There's no Love on Wall Street

by Ira Trivedi

  I woke up the next morning sore and groggy from all the alcohol. My neck and back hurt from the couch, my breath tasted foul and my eyes were dry and itchy from the contact lenses that I had not taken off. It took me a second to realize where I was. Jonathan Goodley’s couch where I had passed out after making out with him! I could not believe myself. It was 10 a.m., way past reporting time. Sally was going to kill me. I tumbled off the couch in a panic, when I saw a note on the table in front of me on a Goldstein notepad.

  Good Morning Intern, I had to leave for a meeting in New Jersey. Hope you slept well. I left a muffin and OJ for you in the kitchen and also my credit card. Buy yourself an outfit and go straight to work, say you went to a meeting with me if you have to … or take the day off.

  J

  Thank God he hadn’t woken me up in the morning, it would have been so embarrassing given the way I looked right now. The note calmed me down a bit. He didn’t seem to mind or think it was immature that I had passed out on his couch. I supposed these sorts of things happened all the time in Manhattan. It was incredibly sweet of him to leave me his credit card. There was no way I was going to use it though.

  I quickly etched out a mental plan of action. I would take a cab home and go to work post lunch. If anyone asked I would just say that I was really ill in the morning and had to go to the doctor. I was allowed to pull the sick card at least once this summer. I saw my BlackBerry in the corner, the red-light flashing madly. All emails from Sally, I was sure.

  I helped myself to a bottle of water from his fridge, taking a few seconds longer than necessary to check out the contents of his fridge. A protein shake, some gourmet cheese and a few bottles of beer. I opened the freezer as well—three bottles of vodka. As I stood in his empty apartment, I felt the urge to explore further, to open his kitchen cabinets, go into his bedroom. I wanted to know him better, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. The stickler for morals my parents had raised chose this moment to surface—I couldn’t snoop around his apartment … what if he found out? What if someone came in, like a cleaning lady or technician and reported it to him. Thankfully, I didn’t muse much longer; my BlackBerry beeped, reminding me that I was dreadfully late and I had to leave.

  I walked out of his apartment and into the sunny, summer day. Even though I hadn’t slept very well on the couch and I was hungover, I felt happy. I took a cab to my apartment, had a quick shower, and was at work in an hour, making sure I looked frumpy enough to be believed when I said I had woken up with a fever.

  As suspected, Sally had been looking for me and had left a stack of pitch books on my desk for me to get to work on. As I worked, I desperately hoped I would not run into Jonathan. It would be so awkward. What would I say? Hey Jonathan, your couch was really comfortable? I spent most part of the day thinking about him, wondering what he was doing, if he was thinking about me. I felt myself plummet around 5 p.m., the high wearing off and the debauchery of the night that had passed manifesting into a dull headache as I stared at the endless rows and columns of the Excel file open in front of me.

  I thought of my peaceful life in Wellesley and even though it really was not very long ago, it seemed like a lifetime away. The long lazy afternoons chilling on the green, the afternoon naps. I missed being able to ‘take the day off’, skip all classes and just read non-intellectual novels and watch episodes of Gossip Girl all day. I finally had the life I had dreamt of, I was a Goldstein girl living in New York City, but for some reason none of it seemed as glamorous or cool as it had a few months ago.

  My thoughts were interrupted by the rumbling in my stomach. I hadn’t had anything to eat since the morning. I remembered the sprout and hummus pizza in the fridge, which I had ordered from Health Kitchen, my favourite restaurant on SeamlessWeb. As I gobbled the soggy sandwich, I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder—Kurls.

  ‘Hello, would you like to walk over to the intern event together?’

  ‘I completely forgot about that! sure, let’s go.’

  The intern event was a blessing in disguise, exactly what I needed. Sugary snacks to boost my low blood sugar, caffeine to jump-start my alcohol-ravaged body and a boring lecture where I could let my mind wander and daydream about Jonathan and the magical night that we had spent together.

  Alison looked sharp as always in a seersucker skirt-suit, her blonde hair neatly tied back with a blue polka dot ribbon.

  ‘Hi guys, today is a really important meeting and I need you to pay attention,’ she said. The chattering continued, wine had been served in plastic cups and spirits were high. ‘We’re going to talk about the offer process.’

  There was a sudden hush in the room. On hearing the word ‘offer’ expressions became serious and the laughter of a few seconds ago was replaced by anxiousness. The Big O. It was what each one of us was here for—if we did not get an offer to return to Goldstein smith full-time, it would be the end of our career in banking. Once recruiters saw that you had had a summer internship at a bank but were still interviewing, they assumed that you had not received an offer, that you had fucked up. Chances of securing a job at a bank after that became extremely slim.

  ‘I don’t want to scare you all, but this is the most important info you will hear all summer. All banks have different processes, and don’t be surprised or worried if your friends are having different experiences. Goldstein extends offers on the last day of your internship, which for most of you is the first of August. It’s a verbal offer from a committee you will present yourself to. All the feedback comes from the group that you are in right now, so communicate with your supervisors, make sure you understand what your strengths and weaknesses are.’ Alison gave everyone a bright smile, flashing her pearly white teeth. ‘Guys, don’t look so serious! We received all of your mid-summer reviews, and they were great. Each one of you is on track to getting an offer, just make sure you stay on track. I know all of you have the potential to do it. You are the best in the country, you are the future of the firm.’

  I stood out in the hallway with a jittery Ivana.

  ‘Riya, I have to get this offer; if I don’t, I will be so screwed.’

  ‘Of course you’ll get an offer,’ I reassured her, trying to sound as confident as possible, though I was battling my own self-worth issues. ‘You work harder than anyone I know here, and you’re smart, and pretty, and cool. Why wouldn’t anyone want you!’

  ‘I’m worried, all the other interns in my group are so smart. We have all these really hardcore engineering guys from MIT and Berkley and these other smart-asses from Harvard, who chill with each other. They get beers, go to basketball games, and strip clubs. I’m the only girl intern, and that too a dumb one,’ she said with a nervous laugh, biting on her grubby fingernails that had once upon time sported a French manicure.

  ‘Ivana, that is so not true. All those guys are nerds and they don’t like nerds on Wall Street, they like savvy people. People with different skill sets. They want you, trust me,’ I said encouragingly. ‘Besides, they can’t just have an all-male group, they need girls. You’re just being paranoid.’

  She clutched my arm frantically, ‘I need this job so badly.’

  Tears streamed down her face and she placed her forehead on my shoulder. I gave Ivana a hug as she sobbed, warm tears falling on my neck. I couldn’t believe this was the same Ivana that I had met two months ago.

  ‘Sweetie, it’ll be all right. You’re just tired, let’s go get some a coffee.’

  She wiped her tears with the back of her hand. I offered her a tissue from my tote.

  ‘Thanks,’ she whispered.

  We walked out of the building and I suggested a walk around the block to the Starbucks on the corner.

  ‘I can’t, I have to get back to work, but I’ll smoke a quick ciggy.’ She pulled out a cigarette, took a long drag and we stood in silence.

  ‘Take the evening off!’ I told her. ‘Let’s go get drinks or something.’

  She shook her head ruefully. ‘I can’t. I have
to go to work.’ Her BlackBerry beeped. ‘I gotta get back to work.’ She gave me a quick hug and a teary smile and she walked away.

  The Big O. I was beginning to get desperate, but I just didn’t know how to improve the situation. I was at work till 2 a.m. or later every day, my PowerPoint skills had improved vastly and my Excel skills, while still shaky, were definitely better than before. I had even managed to complete Amit’s baby model. I was proactive to the point of being servile yet Sally was still a total bitch to me. Hardly a day passed when I wasn’t chastised about a mistake that I had made. My good work was always disregarded.

  When I returned to my desk, an email rescued me from my misery. Jonathan. The darkness of a second ago seemed to vanish into thin air.

  Hey!

  I know this is really last minute, but I’ve been invited to a summer charity ball tomorrow and I was hoping you would go with me. It slipped my mind earlier, but I hope you will be able to make it.

  J

  P.S. It’s black tie.

  I replied immediately.

  Hi … Sure, that sounds great. Thanks for the invite, would love to come with you. see you tomorrow!

  I quickly rechecked the email, making sure I didn’t sound as ridiculously excited as I felt. I was practically jumping out of my skin. Jonathan had invited me to a ball, a real-life glamorous Wall Street affair. Were my Wall Street dreams finally coming true? I couldn’t believe my luck. Was I, the silly intern going to be the prodigal VP’s date to a summer ball? I had never been to a ball before, only ever dreamt of going, and now it was finally happening! Now I just had the pesky little problem of figuring out what to wear.

  Cinderella at the Ball

  I had spent all morning scouring the 5th Avenue stores online for something to wear. Everything seemed like it was meant for voluptuous, busty women, and nothing that would suit the occasion came with less than a $1500 price tag. It was a tad on the steep side, even for my excessive banker self. The few gowns that I could settle for would never reach me in time. I had turned my lean wardrobe inside-out but everything looked either cheap or too gaudy.

  What was I going to do? I couldn’t possibly miss the ball because I had nothing to wear—that would be simply devastating. So here I was with somewhere to be and nothing to wear, although it was better than being all dressed up with nowhere to go. Or was it?

  It was 9.15 a.m. and I had agreed to meet Jonathan at his apartment at six. I hadn’t even thought about what stories I would tell Sally and the team. I had to leave work at four, go home where I had given myself exactly one hour and fifteen minutes to take a shower, do my hair and make-up and get dressed … in what?!

  I was paralysed by my anxiety and was getting nothing done. For once work had taken a backseat. By 1 p.m. I was frantic with worry. A message flashed on my screen and for a moment I cringed, hoping from the very bottom of my heart that it wasn’t Sally dumping another lot of pitch books on me. Thankfully, it was an IM from Ivana.

  Idzervite: Hey babe

  Rjain: Ivana!! What’s up?

  Idzervite: normal crap, u?

  Rjain: Well … believe it or not, but Jonathan asked me to come to a ball with him tonite

  Idzervite: WOAH! That’s news girl. Y didn’t u tell me before!

  Rjain: He asked me last nite! Ive been going crazy looking for something to wear. I cant go in my rags

  Idzervite: And and? Whats the verdict?

  Rjain: I’m doomed. I feel like Cinderella, I need a fairy freakin god mother

  Idzervite: Well, ur in luck honey!

  Rjain: ???

  Idzervite: I have just the thing in mind. I brought a dress w me thinking, well, that my Wall Street life was going to be filled with glamour like yours. And we’re about the same size I think

  Rjain: OMG!!! I will be your slave forever and ever

  Idzervite: haha! the only problem is that its at home. and I cant leave right now

  Rjain: Babe!! You’re the best … I’ll come get your keys from u and go pick it up.

  Idzervite: That would work, when will you need it?

  Rjain: ASAP, I have to leave in 3 hours!!!

  Idzervite: Ok, meet me when you go to pick up lunch and I’ll give u the spare keys

  Rjain: hey … u think the dress will look good on me?

  Idzervite:honey, the dress is perfect for you

  The three hours after lunch were the most excruciating of my life. At 3.50 p.m., right on schedule, I stood up from my desk, clutching my stomach, and rushed to the bathroom. I returned a few minutes later and pretended that I had thrown up and had the worst stomach cramps. I eventually excused myself, feigning severe illness, and rushed to Ivana’s apartment and grabbed the dress. Then I took a cab home to my apartment. I had exactly forty-five minutes to get ready and to be at Jonathan’s. He had offered to pick me up, but I hadn’t wanted him to see the shithole that I lived it.

  First, I straightened my hair, making sure I got rid of all the frizz. Then I applied my make-up, carefully lining my eyes, putting on a lavender eye-shadow which matched my dress, a bronzer which gave a nice shine to my face (which had not felt the sun on it since I had entered Goldstein), a petal pink blush to add some colour to my cheeks, and finally applying a dark red lip-gloss to my thin lips trying to make them look pouty. The frenetic beating of my heart echoing in my ears, I slipped into the floor-length Roberto Cavalli dress that Ivana had lent me.

  It was simply perfect. It hugged my body in just the right places, and hid my burgeoning love-handles. The deep purple of the gown went well with my dark hair and the halter top showed off my squash-toned arms. I had found a pair of silver heels that were not designer, but did the job (plus you couldn’t really see them from underneath the dress) and I had borrowed a Dior clutch which I had found in Martha’s side of the closet. I hoped she wouldn’t miss it. I couldn’t recognize the girl I saw in the mirror, and my heart leapt with excitement as I imagined Jonathan’s reaction when he saw me. I found him standing outside 2 Gold Street, next to a black Mercedes that was waiting to whisk us off to the Plaza Hotel. I got out of the yellow cab, almost tripping in my hurry, but I recovered quickly and sashayed over to Jonathan.

  ‘Oh my God!’ he said when he saw me and for a second I was concerned. Was I over-dressed, underdressed? Had I done something wrong?

  ‘What?’ I said with concern.

  ‘You look stunning,’ he said with a smile.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Tt-hannks,’ I said conscious of his eyes on my body.

  Jonathan looked incredibly handsome. I was used to seeing him in his preppy office uniform—the loose khakis and the plain button-down shirts. Tonight, he looked transformed in well-fitting black tux, bow-tie and all, his hair neatly gelled in place. He held the car door open for me, and as I slipped in I got a whiff of his sandal woody cologne and felt my knees go weak. In the car ride over, I was aware of his eyes on me. I shyly fiddled with Martha’s tiny clutch in which I had stashed a lipstick, a credit card and a $20 bill with great difficulty. For a brief second I looked up and caught his eye.

  ‘What?’ I asked trying to sound playful.

  ’Nothing. You look really great, that’s all.’

  I smiled at him. It was truly a Cinderella story with a few differences. Instead of a fairy godmother I had Ivana, instead of a chariot I had a black Mercedes, instead of an evil stepmother I had Sally, and instead of Prince Charming, I had Jonathan. We pulled into the Plaza Hotel and I got out of the car with great care, the last thing I wanted was to trip and embarrass myself in front of Jonathan. The perfect gentleman, he took my arm in his and led me up the marble staircase.

  ‘Do you come to these sort of things often?’ I asked him as we walked towards the Grand Ballroom.

  ‘They’re usually a bit of a bore to be honest, but this one is supposed to the ball of the season, and CX partners, the PE shop hosting this event, are one of our major clients, so I had to make this one,’ he said.

  ‘All right,’ I
said quietly. I had never been to the legendary Plaza Hotel, only ever heard about it, and now here I was, in my magnificent Roberto Cavalli gown, attending the charity ball of the season, the event all bankers were dying to be invited to. This is what dreams were made of.

  My breath caught as I entered the ballroom. It was mesmerizing, I had seen nothing like this before. There were pastels everywhere, lovely shades of pinks, blues and greens. Floral centrepieces and candles adorned the tables dressed in crisp white linen. High-backed oak chairs covered in coloured silk stood around the tables in intimate groups of six. Ornate chandeliers illuminated the gleaming marble floor making it look like a gentle ocean of white. The sound of Jonathan’s voice broke into my reverie.

  ‘Riya, would you like a glass of champagne?’

  A hostess who looked like a model, dressed in a figure-hugging black gown stood at the entrance, welcoming us with champagne.

  ‘Sure,’ I said trying to play cool and not letting my jaw drop as I gaped at the spectacular scene in front of me. Another glamorous hostess led us to our table where our name cards had been placed. Jonathan Goodley. Riya Jain. As we were about to take our seats, someone came up to Jonathan, and they started talking. He didn’t introduce me, and I stood by his side politely, feeling a little out of place. I looked around the room admiringly, and watched the other guests at the ball. Elegant, well-dressed men and women sipped on champagne while they nibbled delicately on hors d’oeuvres. The women were so beautiful in their gowns and elegant jewellery, all I could do was stare at them and hope to one day be them …

  Jonathan was constantly interrupted by people wanting to talk to him, and just when dinner was announced and we were about to sit down, he excused himself.

  ‘Riya, I just have to go over there and say hello to some people. I’ll be back in a second.’