by L. Maleki
“Oh no.”
“That’s right. He wasn’t there. He’d hitched a ride home on some diamond merchant’s jet but didn’t bother to leave a message for Ericka. She spent a day searching Frankfurt for him.”
“That sounds familiar.”
As everyone left the meeting a few minutes later, I asked the four assistants to stay back. Once we were clear of traders and analysts, I rounded on the hatchet-faced redhead.
“I chose not to reprimand you in front of an audience, Nicki, but this is it. Your last warning. I’m your superior, whether you like it or not.”
“Oh, what, these guys aren’t an audience?” She gestured to Michelle and the two research analysts.
“That’s what you have to say for yourself? Not ‘I’m sorry,’ or ‘You’re right, I’ve been out of line’? No, you continue to speak out of turn. This is a place of business. You are supposed to be a professional. I’ve seen little evidence you can pull that off, but I’m giving you the opportunity to try. But one more catty, mean-girl barb, and you’re done.”
“You can’t—”
“Nicki,” said Michelle, sternly. “She can, and she will. Enough now.”
I clapped my hands twice, elementary school teacher style, and stood up. “Yes, enough. It’s not Michelle’s job to reprimand you, either. Right, Michelle?” She was startled at being called out and took a beat to push her glasses up her nose and gather herself, but then she nodded. She’d been cold toward me since I’d arrived that morning, likely still not sure I hadn’t somehow screwed her out of an opportunity, but she had seemed to be thawing, once she’d learned how the weekend had played out. I hoped this didn’t bring on another ice age.
“I do not want to fight. It’s time we got to work.”
Michelle nodded again. Nicki huffed, but with the strength of a mouse, a tiny, inconsequential gesture. The other three picked up pens and closed their notebooks; Nicki followed suit. Good little assistants, I thought with a warm smile.
“Right.” I straightened my shirt and tucked my hair behind my ears, brushing my fingers over my earrings for luck, before standing at the head of the table. “We have the annual investor meeting in a few days. Frank and Andrew and the Investor Relations team are going to need all the help they can get assuring our clients they should keep their millions in our fund. Obviously, the economy is bad, but if word gets out about this past weekend—and it will—Frank will look like a fool. I mean, seriously, who would want to give money to a man who literally loses his pants—and his hair. We need to make sure he, and PRCM, can survive any gossip.” I swiveled to give them the eye. “No PRCM equals no jobs for anyone.”
I picked up a marker and approached the whiteboard. Over my shoulder, feeling very leader-y, I said, “I’ve got some thoughts, but I want this to be a cooperative brainstorming session. Let’s list the tasks that need to be done before the investors’ meeting, and assign them. At the same time, let’s list any out-of-the-box suggestions you might have for making Frank palatable, maybe even rock-star-ish, to the investors—”
“Wait!” Nicki said.
I raised my eyebrows at her. “Really?”
She blushed a cherry red, though a slight haughty edge to her voice remained, clearly ingrained since birth. “I didn’t mean for that to come out so loud … but you’re about to use a permanent marker on our whiteboard. That’s Todd’s pet peeve.”
“Oh.” Maybe reward her helpfulness? “You’ve been around a long time. Any suggestions off the top of your head?”
She tilted her head to the side, perhaps trying to decide if I was mocking her somehow. “Well …” She started slowly, but then gained steam when I grabbed up the proper marker and created notes based on what she said. Even when I thought her suggestions were inane, or I caught her rolling her eyes when asked to clarify, I wrote them down without critique. ’Cuz I’m a big person like that. Right up there with JC on the cross.
When Frank returned, I’d have the office ready for the meeting and he’d see I was a capable person. There’d be no reason for him to delay mentoring me, as promised.
Later, I returned to my desk to find someone waiting in the reception armchairs.
Oh no. “Ms. Jenson! What a pleasure to see you! I don’t have you scheduled. How can I help you?”
She frowned and recrossed her leather-clad legs, highlighting a magnificent pair of Jimmy Choos, a style I hadn’t seen in any stores yet. Not that I had much time or extra money for shopping.
“Hello, Paris. Actually, my secretary called on Friday and left a message that I would be here this morning. Where is Frank?”
She remembers my name! My glee was short-lived, however, when the rest of her comment sank in.
“Friday … Unfortunately, I was traveling out of state with Frank on Friday, so I didn’t get the message. My assistant must have forgotten to forward it. Frank is out for now.”
“Well. That’s irritating.” She twitched her legs but looked otherwise unperturbed. One cool customer. “Frank has papers I need to sign. I’m flying out today.”
A trickle of perspiration ran down my back. “If you can tell me what the form is, I can get it for you.” I pressed the tips of my fingers to the top of my desk to stop myself from taking a swipe at the sweat pooling in my bra.
“Honey, that’s your job, not mine.”
“Right. I’ll be right back. Can I get you some coffee?”
She shooed me away with a wave of her hand.
I skidded into Frank’s office and went through the stacks on his desk, racing through his files. I dialed Michelle from Frank’s phone.
“Frank?” She was confused.
“It’s Paris.” I dropped my voice, panic bringing out an unattractive screech. “Tris Jenson is here. What was she supposed to sign today? Apparently, she left a message on the office phone on Friday, saying she’d be here.”
“Uh …”
“Yep, that’s not helping.”
“I’m scanning through her portfolio to see where Frank is at with her investments. Okay … here we go. She needs to sign Form 24A and Form 119. I’m sending them to the printer behind your desk now.”
“Thank God for you.”
“Do you want me to talk to Nicki about Friday’s message?”
She hadn’t missed that, either. “No, leave that to me,” I said firmly.
I hurried out to Tris. “Here we are. Sorry about the wait.”
“Ah, so you’ve got what I need then?”
“Yes, Frank just needs your signature here, here, and here. Do you need me to go over the content with you?” I held my breath. God, I hoped not. I’d have to call over Michelle and reveal a high level of ignorance. Yep, good thing I’m sticking with hedge funds. I’m super good at this.
“No, Frank already ran these by my lawyer. I want to sign and be done with this.”
“Of course.”
“You never said where Frank is? Why isn’t he here?”
I considered how much to reveal. “He was mugged when we were in Texas. He’s back, but he has two broken ribs and a collapsed lung. His doctors say he’ll be fine, he just needs to rest.” I hurried on. “But don’t worry, he’s working from bed. His investors are his number-one priority, always.”
She released a tinkling laugh, like a bell running the scales. “Aren’t you a little liar! But good for you, protecting your boss.”
I smiled without answering. She signed the papers at my desk, and I made copies. As my back was turned, I heard her pick up the picture frames from my desk, like last time.
“I see you’ve added a few shots. This door frame with the symbols is lovely.”
My heart swelled. I’d just printed off and framed the hospital chapel photo that morning, when I got to work. I laid the copies in front of her as she returned the photograph to my desk.
“I wasn’t kidding before,” she said. “I hope you’re going to do something with these.”
Suddenly I was shy, astounded this woman rem
embered my photography. “Well, actually, one of them won a big award. Since then, I’ve done a few professional photo shoots. I like doing it.”
Guilt swelled in my chest. I’d also skipped the most important shoot, the one Benji had given me.
Tris gently tilted my chin up with one finger, just as Madame Elena had done, and said in a mom voice, “Girl, you go big or go home.” Then she stepped away and collected her bag and a jacket from a side chair.
A Hermes bag. I bet that is real crocodile. As soon as I stumble into an extra $100,000, I am so buying that bag, I thought, watching Tris slide her copy of the papers into the amazing satchel.
“I hope the next time I see you, dahling, it’s in an ad. In a high-end magazine. Make it happen. No one else will.” With that, and a slight wave of her fingers, she glided out of our office.
So true. No one else will. I freakin’ love that lady. But the warmth in my heart turned to ice crystals when I remembered Nicki. I poked at the intercom. Catching her eye from across the room, I said icily, “Please come to my desk.”
The assistant sauntered over and leaned against the tall section. “Yes?” she said in a bored tone.
“Do you mind telling me what happened to the messages from Friday? In particular, Tris Jenson’s message?”
“I thought you were in charge of Frank’s messages …”
“You are perfectly aware you were to be transferring any important voice messages to my cell.”
She pouted her lips, letting a concerned and confused expression settle on her face. She must have realized her usual aggression was not the best play, especially after our confrontation that morning. “I, umm, I don’t know what …”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I was working with Todd, I didn’t realize …” She wasn’t that good of an actor, her eyes darting around.
“You knew you were in charge of those calls. I’m going to talk to Todd about this, Nicki.”
“Go ahead, I didn’t do anything wrong.” She planted her palms on the counter, leaned into my space, and said, as if to a child, “Frank’s messages are your area, everyone knows it. This will be your screwup, not mine.”
“Oh, come on.” I flipped my hair out of my eyes, the better to glare at her with.
“I would never do something like that.” She slit her eyes and hissed, “You can’t prove I did anything wrong, accident or not.”
“How’s that? The task was handed over to you. Even if I’m the only one who knew it …” Understanding dawned. I laughed. “You idiot. What, you think you’re going to get my job if they think I lost the message?” My laugh started to sound like a machine gun spraying bullets. Tone it down, Paris. “Just admit you made a mistake, a big one. Otherwise, it looks like you did it on purpose.”
“You think you’re so smart. Well, you’re not. You can’t prove I did anything wrong. Besides, Todd would never fire me.”
I slapped my hand down on the desk in front of her and shouted, “I don’t need to go through Todd! You’re fired!”
She froze, her face chalky white against her red hair. She spit out, “I don’t think so. It’s your word against mine.”
“Exactly. How many friends do you think you have in this office?”
“You cu—” she shrieked.
“What is going on here?”
Neither of us had heard Todd approach. The COO’s normally composed features were tight with anger.
Michelle, her blonde ponytail twitching, was right behind him.
“Nicki purposefully erased Frank’s phone messages from Friday instead of forwarding them to me,” I said.
“If I did, it was an accident, and it was only one,” she said with a snap.
Michelle peered around Todd’s shoulder and shouted, “Just one! Tris Jenson, of all people! Who do you—”
“Michelle, please.” Irritated, Todd turned back to me, glowering. After a second, he slid his gaze to the snotty junior assistant. “Nicki, why don’t you work with me today?”
As she sashayed away, Michelle and I exchanged a look of dismay. She may not have liked it when I was allowed to go to Galveston instead of her, but she knew it was Nicki who was the problem in the office, not me. However, Todd seemed oblivious, angry with me instead. My stomach plummeted. Was this really going to somehow turn against me? So unfair.
Todd pointed a long, bony finger in my direction. “You. I want to talk to you.”
Michelle hovered at the desk, tense with worry. “Todd, I’m not sure you realize—”
He waved her off. “Go on.”
I sat, tugging on my earring nervously but also in frustration. Why am I being singled out here?
Todd crossed his arms, wrinkling his suit jacket, and lowered his gray eyebrows. “So much drama. We are supposed to be helping Frank, be the quiet machine that keeps him in check. You’re usually very good at smoothing the path, Paris. Yes, I do realize you did your best in Texas, and you did it because I asked you to. And maybe I was too hard on you, but I’d expected so much more,” he said. “Now, I need to know, are you still on board? Still part of the machine?”
I sighed. “I wasn’t trying to cause drama with Frank or with Nicki.”
“But it could have been handled better, no?”
I suppressed my instinct to argue. I could sense there was truth to his words. I just wasn’t willing to let go of my outrage yet. I no longer trusted the older man in front of me, not since he’d revealed his priorities. He certainly didn’t have my back.
“Nicki deserves to be fired,” I said. “Her attitude is terrible, but the fact that she put our relationship with Ms. Jenson in jeopardy—”
“I will handle this, Paris. Just stay away from Nicki for now.” He straightened his tie, preparing to go. “Like I said, I expect better from you. Get it together.”
I need this job. I need this job, I repeated to myself. I envisioned my father telling stupid dad jokes to the other homeless people.
I was trying my hardest to appease everyone and yet I was alone. What could I do but try harder?
I smiled with my teeth showing. “I will do better.”
“I want to have faith in you, Paris. The investors’ meeting is in one week. The report needs to be finished. I will finalize it, no need to bother Frank.”
“I need more information—”
“Send me what you have put together, and what you need. I need this to get done right. We don’t have room for screwups right now.”
Screwups. He’d said the last part slowly, laced with meaning.
So unfair, I thought again. My sad little mantra.
Chapter 27
An hour later, Gina called. “I’ll stay the night with Lucia tonight,” she said, “but I’d really like to go home and take a power nap and a shower. Are you cool with that?”
“Of course. I take it that means Lucia and the baby are not stable? Have the doctors said anything more?”
Her voice dropped so low, I could barely hear her. “The same. The doctors are freaking me out, all stern and shit.” Then her voice returned to normal, with a forced, chipper tone. “Alrighty, see you soon.”
The Uber from PRCM to Mount Sinai didn’t take long. Definitely not long enough for me to get over a newfound hatred for Todd. Or to find my dad. Sitting in the back seat of a Corolla, slugging through traffic with a driver fresh from Ukraine and its lack of driving rules, I finally broke down and called Darien. I almost hung up when he answered.
“Salâm,” he said.
His voice did not bring the pain it had a few months ago. “Darien, it’s Paris.”
“I thought we weren’t talking.” He sniffed. “You’ve not been very nice to me.”
What, are we twelve? “Have you heard anything about my dad? Would you mind asking your mom if she knows where he is? He won’t answer my calls and I’m worried.”
“Oh.”
“What do you mean, oh?”
“Well, I know he sold the business and he got a cra
ppy return. My mom told me they were foreclosing on the house.”
“I had heard that much,” I said. “I don’t know if he’s living on the street or what. Did he get a job?”
“Really, I don’t know. But I wouldn’t think the foreclosure has gone through yet. That usually takes a little time.” Then there was crackling, and I could hear him speaking in the distance to a woman with a babyish voice. She didn’t sound happy.
“Look,” he said to me after a minute, “I’ll ask Mother to check up on him, see what she says. But I have to go for now.”
“Merci,” I said, thanking him as he hung up, grateful he was willing to be a decent human being. Hopefully he was right, that Dad wasn’t on the street just yet.
I need to focus on Lucia, just for now, I thought as we rolled up to the hospital entrance.
The halls were wide and clean but the smell of antiseptic was layered with the stink of sickness, making me want to throw up. I’d been running around like a chicken with my head cut off, bombarded with stress, and the smells and the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead didn’t help.
When I reached Lucia’s room, Gina was not there. Instead, an older man and woman dressed conservatively in dark colors and heavy wool were at Lucia’s bedside. More accurately, the woman was bowing over Lucia, a rosary dangling from between her pressed palms, reciting what I could only imagine was a prayer, in Italian. A very loud and long prayer, punctuated by rhythmic beeps from the medical equipment. The man stood stiffly at the foot of the bed, his back to me, gripping the metal railing. Lucia, small and childlike, propped up on pillows, noticed me and shook her head slightly. I backed out, shaping a heart symbol with my fingers for her. She twitched her lips, wearily, a ghost of a smile, then turned her gaze back to the chanting woman.
I settled my weight into one of the green, overstuffed chairs in the closest waiting room, glad to rest my tired body. I had to fight to keep my eyes open. Checking my phone, I found that Gina had texted me, to warn me Lucia’s parents were there—the Jersey girl hadn’t been able to take the haranguing and prayers, so now she was at her apartment, promising to be back in a couple of hours. Good luck with the nuts, she texted. They are in exorcism mode.