by Hoff, Stacy
She opens up to me and I learn about her biggest problem, the possible loss of her business. The mall is not going to renew her month-to-month lease. A new, trendy store with more square footage will be coming in permanently. The mall wants her out in a few weeks.
I know I can help her. But it takes guts to speak up and offer my services. She could think I’m pushy, egotistical, or simply too inept to hire. Speak up, Sue. What’s more important? Protecting yourself, or protecting her?
“My law firm can help you,” I manage to say without squeaking. “My boss is one of the commercial real estate partners. He’s very well known, and he’s one of the best. The firm’s very well-known too, one of Connecticut’s oldest—”
“I am not interested in them. I want to know I will have you.”
“Of course. There’s one thing though, the firm’s not cheap. They’ll charge you—”
“That’s not a problem,” she says. “I do very well with this cash business, and I have money from other businesses I own. Just make sure your firm doesn’t take me for granted.”
“They won’t, Mrs. Nang. They’ll watch out for you, and so will I.”
I book my first client for Wednesday at 11:00 a.m.
It’s the next morning and I’m walking into the office like a hunter who just bagged a bear. I saunter all the way into Jordan’s office.
“Wednesday at 11:00 a.m.,” I say without further explanation. I try to look serious, but the smile I can’t stifle creeps forth.
“Wednesday at 11:00 a.m. is what?”
“Your first meeting with a client.”
“Now you’re booking my clients? What happened to Amber?” He cranes his head to peer over in the direction of his secretary’s desk. “Did something happen to her? Did she quit?”
As amusing as this is, I’m a little offended. Is the concept of my bringing in business that far-fetched?
“Which client is it anyway?”
“Nhu Nang, d/b/a Fashion Nail Plus.”
“Sue, you’re a lousy secretary. Get Amber in here. This is not one of my clients.”
He is obviously losing patience. So am I. “No, she’s one of my clients.”
Finally he seems to get it. “Oh. You got your first client. Congratulations. You’ll get a third of what the firm gets paid on this, in addition to your salary. What’s her issue?”
I explain to him the mall eviction and that she needs immediate help. When I’m done explaining he says “good job,” which means I should leave his office. I hesitate a moment.
“It’s more than the money, it’s that I want to help her,” I say. “I told her to come to Grovas because we can solve her problem.”
“Yeah,” he says without looking up.
I am not sure how to take his response. Somehow I feel a little deflated.
Whatever ambivalence Jordan had about Mrs. Nang is gone by the time he meets her. He listens to her problem, reads the lease I had her bring, and says he will most likely be able to negotiate a satisfactory resolution. Best of all, Mrs. Nang says she wants to work with me.
Because this is my client, I get to play the most active role since I came here. I had much more client interaction at Stone & Sommers, but this was because Stone & Sommers cared less about impressing their clients. Having less freedom at Grovas is actually a step up for me.
The amazing thing is that Jordan is listening to what I have to say when we discuss strategy. Odder still, when it comes to negotiating, he lets me do it. I manage to get Mrs. Nang an alternative space in the mall. She’ll have to vacate her current space in only another week’s time, but in exchange she’ll get plenty of perks—anchor store proximity, bigger square footage for no additional rent, a loft that can be dedicated to tanning booths, and a sign at her old space announcing the new location. It’s a hard bargain for the mall, but my feeling is that they’re getting pressure from the new tenant to have the space vacated.
Mrs. Nang is thrilled because the mall inks the deal. My first client is a happy one. I’m ecstatic, too. I was able to help her because I spoke up.
Happy clients lead to other clients. Mrs. Nang has sent her new neighbor, Sophisticated Clothing, to me as well. Sophisticated Clothing is true to its word, carrying upscale fashion clothing from European and American designers. They’re a small store that wants to expand. In fact, they want to acquire all the square footage belonging to the shoe store next to them. Bringing them to the firm, I start a three way negotiation process, shuttling between Sophisticated Clothing, the mall, and the shoe store next door.
I give Jordan credit for not blocking me from my own business. I’ve heard horror stories about partners who wrestle clients away from their own associates. Jordan doesn’t seem to begrudge the business I’m bringing in. I figure he realizes that he’s making money, too.
Soon Sophisticated Clothing’s lease is completed. Because the shoe store wants to move to a strip mall a few miles away, I negotiate a lease with a smaller landlord. Though the shoe store is willing to undertake the risk of expansion, they’re still nervous as to whether, in an area where consumers don’t know them, they could sustain larger square footage. Despite their skittishness, we help them work out their lease with the strip mall.
Though Jordan listens to my comments about the lease, working with him on the strip mall project has its problems. The biggest point he and I argue about is over my insistence that the landlord agree to a three-month notice of termination clause instead of the usual six months. Jordan’s stance is that I can’t succeed so I should drop the issue, and focus instead on meatier sections of the lease. While the clause doesn’t have a lot of flashy pizzazz to it, I figure it will give the client comfort. This clause would mean that, if the strip mall location doesn’t work out, they could move their business to a new location without having to pay out an additional three-month’s rent to the strip mall’s landlord.
My getting the mall to agree to the three-month notice of termination period surprises Jordan, which is not surprising at all. “You said I couldn’t do it. But I did,” I gloat.
“Yes, you did.”
“Where’s my kudos?”
“You want a special reward? Here’s a dollar. Buy yourself a candy bar.”
I frown. No matter, I still did better than him. Even better, the shoe store, liking how I thought about their needs from a business perspective, is happy with me. They compliment me in front of Jordan and I’m elated. Jordan’s response is, “You couldn’t value her any more than I do.” This means a lot to me, but I’m not about to let him know. I’m still irked by the candy bar crack.
I guess I’m actually doing well. I am successfully representing commercial clients in real estate deals. I feel empowered. Maybe I really can change who I am.
CHAPTER 8
It’s great to be friendly with all of my new clients. I want to give them my business, too. I go regularly to Mrs. Nang’s. The half-inch she adds to my nail length makes me look more feminine.
Reluctantly, I take my mother with me to Sophisticated Clothing. The two owners soon have me trying on cashmeres and wool crepes. “Thank God,” my mother says when she sees me in the new clothes. You’re finally showing off your looks a little. Maybe not looking like a professor will actually make you look smarter.”
Sure I may have bad taste, but being broke hadn’t helped my fashion situation either. Mom used to tell me that even a thin wallet could purchase flattering clothing. It just requires patience and persistence. But not all of us are consignment store gifted.
Now that I’m making good money, my mother’s really on my case to buy nice clothing. I concede that I have enough to pay both of my school loans, my rent, and my credit card bills. I buy some garments at Sophisticated Clothing and am relieved when my mother tells me she has to leave to meet a friend. I can now shop
in peace.
I go over to my shoe store client who hasn’t yet moved out. I figure since they were also a client of mine they won’t let me screw up too bad. I pick various styles and the manager smiles at me every time I pick well. Black heels, three inches high, are now mine. My mother will be overjoyed. I’m happy, too. I have purchased shoes and sexiness.
Looking feminine should be as plausible for me as growing another arm. Yet here I am, not looking too bad. Straddling two worlds, I do the only thing I can do to entrench me solidly in one: I go to the most expensive hair salon in the mall. They proceed to undo my ponytail, the only hairstyle I’ve ever known.
Two hours later, a soft chestnut brown replaces my mousy coloring. They also give me something else unrecognizable—style. I’ve had enough for this afternoon. Transformation is hard work. At home I pass out.
When I wake up from my nap, I fire up my computer. And after watching a dozen “How to apply makeup” videos on YouTube, I brave a trip to Sephora.
On Monday morning I set aside an extra hour to get myself ready for work. I put on the makeup I purchased, and apply it as light-handedly as I can from the bags strewn around my room. I choose a flattering V-neck coral sweater with gray slacks and black heels. A coral and silver necklace with matching earrings complements the outfit. I brush out my hair, leaving it down. I’m ready to go.
Driving to work, I wonder how I will be received. I want everyone to gaze at me, prostrate themselves at my feet and exclaim “Forgive us, Sue, we didn’t realize how beautiful and sophisticated you are!” I know this isn’t going to happen any place outside my head. One of the times I got all dolled up in an attempt to impress was when I was in junior high. A classmate had persuaded me to go to the mall with her. We had a cosmetics salesclerk apply our makeup and bought new tops, which we immediately put on. We thought we’d gone from gawky to gorgeous. But when boys saw us, they laughed. I guess the cosmetics clerk’s hand was as heavy as mine. I hope I’ve finally mastered a more natural-looking technique. Or what will I be walking into now?
I walk into Jordan’s office to ask his opinion about a problematic lease clause. When he sees me, he asks me to step inside and close the door behind me. Then he asks me for a date.
“Umm. What?” I ask. My eyebrows and vocal pitch are raised high.
“A date. Tonight.”
“What?”
“We just went through this, Sue. A date. With me. Tonight.”
“Umm, I . . .” I trail off.
“Sue, your attire has improved. Your conversation has not.”
My face goes hot. My temper as explosive as Java Lava’s mural. “Neither have your manners. So, no, I’m not interested. That should be articulate enough.” I reach for the doorknob.
“You can’t be serious,” he exclaims.
“Why can’t I be serious? Because you’re too powerful and too handsome for me to say no?” Is this guy for real?
Jordan’s voice drops to a soft, almost gentle, tone. “No. That’s not it at all. I’m saying I hope you’re not serious because I have feelings for you.” He’s no longer looking at me—his eyes are focused on the floor.
I hate to admit it, but the sudden sensitivity and shyness is working. Damn! “Look, Jordan, I just can’t, okay? I barely fit in as your associate, let alone as your date. If we were together, I’d spend my whole life wondering where I stand with you.” My answer surprises me, being too well developed for a topic I’ve never consciously contemplated before.
“Your whole life, huh? You’re a little pushy to pitch marriage, don’t you think? I’m just asking for a date.”
Too irritating. “Jordan, I don’t even know you. If I had a bead for each time we’ve spoken on a personal level, I wouldn’t even have enough for a bracelet.”
“We can talk personally tonight.”
Talk about not getting the idea.
His desk phone lets out a buzz and Amber’s voice comes on. “Jordan, Deborah McIntosh is on the line.”
“Tell her I’ll call her back.”
“She said it’s important.”
“I’m doing something else that’s important,” he snaps.
“Okay, okay.” Amber’s huffy voice clicks off.
I feel huffy, too. “Jordan, if you’ve had a thing for me for some time, why did you wait until now before asking me out?”
“I didn’t wait. I tried to ask you out at Denny’s.”
“You did?” I make a mental note to rub my jaw later, to soothe the pain from having it hit the floor.
He looks irritated. “The best I could without knowing whether you had a boyfriend. I gathered from your non-response that you’re not involved with anyone. Yet.”
“So you thought I turned you down?” My eyes are going to pop out of my head. Not a pretty look. This ought to change his mind about finding me attractive.
“Yes, and I thought your new look was your way of telling me that you’re now ready to accept my offer.”
“Why would you think that?”
“A come hither kind of thing, I don’t know. Look, I’ve been waiting for some kind of sign from you. I didn’t want to scare you off or have you think your job depended on dating me.”
“So you’re not looking for a sexual harassment suit, just sex?” The magma has left the mountain. Run, Pompeiians, run!
“No, Sue.” His voice softens again. “I’m not looking to talk you into bed. I really want to go on a date with you.” He pauses. I swallow hard. “As for sexual harassment,” he continues, “I’m not worried about that, although I know I should be. I don’t want you to think your job depends on being with me because if you do, I know you’ll leave. And then I won’t see you anymore.” His voice softens even further, and he raises his eyes. He is now looking intently at me. “I would miss you.” His gaze is unnerving. I’m becoming uncertain whether the heat coursing through me is entirely from rage.
“Umm, I . . .”
He smiles. “I can see from your expression that you’re thinking about my offer. Well, I can wait for you to come around.” He gets up to open the door for me and calls out to Amber, “Get Deb McIntosh back on the line.” I walk out, feeling both reluctant and relieved to leave him.
CHAPTER 9
I’m an emotional mess. At first I was relieved when I didn’t bump into Jordan. But now it’s beginning to worry me that I haven’t seen him in almost two weeks. Is he trying to avoid me? If so, how long will this continue? Does he hate me? How will this affect my job?
Maybe he’s just trying to give me space to make me feel more comfortable. That’s the problem with this man—I never understand his angle. Our only communication lately is through e-mail or Amber. His responses to my queries and FYI’s are brief and devoid of anything other than directives.
As aggravating as the situation is, I can’t quite shake off the conversation we had. Maybe I’m desperate for attention. It’s not as if anyone’s ever held a torch for me before. Was he lying about being interested in me? Worse, do I like him?
Despite being consumed with confusion, I’m determined to sort this situation out. I call Leila’s extension and make plans to go to happy hour that night. I want to talk somewhere we won’t be overheard. I suggest we head to a bar a few blocks’ away instead of going to the pub downstairs.
Entering the dive bar I selected, I wonder how I’m going to sneak my Jordan questions into the conversation. I don’t want Leila to get suspicious. I really like her, but I am as protective of my privacy as my career. Nobody needs rumors flying around the workplace.
We are seated at a booth. The oak wood table is scratched up with people’s initials and mild obscenities. I wait until after Leila’s second beer and then start in with, “So, how do you like working for your boss?” I feel a little guilty manipulating the conversation,
but still manage to be pleased when, after she’s done, she asks how I like mine.
“I can’t really answer that.” I absently straighten out the damp napkin under my beer glass. “I don’t really know Jordan that well. The worst thing about him is I never know where I stand.”
She looks at me. “You’re better off not knowing. His last associate thought she knew where she stood with him, and she was wrong.”
“His last associate? The one I replaced? Didn’t she leave the Friday before I started?”