I hope it works out for you here,” she said.
I’d expected a little bit more of a response from her and had to dig to build off what she said.
“Yeah, me too. But it seems good so far. You must be liking it well enough to stick around, right?”
She shrugged and glanced at her computer screen, which displayed sketches in various windows.
“It’s easy for me in graphic design. I just have to crank out the images and don’t have to interact with anyone much. Some days I’m in and out without speaking one word aloud,” she said. I narrowed my eyebrows in concern and nibbled my lip as I thought.
“That doesn’t sound very fun. It seems like there are a lot of interesting people around here. Martin, Hendrick at the front desk, Keenan,” I said, exhausting myself of all of the names I could remember at the moment.
“I don’t think Mr. Roche would be happy hearing you refer to him so informally. He likes to put on an air of respectability, and just between us that respectability is far from deserved. I feel obligated to tell you that he can be pretty brutal and has a dark streak that really ruins the looks and the success he has going for him,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper.
My eyes widened and I glanced over my shoulder to make sure no one was around to hear us. It couldn’t have been as bad as she made it out.
“Like…like what?” I asked.
She sucked through her teeth, pausing before leaning closer to me.
“The way he treats women is horrifying. At least once a week he has someone meeting him here after work. On a number of occasions I’ve heard him tear these poor girls apart over something they’re wearing, something they said, or what they’re doing. Nothing’s ever good enough and he belittles them in a way that should be illegal. He kind of has a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde thing going where he can be nice and charming and then the monster comes out to wreak havoc on your psyche. No matter how horrible he is, there’s always another girl ready to get lured in because of that face.”
Chelsea had me gasping, though I can’t say I was too terribly surprised. I’d heard of dozens of guys and personally known a few who acted this way. Some were trying to pull off the bad-boy thing, but there were clear lines between being arrogant, being mean, and being abusive.
“Has he ever said anything to you?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“He hasn’t. I’m not dumb enough to fall for his act, but I don’t think I’m his type either. He walks by me without saying a word, like the only time I exist is when he has to sign my paycheck. But that’s not going to save him from going down in flames. It’s only a matter of time until he explodes in a way that gets him caught, exposing how horrible he is. Maybe it’ll get in the papers. Maybe it’ll get online. But however it happens, I seriously doubt that Mouse Roar will be able to withstand it. That dark streak, his need to demonstrate his superiority to other people and over women, is the single biggest threat to my job security.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back as I gaped across the floor to the office room concealing my new boss. I already felt like I had a bond with Chelsea and was ready to take her word for it. The only question that remained was if this revelation would impact my ability to work here.
“But everybody else is OK, right?” I asked.
She laughed, which was not the correct answer. Then she shook her head with her fingers wedged in her hair.
“There’s no nice way to say this, so I’m going to have to just say it. The job you’re being hired to do isn’t what you think it is.”
“It’s not? What is it?” I asked, skeptically. What could possibly be wrong with writing copy?
“It’s an inside joke between the men around here that I happened to catch when they thought I was out of earshot. Content Manager. It’s the contents of their balls that you’re supposed to manage. Martin said you’re going to need a lot of handholding in order to do the work, right?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“That’s complete bull, but that’s how it starts. He manages your web transfers, someone else comes along who needs to check up on your response rates. Then you get a volunteer for quality control, proofreading, whatever. They’re all just angling for one thing. Someone might ask you to stay a bit late and then have a drink, meet on the weekend to catch up, or just straight ask you for sex. It won’t take you more than a couple of days to find out who’s competing to be the first one to sleep with you,” she said.
I grimaced, feeling a little grossed out at the concept.
“But they’re not going to do anything aggressive, right? I can just say no.”
“Well, you can, but if nobody gets you to bed in a couple of weeks you’re going to find that the project you were working on has suddenly been pulled and they no longer have any need of you here. And if you go for one of the lower guys, Martin will probably still decide he needs a shot at some fresh meat. Unless you were into him at all,” she said.
I winced and shuddered. Chelsea laughed with her mouth closed in a lighthearted way as she clutched her knee.
“He comes on stronger than a rainstorm in the Keys,” she said. “And can’t take a hint at all. Then he gets vindictive, vengeful. I’ve been through it all with him myself. It takes months for him to leave anyone alone.”
I felt like I needed to sit down. Leaning against this cold cement wall wasn’t enough support. What kind of people were these that I’d fallen in with? My gut instinct was to walk out the door and never come back. I couldn’t imagine how Chelsea had endured such a violating and oppressive work environment.
“What am I supposed to do?” I asked, still reeling from it all. I was so lost in my thoughts I almost didn’t hear her reply.
“I don’t know. That’s up to you. I guess it depends how you feel about being hired to be the office slut.”
CHAPTER 2
My father used to tell me to embrace life’s difficulties, to be a glutton for punishment. That was the only useful bit of advice he ever gave me before he left.
I thought about that as I curled up in my thin desk chair wearing pajama pants and my old NYU Club Soccer t-shirt, which now had a hole under one arm from too many nights where I desperately needed to wrap myself in comfort. In one hand I had a glass of stale, week-old wine from the fridge and in the other I had a fork full of sesame chicken from the Chinese restaurant on the corner. My laptop was in front of me and I was staring at my blog, which I thought I’d be abandoning.
My apartment bedroom was narrow enough that I could touch a foot to one wall and place my hand firmly on the wall opposite. Those walls couldn’t have been more than a few inches thick, because I could hear the people next door having sex as clearly as if I were right in there close enough to rub lotion on them. Listening to the bed frame pounding against the walls, the mattress squeak with each thrust, and my neighbor moaning in rhythm with it all gave me a weird sort of charge and apprehension. It wasn’t even eight p.m. and I didn’t think I’d be able to get any sleep at all tonight.
“Don’t stop! Harder!”
Her calls seemed to echo my thoughts. If I’d still been with my boyfriend, he might’ve been more of a focus and I would’ve dropped this job without a second thought and laughed the bizarre situation off with him. But alone with my agitation I needed to find an outlet for my energy. I flipped over to the news, where another celebrity was being thrown out of town for abusing his power to coerce women into sex. This time it was a famous chef with a TV show. Don’t ask what they did to the food.
My normal response would’ve been to charge up my outrage and indignation on behalf of these victims for other women who just as easily could’ve been trapped in such a sick situation, but I felt strangely detached as I considered my own plight. What if this young graduate of the Institute of Culinary Education knew going in that she’d be bullied into sex before she even touched a frying pan? Wouldn’t she be ready and dice him up instead?
“I’m getting close!”
The cries of passion next door became garbled and I dreaded hearing what I knew would come before the end. The first smack of palm against flesh produced another moan, but after the third or fourth there was nothing but silence from her. His grunting filled the gaps between at least another dozen hard smacks until it all went quiet.
I went back to my blog, deciding it deserved a second act after all. But this time the posts would be different. Instead of topical coverage, I’d be cataloguing every grain of abuse I received while at work, where my phone would be recording every second of what took place. Every come on, every off-color or sexist joke, every insinuation would be right there on tape to provide incontrovertible proof about what kind of people they are.
Then when they fired me, it woul
d be clear it was for not sleeping with them. The entire world would know, and the effect on Mouse Roar would be the same as if I set the building on fire. I’d also ask Google for help picking out a lawyer. By the end of this whole thing, I might never have to take another bad job or live in an apartment where I had to listen to other people having sex through cracker-thin walls again.
And as for Mr. Keenan Roche, I was no fool and wouldn’t be the next focal point of his terrorizing ways.
When I arrived at Mouse Roar bright and early the next day, I happened to catch Chelsea at the elevator as she was about to go up. She did a double take when she saw me but didn’t say anything until we got in together.
“Decided you’re up for it then? I wouldn’t have guessed you were the type,” she said. The words “office slut” seemed to be dangling in the air between us. I shook my head and shrugged.
“Look, I appreciate the advice, but everyone was so nice yesterday you can’t blame me for being a little skeptical. I mean, it sounds a little farfetched, doesn’t it? I have to give them the benefit of the doubt,” I said.
She raised both eyebrows in surprise and turned her head away from me to face front.
“They’re men,” she said, as if that explained it all. “Just don’t say I didn’t try to help you.”
A tiny note of hostility crept into her voice.
“I appreciate it, I really do,” I said. “You’re off the hook. I can take care of myself.”
The elevator door opened, and she exited and went to her desk without saying another word or looking at me again. I returned to my workstation, where Martin was waiting with a coffee mug in his hand. A steaming cup for me sat inches away from my keyboard.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m not really a coffee drinker,” I said. He produced a sheepish grin and tugged the cup away from my section of the desk.
“Well, what do you drink in the mornings then? Tea? Bottled water? Hot chocolate? Vodka and coke?”
I chuckled despite myself, cleared my throat, and sat down wondering if I had been too hard on him. Maybe he was nice and considerate or at least figured out he was being obnoxious and overbearing. I spent a little while looking over the writing I’d done the previous day and making some revisions before he gestured to get my attention again.