She was a short woman, whose lifelong plumpness had now spread into borderline obesity. Her fashion sense was non-existent, evidenced by the out-of-date, ill-fitting burgundy suit that clashed badly with a light blue blouse. She had short, frizzy hair dyed an odd shade of red that was closer to purple. Barbara didn’t bother with makeup, except for an occasional slash of lipstick, and the only jewelry she ever wore was a plain, masculine looking watch.
Years of being both a heavy smoker and drinker had taken their toll on her features, leaving her skin saggy and wrinkled, her teeth yellowed, her voice raspy with a perennial smoker’s cough. She was also mean as a snake, insulted everyone in the office – including the managers – and went through assistants almost as quickly as she did a carton of cigarettes.
But, as Angela had discovered during the four months she’d worked for the so-called She-Wolf of Wall Street, Barbara also had possibly the most brilliant financial mind she’d ever been exposed to. And in between being screamed at and having insults hurled her way constantly, she had also learned more in the past months about stocks and financial planning and market trends than she had during her four years at Stanford.
Barbara glared as Angela took a seat. “You look like crap this morning, missy. Got another hangover? And don’t try bullshitting me. I’ve been hungover way too many times not to recognize the signs.”
Angela shrugged. “Not exactly hungover, no. Just a bad night is all. What’s up?”
Barbara chuckled, though with her hacking smoker’s cough it sounded more like a witch’s cackle. “Getting right to the point, are you? Or are you just avoiding the question? Doesn’t matter, I’ve always appreciated the fact that you never try to waste my time with worthless chitchat. So here it is, missy. I have never even considered doing something like this in my career but I realize I’m not getting any younger. I need a partner, Angela, and you’re the only person I’ve ever even thought about asking. So what do you think?”
Angela seldom showed emotion these days, her face a permanent, carefully controlled mask of unsmiling indifference. But the news her boss had just shared was more than enough to get a reaction out of her.
“You’re really serious?” asked Angela haltingly. “I mean, the way you’re always yelling at me or telling me I’m stupid and incompetent -”
Barbara waved a hand impatiently. “Jesus, I talk to everyone that way. Always have. And unfortunately most people I’ve had the misfortune to work with in this industry have been stupid and incompetent. You at least have potential, someone I think I can actually work with. Besides, you’ve never once tried to answer me back no matter how awful I was to you. Or worse – cried.”
Angela looked down at the floor, her hands clasped quietly in her lap. “I don’t cry. At least, not any longer.”
“Got all that out of your system when that bastard Manning dumped you, huh?” asked Barbara with her usual candor. “I’m glad to hear you don’t cry anymore over that worthless piece of shit. It’s bad enough he turned you into some sort of zombie woman. I’d hate to think you were wasting even one more minute of your life on him.”
Angela had been startled when her boss had confronted her a couple of months after she’d begun working here. Barbara had grown increasingly frustrated when, no matter how loudly she yelled, or how nasty the insults she flung became, that none of it seemed to phase Angela even a little bit. She did her work like a robot, never smiling or showing any sort of reaction, and definitely never crying. Barbara’s current admin assistant – a woman in her late forties named Ginger – had marveled at Angela’s ability to take the verbal abuse.
“I swear there are some days I want to wring the evil old bitch’s neck,” Ginger had confessed. “They warned me about her when I transferred here from Salt Lake City, but I never expected it to be this bad. And let me tell you, I worked for some real assholes in my old office. But she makes them look like a bunch of puppies. You must have to recite the Serenity Prayer like ten times an hour in order to put up with everything she dishes out.”
No one really understood just how frozen Angela was inside these days. When she’d made the decision to leave Jessup Prior, she’d ruthlessly shut down her emotions at the same time. It wasn’t so much about achieving a state of serenity or even calmness as it was about simply not allowing herself to feel anything. She’d found it was much easier to get through each day that way, and she’d become an expert in a very short period of time at not caring about anything.
But Barbara’s curiosity had been piqued about this young, rather waifish looking girl who never smiled, never got upset, never seemed to change expression, and she’d called Angela into her office for an extremely rare personal chat. Barbara had never allowed herself to become friendly with her staff, fearing that to do so might actually make her seem human. And she’d worked too damned hard over the years to cultivate a reputation as a ballsy, cold-hearted bitch to ease up in her old age.
With a rapid-fire series of questions, Barbara had finally managed to pry the truth out of her new associate – that the reason for Angela’s complete lack of emotion was because of a man.
Barbara had given a “humph” of disdain at this revelation. “Figures,” she’d said with mild disgust. “Bunch of bastards, every single one of them. But I’m surprised that someone as tough and smart as you are would let a man fuck her over so badly. I know some of the guys at your old stomping grounds. You don’t spend almost forty years in this business without getting to know your competition. So who was it?”
When Angela hadn’t replied, Barbara had begun to toss out names of the dozen or so male brokers she knew at Jessup Prior. And when Angela’s spine had stiffened at the mere mention of Nick’s name, Barbara had known instantly that she’d struck pay dirt.
“Nick Manning, huh?” Barbara had shaken her head in bemusement. “What were you thinking of, missy? He’s a shark, that one, and you must have been awfully easy prey for someone like him. And he’s an even bigger dickwad than I thought if he messed you up this badly. How long were you together – couple of months?”
Angela had given a brief shake of her head. “Almost a year, actually.”
Barbara’s small, deep set eyes had bugged out as much as was physically possible. “Are you shitting me? From what I’ve heard Manning’s the ultimate love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of guy. You must have a magic snatch or something to have kept him interested that long.”
The stark pallor of Angela’s complexion had flushed a bright shade of pink at her boss’s extremely frank way of speaking. “Uh, actually, if you don’t mind, I’d really rather not talk about him.”
Barbara had shrugged. “Fine with me. I’ve never been one for girly gossip, as you’ve probably guessed by now. Just answer me one question, though – is Manning the reason you gave up everything at Jessup Prior to come here?”
Angela had given a brief, curt nod. “Yes. That’s why I left. I – well, couldn’t handle knowing he was in the same building. I was afraid that one day I wasn’t going to be able to stop myself from barging into his office and groveling at his feet to take me back.”
Barbara had made a disgusted sound. “You’re an even bigger idiot than I first thought, then. To sacrifice a year’s hard work for a man? All right, you can take you bony ass back to your desk now, I’ve got clients to call. But a word of advice, missy – don’t ever, ever let a man control you like that again. Men always look out for their own interests first, so don’t forget that.”
Now, Angela gave a shake of her head. “No, you were right, what you told me a couple of months back. Men are out for themselves, and I’m not about to let one ruin my life ever again. Especially not – Nick.”
His name was difficult for her to speak out loud, and she hadn’t done so in a long time. But with each day that passed she thought about him a little less often, ached for him a teeny bit less; and what she’d told Barbara was entirely true – she hadn’t shed one more tear for him, didn’t know if she would e
ver be able to feel enough to cry over anything again.
“Good. Glad to hear it,” replied Barbara firmly. “Because if you agree to the terms of this partnership – and goddamn, girl, you’d have to be a half-wit not to – then you’re going to work harder than you ever have in your life. There won’t be time for you to weep and wail over a man who kicked you to the curb like last week’s recycling.”
Angela listened intently as her boss laid out the relatively simple terms of the proposed partnership. A fifteen percent cut the first year, twenty five by the second, and then increasing in gradual increments over the next few years.
“By then I’ll have either retired or dropped dead,” Barbara stated dispassionately. “I’ve already got emphysema, you know, not to mention high blood pressure, clogged arteries, and diabetes. My doctors are constantly nagging me to lose weight, stop smoking, start exercising. But fuck them all – I’ve worked too hard to live like some monk eating brown rice and broccoli all the time. No one’s going to tell me how to live my life, I don’t care how many degrees they have. So, what do you say, missy?”
“I say yes,” agreed Angela impulsively. “You’re absolutely right – I’d have to be a moron to refuse. Even aside from the percentage, just the opportunity to learn from you is enough to help me decide.”
Barbara gave a hoot of laughter. “Oh, honey, that’s awful pretty but you don’t have to flatter me. I’m already impressed by your smarts and how tough you are. Anyone that can take the crap I’ve offloaded on you these past few months is worthy of being my partner. Let’s go tell McReynolds, shall we? He’ll shit his pants, but he almost always does that anyway when he sees me coming.”
***
If Angela had thought she’d worked hard during her year at Jessup Prior, she quickly realized how wrong she’d been. And while she’d certainly had a staggering workload during the months she’d spent as Barbara’s associate, it was nothing compared to what the older woman expected of an actual partner.
But Angela never complained and certainly never regretted her decision. Becoming Barbara’s partner had been a stellar career move – the opportunity to be mentored by one of the most brilliant financial minds on the West Coast a once in a lifetime break. She was pleasantly surprised at just how much responsibility Barbara had delegated to her, and how she’d begun to meet and work with clients right from the start. And while Barbara continued to work insanely long hours herself, it seemed to Angela that her boss was at least a little less stressed and didn’t fly off the handle quite so often.
She had also discovered that Barbara had both a wicked sense of humor and a rather odd maternal streak. In her own, gruff, tough love manner, Barbara took more interest in Angela’s life and wellbeing than Rita ever had. Barbara nagged at her constantly to eat something, made tactless comments about how skinny she was, and advised her not to wind up a bitter, dried up old maid the way she had.
“I got married to my job thirty years ago,” admitted Barbara. “But you’re just a kid, so take my advice – work hard now, be a success and make a bunch of money, but don’t wind up alone. And if you do get married one day, remember two things – get a prenup and make damned sure you keep your money in a separate account. Don’t ever give a man control over you ever again, and especially not over your money.”
Predictably, the news of Barbara’s new partnership with Angela had sent shockwaves reverberating through the office. Any number of the brokers had come up to Angela, most offering congratulations, others commiseration, but all of them had given off vibes of professional jealousy. Over the decades that Barbara had been a fixture in the office, many aspiring young brokers had been brave enough to approach her with the idea of taking on a partner, only to be banished from ever setting foot in her office again. Even older, more established brokers had proposed the idea of a partnership to her, largely to give their sagging careers a much needed boost. She’d sent every one of them away with their tails tucked between their legs as well.
Angela’s income also reaped the benefits of her new partnership, enough that she was able to buy a new car and move to a bigger apartment. It was a flat, actually, located in trendy Lower Pacific Heights, and boasted a separate bedroom and a real kitchen. Not that she actually cooked or even ate a real meal these days, but it was nice to have so much space after her cramped studio apartment.
The flat was somewhat sparsely furnished, since she’d only had a few pieces in her old place, and it was rare for her to have either the time or the inclination to go shopping. Lauren had forced her to buy a futon so that she’d have a place to crash when she was in town, and Julia, who was an interior designer, had promised to go furniture shopping with her the next time she came out from New York for a visit.
Her relationship with her family was as strained and distant as ever, though she didn’t seem to care as much these days, an unexpected benefit that came with closing off her emotions. She still called her mother dutifully each Saturday, attended all the important family functions, but merely went through the motions each time. She said little when she was with them, kept to herself as much as possible, and left for home as soon as she was able. If Lauren was at home, she would drive up from Big Sur to spend the night at her parents’ house so that she could spend a little time with Angela.
And when Deanna had exclaimed in alarm about how skinny her younger sister had become, Angela made sure to pile on extra layers each time she visited her family in order to disguise her extreme weight loss. The ten pounds she’d lost during the first few weeks after Nick had broken things off had rather quickly become twenty, and was now approaching thirty. She’d had to use some of her increased earnings to buy several new suits, everything in a size zero, and even then she’d had to have the waistbands taken in a few inches. She ate the bare minimum of calories needed to subsist, and usually had to force food down.
But despite what everyone who looked at her must certainly think, Angela wasn’t anorexic or bulimic. She didn’t intentionally starve herself, didn’t think she was overweight. She knew very well that she was too thin, didn’t think she looked at all attractive this way, and realized her lack of appetite was both dangerous and unhealthy. She didn’t eat because she simply didn’t care, because food was unimportant, and she couldn’t summon up enough effort most days to remember to eat.
She’d also upped her running miles significantly, especially on the weekends when she didn’t have work to fill in the empty hours. On a dare from Lauren, she had entered a half marathon race the previous month and had enjoyed it enough to set her sights on running a full marathon in a few months’ time. Angela quickly discovered that running for fifteen or twenty miles helped her get into a zone where she could easily block out anything besides her workout. She’d pop her headphones in, crank up the hard rock mix on her iPod, and then it was just her and the road or the trail. She ignored the other runners, walkers, and cyclists around her, just as she shunned most people these days. She had zero desire to run with someone else, and was an admitted loner.
And dating was definitely off the table. Even all these months after things had disintegrated with Nick, the very thought of going out with someone else – much less sleeping with them – made her shudder in revulsion. The wounds he’d inflicted on her were still raw and oozing, and there was no possible way she was going to willingly let herself be hurt again. Nick had damaged something deep inside of her, had made her wary and unable to trust or open up to anyone.
And then, of course, there was the stark realization that any other man would forever pale in comparison to Nick. How could she ever be happy or satisfied with someone else when Nick had been so – so much? He’d had everything a woman could possibly want in a man – fantastic looks, an incredible body, wealth, power, intelligence, success, sophistication, an often wicked sense of humor. And she knew that there would never be anyone to compare to his mind-boggling sexual prowess. He was a God, incomparable, one of a kind. He’d ruined her, spoiled her, for othe
r men, and she was destined to spend the rest of her life knowing she would never come close to what she’d had with him ever again.
It was odd, really, that everyone seemed to have assumed she’d moved on, had put her eleven months and five days with Nick behind her. Her family, Lauren, Barbara – they all thought that because she worked so many hours, ran so many miles, that she must simply fall into an exhausted slumber each night, too worn out to even think. No one knew that it was the nights that were the worst – that the nights were when the memories would flood in and threaten to drown her each time. And because she’d vowed to never cry over a man again, that was when she reached for the bottle of vodka or tequila and drank until the numbness began to seep back in.
But there were nights when no amount of alcohol could ease her pain, and those were the times she was forced to do the unthinkable – feel.
***
Thirteen Months Later
Angela was vaguely surprised at how many people were in attendance today, the chapel at the cemetery nearly full, though mostly with co-workers and clients. Barbara hadn’t had much of a family, just a nephew she hadn’t seen in years and a couple of distant cousins. It made Angela sad to realize that she’d likely been closer to her boss than almost anyone else here today.
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