Fly, Butterfly

by Annicken R. Day

  I knew it was their hurt male egos talking. The majority of them had once, in one way or another, tried to pick me up or insinuated that they wouldn’t mind getting into those “lonely pants” after a few too many drinks at one of the dreadful social gatherings I had forced myself to attend.

  They had all, of course, been rejected. Not as mercilessly as I would have liked, but considering no one had tried to pick me up twice, I must have made myself pretty clear.

  THE THIRTY-SEVENTH FLOOR

  The thirty-seventh floor was like a different world—with big empty spaces, heavy brown furniture, wooden floors, and two massive brown leather sofas in the middle of the room.

  Every office was the size of ten of the cubicles on the thirty-sixth floor, the corner offices even bigger. The doors were always locked, and a red or green light outside signaled whether it was OK to knock or not.

  I took a seat in the waiting area that looked like a set from the TV show Mad Men. The décor was old-fashioned, heavy and dense, with an air of power, testosterone, entitlement, and greed.

  The receptionist, Agnes, fit perfectly into the picture. Dressed in a tight blouse that left little to the imagination, the size of her cleavage could easily hold ten pencils upright at any time. I was amazed that the chief financial officer, who apparently had a thing for big-breasted women, didn’t screw up the numbers more than he already did.

  Thanks to Ruth, I knew most of the things that happened on the executive floor.

  It fascinated me that the executives, who I am sure considered themselves of above-average intelligence, were stupid enough to think that their assistants kept their bosses’ shady affairs and dirty little secrets to themselves. The executive assistants were treated like dirt and expected to be dumb and loyal, but I knew that these women were neither.

  Every last Friday of the month the executive assistants met for “therapy night” at a local bar. Over pitchers of margaritas they complained about their horrible bosses and swapped stories, each more outrageous than the last. On the following Mondays, Ruth was always eager to share with me what she had learned about the politics, dysfunctions, power struggles, and secret lives of the executives.

  It was the highlight of the month.

  I knew about Agnes and the CFO, who apparently worked “overtime” quite a bit. One time, during a late-night teleconference call, someone had heard the CFO groan “Ohhhh yeeeessss!” in the middle of a discussion they were having about new accounting practices. “Our CFO sure loves his numbers,” one of his colleagues had commented dryly.

  Another story was about the chief marketing officer, who usually welcomed his new team members with a wrapped package of marketing books that he wanted them to read, all written in the early 1980s.

  One time, however, he gave a new team member the wrong package. He realized his mistake when the call girl he was seeing had phoned him and asked what he wanted her to do with all those books.

  As soon as he realized what happened, he rushed his assistant down to the marketing office to retrieve the package for the newly hired marketing assistant, but it was too late. She was already sitting at her desk, staring down in shock at a giant pink dildo.

  The mother of all stories, however, was the one about the executive VP of products known for his macho leadership style and sexist behavior. When he didn’t show up at work one day or answer any calls or text messages, his assistant Sasha became worried and called his wife, who was out of town. The wife got worried too and asked her to go check on her husband, saying that the doorman would give her the keys to their apartment.

  Inside their Park Avenue penthouse, Sasha found her boss on the floor—shouting and growling, feet and hands tied behind his back, wearing only a diaper and a pink tutu.

  “I was drugged! I’ve been robbed! It’s not what it looks like!” he screamed when he saw her.

  “Right,” Sasha thought to herself and hurried to the kitchen to look for a knife. As she loosened the tight rope around her boss’s ankles and wrists, her eyes fell on a note on the table.

  “This is what happens to cheap, lying sons of bitches. Get yourself another babysitter,” it said. Beside the note was his open wallet. Except for a few credit cards, it looked empty.

  As her boss quickly wrapped a blanket around his body, the tutu below giving him a funny shape, he simultaneously threatened and begged her to never tell anyone. She would be richly compensated with “shitloads of TechnoGuard shares,” he said.

  Sasha had managed to keep a serious face and told him that his secret was safe with her, then left the apartment for her boss to get dressed.

  Her silence didn’t last for long, though.

  On the next “therapy night” she completely spilled her guts by the time she had finished her second margarita. Fueled by the effects of the alcohol and the camaraderie with the other executive assistants, Sasha simply couldn’t contain herself anymore. Laughing so hard that she was barely able to speak, she gave a detailed description of what had happened, which ended with two of the other girls lying on the floor laughing hysterically and one of them peeing her pants.

  Ruth didn’t particularly enjoy the assistants’ get-togethers, but she still attended them, knowing the information shared one day might come in handy.

  For both of us.

  THE PRESENTATION

  At 9:10 a.m., Agnes told me that the executives were ready for me.

  The executive meeting room had floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park and a sizable wooden table that made the men around it look a lot smaller than they really were. I doubted they were aware of how ridiculous they looked, like little boys pretending to be men.

  As I entered the room, they were in deep conversation about some delayed product release and hardly noticed me.

  Sometimes I’d been tempted to imply what I knew about them, especially when they displayed their oversized egos, smug grins, and condescending attitudes while I was talking. But knowledge is power, whether it’s used or not. Knowing what I did about them gave me a psychological advantage the executives didn’t even know I had.

  After all, it’s very difficult to be intimidated by a man’s power plays when you know that the origin of his enormous ego is that he has small-penis issues or is compensating for a lack of motherly love.

  There were other stories I’d heard from Ruth that actually troubled me much more than their ridiculous sexual escapades—things like unethical business deals, filthy power plays, and illegal business practices. I often wondered whether my boss, Alistair Parker, knew about these stories too, or if he even was involved in them.

  A couple of times I had thought about telling him what I’d heard. If even half of it was true, it could seriously hurt the business. But I also knew that whistle-blowing rarely was a good career choice. To keep quiet and just do my job was probably a better strategy than trying to be the Mother Teresa of the company.

  Besides, this was business, a world full of gray zones, where the lines between right and wrong were often blurred, where truthfulness and honesty were hardly considered an advantage, and where the ones in power called the shots.

  Even if they got caught wearing pink tutus and diapers on occasion.

  I plugged my laptop into the projector and looked around the table, waiting for the men to quiet down. On the opposite side of the conference table was Mike Harrow, the chief technology officer. He was the joke of the engineering team, as he strolled around, wearing his ill-fitted suits and colorful ties among the T-shirt and sandal-wearing engineers.

  He had no idea what his team was doing and didn’t seem interested in finding out either. He was more than ready to take credit for their hard work, though. His lack of knowledge and huge ego were a dangerous combination. Some of the engineers had expressed concern that he would rather see the whole team fail than admit any of his own shortcomings—a fear that was proven right when he fired some of the most brilliant engineers because they had questioned his judgment.

  To
my right, the chief financial officer, Harry Johnson, was studying some papers in front of him. He was a dry-looking accountant type, whose mantra was “If it’s not in a spreadsheet, it doesn’t exist.” I couldn’t help thinking about those late-night conference calls that sounded anything but dry. No wonder he opposed the idea of installing videoconferencing in his office. For a moment I had to concentrate on my laptop to keep myself from laughing.

  Next to Harry was Brad Miller, the chief marketing officer—a bald, overweight sixty-something who defined marketing as putting an ad in the newspaper. He looked like a grandfather, but that hadn’t stopped him from suggesting that he and I should get away on a business trip together one day, wink-wink. He’s lucky I treated the executives with way more respect than they deserved.

  On my left was the chief executive officer, Alistair Parker. My boss was an intelligent and skillful corporate politician. He had slowly and carefully climbed the ranks at TechnoGuard until he’d become the CEO seven years ago, a few months before I’d joined the company. Always well dressed, well groomed, and handsome in a subdued, modest way, Alistair was one of the few men in the company who didn’t seem intimidated by me. He’d never flirted with me or thrown any sexist comments my way. He was also the one who ultimately would determine whether I would get a seat at the executive table one day.

  “Let’s get started,” Alistair said, and the men around the table quieted.

  My PowerPoint presentation showed last month’s sales numbers and explained how they had flattened out a bit, but that we still were reaching our targets. Corporations around the world were waking up to the fact that everything could be hacked, and with our well-established cybersecurity solutions, their fear was our gain.

  Most of the executives paid attention as I shared our prospects and new customer deals. Only Mike Harrow seemed to have better things to do—he constantly looked down at his phone.

  I spoke up a bit more. I wanted him to listen to what I was about to say.

  “After months of negotiations, we seem to be close to signing deals with a number of highly prestigious federal clients,” I said, then paused and leaned forward with my hands firmly on the table. This is what I had stayed up all night practicing for.

  “However, something has come to my attention that may jeopardize contracts somewhere in the neighborhood of $50 million next month.”

  I studied the men. The tension in the air was palpable.

  “I’ve been told by several people in R&D that there is a bug in the cybersecurity system we have installed with a number of our federal clients.”

  I looked around the room to be sure everyone had heard my message.

  “As you all know, this is an extremely serious matter. And needless to say, there is no way we can sign any new contracts until this has been resolved.” I paused briefly before I continued, “I know I don’t need to tell you the consequences this could have on our reputation, our sales numbers, and ultimately, our share price.”

  The last bit hit closest to home. All the executives around the table had indecently generous stock-option plans, so they would feel any change in share price directly in their wallet, which, I had come to realize, was the only thing they really cared about.

  Of course, Ruth had been the one to tell me first. A quick visit to the engineering team had confirmed the story. There was a bug in the system that no one knew how to fix. Apparently, Mike Harrow had fired the person who first addressed it, and who also—as it later turned out—was the only person who knew how to fix it.

  When I prepared for my presentation to the executive team, I had suspected I might be throwing a truth-bomb into the room. But it wasn’t until it detonated that I realized the size of it.

  Alistair narrowed his eyes as he turned his head and looked at Mike, who in a matter of seconds had started sweating intensely. By the streams of sweat running down his forehead, I gathered he had known, and that he had hidden the information from his boss.

  Mike desperately tried to avoid Alistair’s eyes.

  “Is this true, Mike?” Alistair asked.

  “I was going to … to … mention it,” Mike said, his eyes looking anywhere but at Alistair. He looked terrified, like a naughty boy caught with his pants down. It was almost painful to watch.

  “You were going to mention it?” Alistair sneered through clenched teeth. I had never seen Alistair Parker like that. He was fuming with anger. Everyone around the table looked terrified.

  Alistair turned toward me, his eyes cold.

  “That’s quite enough, Maya. You can leave now. You and I will talk later.”

  I swallowed hard and nodded, closing my laptop. As I left the meeting room, I threw a glance at the men around the table. How did you all get here? I wondered, and then closed the door behind me.

  On my way back to my office, I thought about the saying in the company—that TechnoGuard’s achievements were in spite of the executive team, not because of them. And the more I was exposed to these men, the more I had to agree.

  In a way I was glad to not be part of that group of arrogant, self-absorbed, executive fools. On the other hand, I couldn’t help thinking that if I’d been there, things might have turned out a bit differently.

  LISA

  My work life was pretty intense, but my social life was not much to write home about. Many friends had given up on me a long time ago. I guess there is an upper limit to how many times you can say no to invitations and not return someone’s calls or texts before you never hear from them again.

  It was different with Lisa, though. She and I had been friends since kindergarten. She was the sister I never had. Whenever I needed to escape corporate insanity for a few hours, Lisa was my go-to person.

  Lisa used to work in the corporate world herself, before she decided it was “soul-sucking and meaningless” and quit her job as VP of marketing for a big PR firm and went to India to train to become a yoga teacher instead. Even though we had chosen different paths, and would sometimes go without seeing each other for months, every time we met it was like no time had passed.

  Lisa now dedicated her life to helping stressed-out corporate executives and their victims by offering yoga and meditation classes along with nutritional advice. She loved telling people that I was her most hopeless case so far. She had not been able to get me into a yoga studio, do a single meditation class, or stop me from eating whatever I came across in my hectic life.

  For the past year, ever since I got the role of VP of sales, Lisa and I had a standing appointment the first Monday of the month. It was the evening of the executive meeting, and I needed the distraction—and the alcohol—to get whatever had happened out of my system.

  This Monday was no exception.

  For once, I arrived at Tony’s before her. Tony’s is an Italian joint with the best pizza in the neighborhood and the most generous glasses of wine. It was also only two blocks from my apartment, which was a big plus, considering how I always ended up having a bit too much to drink on those Mondays.

  “You’re like a one-day-a-month-alcoholic,” Lisa told me, seeing how I transformed into a calmer and more balanced person as soon as the alcohol took effect.

  “You could try yoga instead, you know,” she once tried, but the look on my face stopped her from ever suggesting that again. Besides, we agreed that it was really nice to have these monthly get-togethers. They were usually our only chance to meet. The rest of the month I worked my butt off, and Lisa was busy trying to get people like me to relax and embrace a healthier lifestyle.

  I had eaten a handful of black olives and was already half through my first glass of house red, a nice Valpolicella, when Lisa arrived. She stopped by the bar and said hello to Antonio, the owner, and ordered a glass for herself. I was relieved every time I saw Lisa drinking alcohol. I had nightmares about her insisting we should start having our monthly meetings at the local juice bar instead.

  As Lisa walked toward me, I could see how Antonio followed her with his eyes.
It was not hard to see that he had a total crush on her, but then again, who didn’t? Whenever she flashed her white smile or showed off some of her ridiculously fit yoga body, men started drooling.

  Lisa was not one for small talk. As soon as she gave me a hug and sat down, she put an olive into her mouth and asked, “How was the treatment?”

  She was referring to my appointment with her Swedish friend Gustav, who apparently was the best holistic body therapist in New York City.

  I had no idea what that even meant, but I agreed to see him, as Lisa said he would be able to help me with the neck and back pain I had been struggling with for the past seven years.

  “A total disaster, thank you very much,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  Lisa looked at me, surprised.

  “Why?”

  “Well, to begin with, he hardly examined me at all. He just asked me to lie down on a bench and breathe. I did what he said, but he kept on telling me to pull the air deeper into my stomach.”

  Lisa looked like she was hanging on to every word I said, so I continued.

  “He ended up diagnosing me with something he called ‘shallow breathing syndrome’ and told me that my back and neck pain probably comes from not getting enough oxygen into my blood cells and muscles.”

  Lisa nodded eagerly. “How interesting!” she exclaimed. “So, what did he suggest?”

  She seemed to be taking the whole thing a lot more seriously than I did.

  “Well, that’s the disaster,” I told her.

  Lisa looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “When I asked if he perhaps could prescribe me some oxygen pills, he just laughed. Apparently, he thought I was joking.”

  Lisa laughed out loud. “You are unbelievable, Maya Williams.”

  I shook my head and continued. “And then he scribbled something down on a paper and gave it to me.”

  I opened my wallet and showed Lisa the note: