by Rock, Vivie
I climbed the stage with Jen and Patrick, with our arms linked, in a show of mock unity. Then, something weird happened. Jen looked at me with this kind of drunken intensity. She looked, well she looked evil, her eyes flashing murder at me. Then we were there, at the mic. Jen grabbed it from the hand of the chairman and tapped it twice.
‘Is this thing working?’ she said, forcing a weird laugh out of her mouth. ‘I guess so! Well I just want to say thank you to Patrick and to Rose for all of their hard work this year. I’m sure they won’t mind me saying just how difficult it is to work with two people who are so incompetent. Just kidding!’ she said. There were titters of laughter around the room, but this strange intensity that she was leaking seemed to be making people feel very uneasy.
‘No, seriously, I would just like to say though,’ she said, ‘what a breath of fresh air it has been to have Rose on the team. She’s so naive and inexperienced that it makes me and Patrick seem like geniuses.’
I was starting to feel really uncomfortable. Fuck fuck fuck, I couldn’t believe that Jen was talking about me like this. What was her problem?
‘And,’ she continued, ‘we’re really looking forward still to her first sale. We’re all sure it’s going to be a big one.’
What the fuck? That liar! I’d already made sales! I wanted to scream.
Then, she said: ‘Anyway, I heard that she’s not going to pass her probationary period, so we won’t have to put up with her for much longer.’
I didn’t know what to do. I looked around, my face starting to prickle with the hot terror of shame. I felt anger and shame bubbling up inside me. Then, feeling like a child, a pathetic child, I started to cry. As I tried desperately not to make any noise, and with tears stinging my cheeks, I walked off the stage. The room was quiet.
As I walked back to my table, I saw him, looking right at me. Redmond Cooper. His eyes were hard slits, and he was scowling. He looked furious.
CHAPTER FOUR
Letting Off Steam
Why on earth would you hold an awards ceremony on a weeknight? A Wednesday night, at that!
I wasn’t in a fit state to move the next morning, let alone go to work. I didn’t even think I’d had that much to drink… A couple of glasses of wine over the dinner, then a champagne for the toast. I only had a glass or two of champagne after that, too… It seemed like the polite thing to do. Paul, the fat man who ran Newsbiz, kept refilling our glasses and literally patting us on the back – so hard I almost spat out my drink. I swore there’d be a red handprint on my back this morning. But when I got up to pee, I checked myself in the bathroom mirror, and there was nothing there.
I surveyed myself in the mirror for any other damage last night had done. My pale green eyes had dark rings under them, exhausted from only four hours’ sleep. My skin looked a shade lighter, which made my freckles stand out even more than usual, and my brown hair, which I’d spent an hour curling last night, hung down in greasy ropes around my shoulders.
I only had twenty minutes to get ready for work, but I was going to need a shower. Fast. There was no way I could go in like this.
The sound of the shower tap turning on was a relief to my hungover ears. I stood shivering in my en-suite, waiting for the water to get hot. Thank goodness I had my own bathroom at my parents’ house. That was something. At least a little privacy on that front. I was totally embarrassed last night though, to have had my dad pick me up at the end of the night. My dad! Twenty-one years old, and my dad acts as my chauffeur. I couldn’t wait to save up enough money to get a place of my own. Unfortunately, I’d done the sums, and with the job I had now, it’d be a year and a half before I could pay off my overdraft and save up enough for a deposit. And that was just to rent somewhere. Ah well, for now, it was the small mercies. And right now, I was glad of my own shower.
The bathroom mirror began to steam up, a thick mist forming over my tired reflection, and I climbed into the shower, wincing at first at the heat, a little hotter than I was expecting. It stung my chest where it pelted down on me, and for a moment I almost enjoyed the sensation, but soon, I began to feel like it might take off a layer of my overly sensitive skin, so I switched down the temperature and set about cleaning off the remnants of last night.
It felt good to get rid of the debris of the awards ceremony. As I scrubbed off each layer of grime, memories from last night flooded back to me. The image of my dad, waving me over in the parking lot at two a.m. Sitting in the back seat of the car, in the position I’d always sat in since I was a child, on the left-hand side, behind the driver’s seat. As I looked out of the window, watching the last of the ceremony’s revellers, standing out on the sidewalk, warm and drunk and laughing, I remember catching the eyes of the man who’d dominated my thoughts that night: Redmond Cooper. He stepped away from the group he was with, watching my dad’s car drive away, and, feeling his eyes on me, I instinctively put my hand up to my mouth, swallowing away my embarrassment, frustrated with myself for crying onstage and making him look so furious.
And I remembered Jan too. How drunk she’d been when we all got off stage. That she’d told me my predecessor, Ryan, had been much more fun – that they’d been drinking buddies, that Ryan had understood her, that he’d been good at his job, too good, and that’s why he’d left. He’d gone on to better things, leaving Jen in this old place, with an Irish idiot (Patrick had gritted his teeth) and a young, Bambi-eyed pea-brain (I’d gritted my teeth). Shortly after that, Jan threw up on her dress and got a cab home, and Patrick and I had spent the rest of the night with Paul, having the obligatory pat on the back Paul seemed so keen on giving my back in particular.
As the hot water danced over my skin, I felt a little color return to my cheeks again. The scent of jasmine in my shower gel cheered me up, and I began to feel a bit perkier. Maybe Christina, our boss, would go easy on us after our success last night. And no doubt whatever state I was in, Patrick would be just as bad, and Jen would be off the scale. At least going in today would be a chance to clear the air with Jen. I was sure she’d just said what she said because she was drunk. I hoped so, anyway. I was terrified of another confrontation. If I cried again, I’d…
Even thinking about crying made me feel like I was about to set off again. Ridiculous! It had to be the hangover. I’d eat a couple of slices of toast. That’d sort me out. I had to stop being so weak. It’s like my dad always told me: be strong to get along.
I rubbed the shower gel over myself a little harder, massaging my breasts, going under my armpits, running the soap between my legs. Be strong to get along, I thought, as I vowed to stop worrying about having upset Jen and Mr. Cooper. Be strong to get along. I slid my fingers right up close against my pubis, stroking the soft skin and hairs on my delicate cleft, thinking about that tall, furious man, wondering how much he hated me after last night’s scene. I bet he thinks I’m pathetic. I let my soft fingertips circle my clitoris. A total embarrassment. A gasp escaped my lips.
I bet Redmond Cooper thinks I’m completely worthless.
I gasped again.
CHAPTER FIVE
Miss Goody Two-Shoes
I’d tried to be quick, but I still ended up arriving at the office ten minutes late. Luckily I wasn’t the only one. I saw Patrick in the parking lot, only just heading in as well. Oh man, he looked rough. My shower had really perked me up. I think I must have looked quite spritely, in comparison.
‘Rose,’ he said to me, as we walked in through the double-doors together, ‘I feel like feckin’ death.’
I shot him a sympathetic smile. ‘Me too,’ I said.
‘Let’s stop here for a coffee,’ he said, motioning at the coffee stand at reception.
‘But we’re already late…’ I said, looking anxiously at my watch.
Patrick stopped walking. ‘You’re worried about breaking the rules or something?’ He was grinning ear to ear. ‘Scared of Christina? She’s a pussy cat. I promise. She might not look it, but…’
; ‘I just don’t want to get in trouble,’ I said coyly. ‘I’m still on my probationary period, and I don’t want to mess up.’
Patrick smiled and shrugged. ‘Okay, Miss Goody Two-Shoes. We’ll go up to the office then. But I’m taking a break in half an hour to get coffee. I’ll get you one then. Americano, with three sugars to shake off the hangover. Deal?’
I nodded and we headed to the elevator.
Patrick pressed the button to go up, and then ran his fingers through his thick, blond hair. ‘Jesus, I didn’t even have time to take a shower,’ he said, yawning.
I thought about my own shower, and blushed.
The elevator doors pinged and Patrick walked in, me following him. I caught sight of myself in the mirror, under the harsh lights of the elevator, thinking how much more forgiving my own bathroom mirror had been. I didn’t look my best, that’s for sure. And I looked like I’d lost weight recently. I was only slight to begin with. Now I was losing the meat off my bones. It wasn’t good. I’d have a big lunch later. Maybe half a pizza, like Patrick sometimes had at his desk. That’d fatten me up.
The elevator doors closed, and we began our ascent.
‘Look, about last night…’ said Patrick. ‘I’m sorry about Jen. She gets jealous easily.’
I screwed up my face, not understanding what he was getting about, why Jen would be jealous of me.
‘You know,’ Patrick said, running his eyes over me. ‘You’re young, intelligent, pretty…’
Oh god. Patrick wasn’t flirting with me, was he?
‘But Jen is gorgeous!’ I blurted. ‘And she’s good at her job.’
Patrick pursed his lips, amused. ‘You’re not so bad yourself, you know,’ he said. ‘At the job, that is.’
At that moment, the elevator doors pinged, and we got out.
Christina stepped out of her office the moment she saw us. ‘Hey, youse two!’ she shouted, her gruff Scots accent sounding stronger than ever. ‘Get your arses over here. Right noo.’
I braced myself, took a deep breath, and we walked over.
‘I’m so sorry, Christina,’ I began. ‘I completely lost track of time and I–‘
‘Well fucking done,’ Christina said, grabbing one of us under each of her arms. ‘I’m proud of youse.’
My heart fluttered in my chest. So we weren’t getting a telling off. It was a congratulations!
‘Cheers, Christina,’ said Patrick. ‘It’s a shame you couldn’t make it.’
‘Aye, I know,’ she said, still grabbing on to us, hard. ‘But family comes first, you know, and my son’s birthday tea was also a great success. Ice cream. Burgers. Cleaning up puke ’til eleven p.m. The full works. Oh, the glamor.’ She finally let go of us, and then gave us a push towards our office. ‘No slacking today though, eh kids?’ she called, as we began walking down the corridor, past the room of journalists, some of whom had already been up for hours. ‘There’s money to be made.’
Patrick slumped immediately at his desk, which was closest to the door, and I walked over to mine, which was partially hidden behind a pot plant. It was only when I sat down that I realized. Jen wasn’t in the office.
‘Patrick,’ I said, ‘do you think Jen’s sick?’
Patrick looked at Jen’s empty desk and thought about this for a few moments. ‘Ach, she can take her drink,’ he said. ‘She’ll be in soon, like a bear with a sore head.’
I started up my computer, feeling a little relieved if I’m honest, that I didn’t have to face Jen just yet. And that’s when Christina appeared at the door, with a ghostly complexion and wide eyes. ‘Rose,’ she said. ‘Come to my office, please.’ I’d never seen her look more serious.
CHAPTER SIX
White Bear Problem
‘Take a seat, Rose,’ Christina said, pointing to the small wooden chair in front of her desk.
I hadn’t been into Christina’s office before. She had a reputation for holding all her meetings in the pub, over cocktails, which particularly pleased Jen, it had to be said.
The office was small, about half the size of the room that I worked in, and Christina had obviously occupied the space for a long time. It was crammed full of the things she’d accomplished over the last ten years as the boss. The walls were full of certificates, each one in a plastic, faux-gold frame, most of them hanging slightly lopsided, the ink fading on them a little and the paper bleached, from facing the sun. There was a display cabinet of small, dusty-looking trophies at the back of the room, and Christina’s desk was cluttered with family portraits, novelty paperweights, piles of dog-eared paper, and coffee stains. It smelt like she’d been smoking in here all morning. I thought smoking was banned in the building…?
She walked over to the window, looking out at the city. The sunlight showed up the dust in the room – I could see it floating around her body, like she was standing in mist. I surmized that I must be surrounded by the same cloud of dust. I tried not to think about the tiny particles of dead skin, paper fibers, animal hairs and plant pollen that we were breathing in together. Obviously, trying not to think about it made me think about it. It’s known as the White Bear Problem, or ironic process theory. Deliberate attempts to suppress certain thoughts make you much more likely to think about them. It’s what made dieting so tricky for some people, I guessed, and it explained why I always got so anxious and nervous in social situations. Don’t worry, I always told myself. And then I worried like crazy.
Right now, I was pretty damn worried. Christina was uncharacteristically quiet, particularly after that hugging display that had taken place in the corridor just ten minutes ago. What had happened between then and now for her to turn so pale, to look so angry? Had she heard about my tears last night? What about Jen? Shouldn’t she be angry at Jen instead? I felt my legs begin to tremble, a reflex action that always occurred in me when I sensed a confrontation coming.
Eventually, Christina turned around to face me. ‘You’ve been working here for three weeks, Rose,’ she began.
Oh god, she’s not going to fire me, is she? She’s not allowed to fire me, is she? Can you be fired for crying? Did I make the company look bad? Has Jen lied again and got me into trouble? My mind was racing.
‘Have you enjoyed your little stay with us, Rose?’ she asked. Something about the way she’d asked that seemed threatening.
‘Yes, thank you,’ I said. ‘It’s been a great opportunity–’
‘Look, let’s cut to the chase,’ she said, pulling a cigarette out of her jacket pocket, and sticking it in her mouth. She lit the cigarette, took a long breath in, and blew smoke into the center of the room, towards me. I tried not to cough. ‘I heard about last night, Rose. Oh, I heard about it alright. News travels fast.’ She took a moment to laugh at her own joke. ‘News… travels fast,’ she muttered again, pleased with herself, then she frowned and stared at me. ‘Now I don’t know why, but Global Media seem to have taken an interest in the little altercation that took place onstage last night.’
‘Global Media? What do they have to do with us?’ My voice shook as I spoke.
‘Absolutely fuck all,’ snapped Christina. ‘And that’s the problem. They want to talk to you.’
I blinked away the cigarette smoke in my tired eyes, trying with all my might not to start crying again. ‘Why?’ I asked. ‘Talk to me about what?’
Christina looked at me with a steady gaze. Ignoring my question, she said: ‘They want to see you tomorrow morning, nine a.m.’
Tomorrow?
‘Now I don’t know what kind of schmoozing you were getting up to last night, what you said to people after a few drinks… Perhaps you were upset with Jen after she made her little speech… But whatever it is you’ve said – or done – their ears are pricking right up, let me tell you.’
‘Christina, I didn’t say a word to anyone, I promise–’
‘You’re gonna go and meet them tomorrow, Rose. Just like they ask. But if they’re using you to find out our company secrets, there’ll be hell to pay.
D’ye hear?’ She took a step closer to me, and blew smoke in my face.
I had no choice but to nod, and to try telling myself not to worry…
CHAPTER SEVEN
Retail Therapy
When I got back to my desk, Jen still wasn’t there.
‘You alright?’ Patrick asked. ‘Looks like that hangover’s kicking in now. Here you go.’ He handed me an Americano. ‘I couldn’t wait half an hour. Three sugars. Just like I promised. That’ll sort you out.’
I took the coffee appreciatively and crumpled into my desk chair, resting my head on the desk.
‘So,’ Patrick said, much perkier, sipping his coffee. ‘What was that about?’
I lifted my head up off the desk. A post-it-note I’d written yesterday, reminding me to tidy my desk today, was now stuck to my forehead. ‘I have to go to Global Media,’ I said, peeling off the note, feeling the sticky residue smeared across my forehead. ‘They want to see me tomorrow.’
‘Shit!’ said Patrick, almost spitting out his coffee. ‘Global? You serious? What for?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Christina didn’t know either. But she seems pretty pissed at me. She thinks I was telling them “company secrets” last night. That I’m some kind of mole.’
Patrick laughed. ‘Jesus, Rose. Three weeks here, and look at all the controversy you’re causing.’ He must have seen me looking hurt at that point, because his voice softened. ‘Look. I was with you the whole time last night. I know you didn’t say anything you shouldn’t have done. Don’t worry about it. Christina will be fine. You’re one of the good ones, Rose. Never forget that.’