The Glitch_A Novel

by Elisabeth Cohen

  I nodded. The human voice is very slow compared with my reading speed, but I like to make sure I haven’t missed anything, like the time I thought I was going to Building B for a meeting but then I realized the meeting was in Omaha. It was amusing but I fired that assistant.

  “So after the Conclave”—our daily high-altitude, top-of-the-trees strategy meeting—“you have your sit-down with the journalist, who I see you already met.” While Cass was looking away, Willow whispered, “Elyse called to remind you to stay on message—remember what happened last time! Also, you have a meeting about the Powerplex acquisition, and a one-on-one about the pop-up store concept. Also, Woody, the product engineer, wants to get on your schedule to talk about his ideas for ConchX.” I made a facial expression to mean 1) don’t talk about Conch’s next iteration in front of the reporter, and 2) I was unavailable to meet with Woody. Willow nodded and continued. “Jen from quality assurance is excited to chat with your daughter, so I’ll make sure they’re set up. Marketing has the new video loop ready. I redid your slide deck for this morning. Also, the SportConch team wants your go-ahead to move forward with the color palette and fabric they showed you.”

  “I saw that. I’m not willing to sign off on their selections just yet,” I said. “Tell them I want to reconvene on that. Any other critical items?”

  “Brad might stop by to chat before the board meeting tonight. And here’s a Dramamine for the car, so you can work.” I have her staple a Dramamine to the corner of my schedule if the day involves travel, and a tampon if I’m getting my period.

  I nodded. “Oh,” Willow said. “One more thing.” She glanced at Cass and gave me an uncertain look. “This woman called. Her name is Michelle. She says you owe her.” Willow looked confused but then she brightened. “She didn’t say what.”

  I looked over at Cass. She was a few feet away, watching one of the fish tanks. An electric eel swam in lazy loops. We have everything at Conch—Ping-Pong tables, free healthy snacks, strongly electric fish.

  I came closer to Willow. “Michelle?” I said quietly.

  Willow nodded.

  “Someone by that name called here, this morning?”

  “That’s right,” Willow said, a little too loudly, and I noticed Cass sliding open her narrow reporter’s notebook, fiddling with her phone.

  “That was a very common name in the late seventies,” I remarked brightly. “Let’s talk about it later.”

  I felt panic but then I got on top of my panic and stuffed it down, like closing the type of hard-shelled suitcase that was also very common in the late seventies. I couldn’t fall apart in front of the press. I led Cass over to my desk.

  When I got this job, my dad said, “So, Shell, you’ll have one of those big offices with a lot of mahogany and stuff?”

  I shook my head.

  “What about those leather chairs? Did you get one of those globes that sits on the floor?” He gave the air an imaginary whack-spin.

  “No, Dad!” I said, laughing. “It’s not like this is the eighteenth century or IBM or something.”

  I thought of this as Cass examined my desk, which is just like everyone else’s desk at Conch, and right out in the open, surrounded by other desks. They’re just tables, really. “Don’t you ever need privacy, for private conversations?” Cass asked.

  “Not at all,” I said. “I’m not a fan of privacy. I’m all about promoting its opposite: collaboration.” In our office, people sit within high-fiving distance of each other. Everyone can overhear everyone else’s phone conversations, even sensitive ones involving investors or other employees. Thus they gain valuable insight into our business challenges, which will give them a huge base of knowledge when they go on to found their own companies someday. The openness truly promotes teamwork, sharing, and virality. And the proof is that in winter everybody gets each other’s colds.

  My desk is covered with stacks of paper and folders, plus the bike helmet of the chief marketing officer, whose desk abuts mine (the bike helmet is sleek, Euro-style; the CMO is sleek, Euro-style too), old water bottles, a rat’s nest of phone chargers and cords, an open box of antioxidant energy bars, a plastic takeout container, some stray crumbs that Willow shoots out of the way periodically with an aerosol can when she thinks I can’t see her, and of course my monitor, laptop dock, and keyboard, which is where, I hope, some of the magic happens.

  Mine is a casual office. I thought about instituting a dress code, but Stefan, my CFO, persuaded me that it would get bad press. We were already riding the bad press for my decision to close the on-site day care—it was useless anyway, the hours were so short—so I deferred to him. I think he was wrong, but it’s important to let people feel they have decision-making influence, so the ability to leverage that made it a win for me.

  * * *

  —

  “So, I’d love to hear about the company and what you’re doing,” Cass said, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “OK if I record this? I’m just going to turn it—where’s the button?—on! I don’t know how much you know about our site, but many of our readers are women, they’re moms, they’re professionals, they’re go-go-go but they also value consumer electronics, fitness, tech, food, culture, beauty, getaways, spa trends—”

  I cut her off. “I get it,” I said, nodding to affirm this. “After all, that’s me too.” Although in very broad strokes. The hovering PR person beamed. I happen to know—thank you to whoever tipped off HR—that she has a personal blog called The Trend Pouncer, which features her in a leopard print wrap dress, on the prowl for consulting jobs.

  “I’m not very media-oriented,” I reminded Cass. “I’m not posing in ball gowns or going to big parties like…” I didn’t name names.

  Journalism is a cratering industry and in many ways the opposite of Conch—the content served up may be of zero relevance to a given user, but that’s why it’s sometimes so relaxing to read about topics like pixie cuts at the hair salon, because it gets tiring always having to be oneself.

  “I have a question for you,” Cass said, conspiratorially. “We hear a lot these days about the importance of turning off our phones, our devices…” Our eyes met, and I nodded, fingers on chin, to show how seriously I took this tough but important topic. “What would you say to our readers about that, speaking as the CEO of a technology company and also a mom?” Oh, the irony. I smiled, as if this were truly provocative.

  I gripped the edge of the counter—we were perched atop high stools at one of our Ideas Served Fresh collaboration stations—and leaned toward her. “I’m so glad you brought that up.” I talked about my kids, how they didn’t have their own Conch yet, how we didn’t let them play on our iPads or our laptops, well, only sometimes, talk to me right before dinner, ha ha. I didn’t say, because our nanny has them all day and we have a contract.

  “It’s a struggle some days to balance it all,” I said, with a gulp-laugh that I hoped fused wry authenticity and irresistible charm. I also said things like, “I don’t have a magic wand, even though I have a lot of advantages.” I always acknowledge my privilege. Acknowledging privilege is likable and honest. “It’s a challenge to juggle it all.”

  Willow approached and hovered a polite distance away, which reminded me that I’ve been meaning to work out a system of hand signals with her, similar to the way baseball pitchers and catchers communicate. “Yes?”

  “Your nine o’clock is hiding behind my desk,” Willow said playfully.

  “What do you mean by that?” I said. “That’s very weird. Why didn’t you direct that person to the waiting area or get them a cup of coffee?”

  Willow blushed. “Sorry to be unclear. It’s your daughter.”

  “Well, perfect example!” I said to Cass. “Life and work aren’t two sides of the same coin, they’re…well, actually, it’s that the coin is…wait, Willow—where is she?”

  * * *

  —

  “She was right under my desk,” Willow said. She looked stressed,
getting down on the floor in her dress to crawl under there. There was a plethora of power cords, but no Nova. “She was just here, playing with those mules.”

  “She can’t have gone far,” I said, but with a sinking feeling—she couldn’t go far, except of course for that one time she had. But this was different. It wasn’t like she could get out of the building, I reasoned, thinking of our iris scanners and security badging. Fortunately—thank God for the open office—it didn’t take long to find her.

  “We’re over here!” Melissa called.

  I was more relieved than I expected to see them together, by the fish tanks in the lobby. “Hi, sweetheart!” I called. Nova was standing on her tiptoes, nose pressed to the glass. Cass and I went over. “There you are!”

  “Pretty, aren’t they?” Cass said. “I like this one with the fins. Which do you like?”

  “All fishes have fins,” Nova said irritably. She pointed. “I like the seashells.” Have I mentioned she’s not great with Ss? It’s developmentally normal at this point.

  “Sweetie, can you shake hands with my friend Cass?” Nova did not react. “Nice strong grip,” I scaffolded.

  “No!” Nova yelled. The fish, no fools, scattered.

  “Ha!” I said to Cass. “She’s got opinions all her own.” I pretended to be delighted by this.

  “Nova, you’re being rigid like a carrot stick, not flexible like a gummy worm,” Melissa said calmly, stepping between us. “Let’s do our rubber band stretches by the window.” Nova dutifully followed her over, lifted her arms over her head, and began to undulate.

  I gave Melissa a thumbs-up, but subtly, because I knew it would annoy Nova if she saw. When they were done, I gestured that Melissa could go, so Nova and I could have our special togetherness time. I led Nova and Cass over to QA. “Walk tall like a giraffe,” I reminded Nova. Cass stood up straighter. I enjoyed the chance to stroll slowly through departments I don’t often visit, glancing at people’s screens, asking everyone what they were working on, taking a moment to thank them for all they do for Conch. I noticed that the mere fact of my presence, the enthusiasm and energy I exude, seemed to ignite faster typing, intenter expressions, and greater focus. I wear the mantle of leadership even when I’m not aware of it, even when the mantle is a long belted cardigan. Anyway, it was very satisfying.

  “So you’re going to check out today how we make sure that Conch does what we want,” I explained, with a friendly squeeze of my daughter’s hand. “Try to talk to people.”

  “I don’t like that smell!” Nova screamed as we passed the kitchen, where a computer programmer looked up from assembling his breakfast. “It bothers me!”

  “Eggs can be stinky,” Cass agreed sympathetically, whispering.

  “Daddy is stinky,” Nova agreed, not whispering. “Eggs is very stinky.”

  “Shush,” I said. “Let’s go check out the area over here. We have this great whiteboard wall where people write ideas and—well, skip that, it’s not so tidy today…” I steered us away, because while it wasn’t exactly NSFW (I don’t mind a little crassness in the workplace if it gets results), it was definitely Not Safe For Family.

  “I don’t like chocolate,” Nova proclaimed to Cass, warming to having an audience. I was pleased she was trying to connect. “Too sticky.”

  “Chocolate’s so good, though,” Cass said. “I get a kind made from unroasted cacao beans at my food co-op, and it tastes totally different.” She said this as if it would interest Nova. “I bet your mom likes chocolate.”

  “She likes wine,” Nova said.

  “Wow, look at that,” I obfuscated, with a casual, vague wave at one of our light fixtures. We were getting close, fortunately, to our destination department. As soon as I could do it without shouting, I called out to our perkiest QA manager and introduced Nova. “Hey, Jen—thought. Do we have a Conch she could try?” I’d never thought of putting one on her but Cass had given me the idea, and it seemed an opportune moment to try it. Maybe it could even provide a little prompting and structure to keep Nova focused, or channel some of her conversational impulses. That would be a fascinating application, if it worked.

  “What have you got there?” Jen said. She had a camp counselor vibe, with big chunky glasses and pink-streaked hair. “Horses?”

  Nova showed off her horses, commenting on each one’s special feature (each has exactly one feature—it’s not a meritocratic equine society). She began to line them up on Jen’s desk. Several QA people gathered to admire this. Jen delved through the drawers in the rolling cart next to her desk. “You know what?” she said, in a Nova-aimed voice, but while looking at me. “I don’t have a regular Conch open, but we have a brand-new one that’s coming out, it’s very special, and guess what? It’s pink!” She turned to Nova with a peppy smile. “Bet you’d like that!” She pulled out a plastic box (the packaging is still under review). The special Conch was nestled inside, wrapped in a lint-free cloth like the kind you use for cleaning eyeglasses.

  Nova gave me a worried look; she knows I reject pink for her. But in this case I smiled and said, “Sure, honey, put it on, it’s OK.”

  I got so tired of everyone giving Nova things that were pink. I take seriously my responsibility as the mother of a daughter. Once, when Nova was tiny, I saw the maid carrying a basket of laundry and my first thought was that the maid had mixed up the special baby detergent and the red food coloring. I mean, everything in that laundry basket was pink: a striated pile of fuchsias and petals and mauves. It was a wake-up call that we were insidiously setting up a very narrow range of options for our daughter. Pink is a great color; it just can’t be the only color. I wanted to see baby Nova as a junior woman of substance, wearing a power onesie, so to speak, and that style shifts over time, à la shoulder pads. Right now I think it’s gray and chartreuse stripes.

  Nevertheless, a reporter and an employee and a nervous little girl watched me. “Oh, perfect,” I said.

  “It won’t be too loud for her ears?” Cass asked.

  “It’s very safe,” I said, which I think is true. Several QA employees helped Nova get the Conch situated.

  “Very special!” Jen cooed. “Beautiful! Do you want it to play you a song?” This attention panicked Nova. She pressed the Conch and her mouth fell open. She held the expression while she climbed into a chair and occupied herself with her horses.

  My Conch chimed, reminding me of my next meeting. “I have to go, but this looks fun. Melissa’ll be back in a minute. Nova, ask a question, OK? One good question.”

  “Can I go to the bathroom?” Nova asked.

  “Sure, that’s a question. Ask another.”

  “I can take her,” someone said quickly. I glanced over: it was a nice QA associate whose chair Nova was sitting in.

  “Great, I have a hard stop.” The average CEO has only twenty-eight productive, uninterrupted minutes per day and I really feel the truth of that.

  When I swung by after my meeting, all Nova’s horses were eating sushi from the cafeteria. Nova was getting ready to visit our sensory garden, and the members of the QA team were looking for something.

  “This is kind of awkward, but we can’t find the pink Conch,” Jen whispered.

  “I’m sure it’s around,” I said calmly. “Let’s look.”

  When Melissa arrived, she got down on her knees, eye level with Nova. “Where did you put it?” she asked.

  “The seashell is in the potty,” Nova admitted.

  “Supernova!” Melissa admonished. “You know toys don’t go in the potty.”

  “It’s not a toy,” I said. “It’s a context-aware wearable. Can somebody go check if she flushed? Why, Nova?”

  “I was…” And then Nova said something warbly, vowely, and unintelligible.

  “Say it again?”

  She repeated it emphatically, looking up at me. She said it several times, but I couldn’t understand what she was saying. I mouthed the sounds, trying to feel out their meaning.

  Finally, Me
lissa decoded it. “Oh! You were confused,” Melissa said.

  “I was confused,” Nova said, this time closer to a standard pronunciation, with the sounds in the right order. I’d never heard her say that word before. It was a new word for her, and something about the gravity of this situation had presented it to her, new and unwrapped, ready to be deployed. I felt genuinely pleased for her, and touched. It was a sign of progress.

  “You were confused,” I recapped. “We’re going to help you get clarity on what belongs in the potty.” My Conch chimed a reminder of my next meeting, with Cullen and some outside folks. “I’m going to leave you guys to have a little more time together,” I said cheerily. Jen looked annoyed. I waved my hands, to let everyone know they needed to move on and focus. “You know what? Not a big deal. Everyone gets confused and makes mistakes. That’s how we go forward. You guys can work out a plan for a replacement. Or snake the pipes.”

  Chapter 10

  At Conch, all our office spaces have names that relate to the sea, or eating Conches. Our conference room, where we spend many productive hours debating tiny product details, is Fritter. (Some people find that funny.) Cullen, our founder, who is extraordinary at developing beautiful user experiences and only weighs 115 pounds, was outside Fritter waiting for me.

  Cullen has soulful eyes and the aura of a very serious child actor. He speaks slowly and deliberately, burnishing each syllable like a preacher; it’s something he’s learned, to dumb it down for other people. At times he takes it too far. He grew up in Manhattan, the only child of real estate developers, dropped out of his progressive school at fourteen to found his first company, and by his late teens had become the golden boy of several venture capital firms and the tech press. He is an interesting example of how relentless success can make you a little naive. If you wonder if this has happened to me, no, not in the same way. I am fortunate that I had a period at Gorvis, where I was COO, when we never actually sold any product. And although it didn’t really do much to dampen analysts’ enthusiasm for our company, that experience deepened my empathy and taught me that even though a lot of people in this sector talk about how great and valuable failure is, they mostly say it later, after achieving stratospheric success. Also, being a woman in this industry, I can’t take anything for granted.