Girl Most Likely To

by Poonam Sharma

  “What are you saying, Nani?”

  “Vina, a girl must respect her elders and trust her parents. Completely. A woman must respect her parents and trust herself. Completely. That is the only way. The world is a different place now, but a woman’s intuition is as important as always. It is jo undher say athha ha…what comes from within you. That is the only thing you should trust blindly. That is the only thing we really have. Everything else is just a show.”

  I almost cried, thinking how impossibly special having a grandmother was, even as I reminded myself that It’s not that easy. But I didn’t tell her that.

  19

  It was enormous and inappropriate. It added nothing to the carefully crafted illusion that I was a professional. And it was right there in my office early Monday morning for everyone to see.

  Who the hell did he think he was?

  Technically, there were two of them. One was topless and the other bottomless, until they reconnected upon my arrival. Perhaps this was Jon’s last resort, since I’d returned none of the ten messages he had left for me since the morning after the blackout.

  I was not amused.

  “We’re a Singing Horse-o-Gram,” the head shouted.

  “And we’re here to apologize for Jonathan, because he’s been such a horse’s ass!” the rear explained, to my mounting horror.

  Before I could protest, they had launched into an apologram or a sing-ology, or whatever other euphemism was used to disguise this auditory assault. Apparently, I had no recourse. This was some alternative version of a singing telegram company that specialized in forcing women to choose between forgiving men for their stupidity, or risking total humiliation in their workplace. The ass was finishing up its rendition of “I Can’t Smile Without You” when Alan and Denny snuck in to enjoy the show.

  Although it is physically impossible for someone with my skin tone to blush, I turned at least ten shades of pink. Attached to the f lowers and balloons they left behind was a note.

  Not so good at being subtle.

  But I admit to what I am.

  And even a Pirate deserves a chance to explain.

  As well as the chance to be a better man.

  Please?

  Love, Jon

  “Is it, um, safe to assume this is from that boyfriend of yours?” Alan asked, amused to death at what he mistook for embarrassment. I was actually fuming with anger.

  “No. I mean, we broke up. He’s not my boyfriend anymore. Long story. Ends with Jon being an ass.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Vina.” Alan stiffened and adopted a more formal tone, “I’m sure you’ll find someone else.”

  “Secret admirer?” Denny chimed in.

  “No. These are from Jon, but it’s over. He hasn’t accepted it.”

  “Are you sure it’s over? You seem very affected,” Alan said.

  “I am sure. Trust me. I might even be done with men entirely.”

  “Considering women?” Denny grinned.

  “Considering celibacy is more like it. Take this last weekend, for example. My friends and I met these guys at a bar, and one of them wouldn’t let it go, you know? Like a dog that had sunk his teeth into my leg, and I couldn’t shake him off.”

  I collapsed into my chair.

  “What happened?” Alan asked.

  “I don’t want to talk about it. Certainly, I don’t want to bother you with it. I want…to forget about it and get my day started. I’m here to work, not complain.”

  But then an invitation to chat from Jon on Instant Messenger popped up on my screen. I had finally had enough. I was going to let it all out, and Alan and Denny were going to have to hear it.

  “Okay, do you really want to know? Jon and I are over. Finished. Kuthum. Finito. Because he cheated on me. It was a long time ago, but I only found out now. And let’s say that it wasn’t in the most convenient way. Secondly, this weekend, this prick just assumed I would go home with him! He was so arrogant. And even after I lied and told him that I had a boyfriend, so that I would let him down easy…to do him a favor…still, he kept pushing the issue! I mean, he honestly thought he could impress me into cheating on my imaginary boyfriend! God! The world is a cesspool. I can’t believe it took me this long to see what was right in front of me!” I declared. “Is there no decency left?”

  “How did he push the issue? Physically?” Denny asked, suddenly concerned in a very endearing little-brother-who-thinks-he’s-your-big-brother sort of way.

  “No, no, no.” I shook my head. “It’s nothing like that. If it was that, I’d have kneed him in the groin. Hell, my friend Cristina would have ripped his face off without breaking a nail. It’s that he was bragging about how much money he made. About how he is a ‘VP at Globecom’ and he wanted me to help ‘celebrate’ the company acquisition he closed that day by getting coked up with him.”

  I was now sarcastically bunny-earring my words, adding dramatic emphasis in a language that Denny would appreciate.

  “As if the money was supposed to impress me so much that I would sleep with him. I mean, do I look like a prostitute?”

  “No, you most certainly do not,” Alan offered magnanimously. “Calm down, Vina. You’ve had the misfortune to have met your fair share of Neanderthals. On behalf of men everywhere, I apologize.”

  “I don’t know. It would have been bad enough to come on so strong when I said I had a boyfriend, but then to assume financial status was the only thing that I was looking for in a man! What’s the point of having this career, then? This wasn’t what I needed right now, you know? Look, I’m sorry for venting. I just feel like I can’t count on anything these days and that I’ve got to have eyes in the back of my head. Like I can’t assume there’s a decent male soul on the planet,” I whimpered, and then added, pointing to the third chat request from Jon that had popped up since I’d sat down, “And now I’ve got this self-admitted jackass to deal with.”

  Less than an hour later, Peter cornered me by the coffeemaker. “So? Have you heard anything?”

  My face must have looked vacant.

  “Your bonus. Did you hear?”

  “Oh. No, Peter. I didn’t.” I stirred sugar into my mug.

  He looked as if he had just lost his best friend. “Well, I did. Ten grand. I expected thirty.”

  “I’m sorry, Peter. Fine, I’ll ask them. But we already know it’s gonna be bad. Probably five, if you got ten. I’ll go and get it over with.” I thought for a second. “And come to think of it, I do have an excuse to ask. Accounting e-mailed me this morning to confirm the amount of Wade’s final paycheck. It was too high apparently. Probably a clerical error. I can call Alan, and ask about the bonus as I’m getting his permission to cancel and reissue the check.”

  “All right,” he said, taking my coffee mug. “Keep me posted. I’m knocking off early. They can’t fire me for that. I’m also not coming into the office this weekend. I’ve worked every damn weekend for the past year for nothing. And never mind about me—this will kill the team’s morale. Anyway, Godspeed.”

  He mock-saluted me, cracked his neck and walked out of the room. I felt sorry for him. Nobody deserved a bigger bonus this year than Peter. I decided I would call Alan the next morning, if he hadn’t already called me by the end of the day.

  Uncharacteristically, I slipped out of the office early, and decided to walk the long way home. I had planned to make my way across Fifty-fourth Street, and then down Lexington. But I was stopped in my tracks on the corner of Forty-second Street, when I saw her. Dancing for everyone and no one in particular. After a few moments of watching her twirl, I found myself fixated on the expression on her face. So calm. So unaffected. So apart.

  I don’t know how much time had passed before I was jolted back into the moment by a Chinese food delivery man knocking into me. For no real reason, I ducked into the Starbucks across the street, and ordered two large iced coffees.

  “Hi,” I said, while holding out a cup to the Gypsy. She had just finished up a slow ver
sion of Rod Stewart’s “This Old Heart of Mine.”

  “Well, would you look at that? And I thought I was doin’ a rain-dance.” She winked. “But I’ll take coffee just as gladly. Thank you kindly.”

  She sniffed at the cup as if it held some fine wine, before taking her first gratified sip.

  “You’re welcome. Umm,” I faltered, “I’m Vina.”

  “I’m very glad to meet you, Vina.” Her eyes crinkled at their corners, clearly from habit. “They call me Ellie.”

  “So do you…do you do this every day?”

  “What else would I do?”

  “It’s beautiful. I mean, your dancing…it’s beautiful.”

  “Well, now that’s a lie,” she said, laughing wholeheartedly, before taking another sip. “Nobody in their right mind could see me dancin’ and think it’s pretty. It ain’t pretty. But I’ll take the compliment anyway, m’dear.”

  I smiled nervously while she pulled the bandana from her hair and began re-braiding her long, silver strands.

  “Say, shouldn’t you be on your way home from a big, important job in one of these big, important buildings?” She gestured up and around her in every direction.

  “Yeah,” I replied, “I guess I should, but…so…if you don’t even think that you dance well, then why do you do it?”

  “Because I don’t care what I think. It’s a side-effect of what I think they’ll think, anyway. I care what I feel,” she told me, glancing sideways. “I used to be trapped, too.”

  I put a hand to my chest. “I’m not trapped. What are you talking about? You don’t even know me.”

  “Then tell me this.” She leaned in. “Why did you leave the big, important job in the big, important office early, and come and talk to me?”

  “I was just curious about you.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ve seen you dance before.”

  “Umm-hmm…”

  “And…”

  “And?”

  “And you always look happy.”

  “Bingo! Tell her what she’s won!”

  “Crazy, but happy,” I explained.

  “Oh, I’m not happy because I’m crazy. I’m happy because I let myself be. I care more about what I feel than about what other people think. And that makes me happy.”

  “All right.” I got sarcastic. “So you’re happy living outdoors?”

  “I don’t live here,” she said, pointing to the ground, and then to her head. “I live here.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “Why?” she asked. “You know anybody who doesn’t?”

  “I guess not,” I replied and started to leave.

  “It was nice talking to ya. Thanks for the java. I better get started on my next show. Don’t want to disappoint the fans!”

  20

  “Alan?” I reclined first thing Tuesday morning, twirling the phone cord with my finger and twisting my chair around to face the window. “Hi. It’s Vina.”

  “Vina. Yes. I’m glad that you called.”

  “I wanted to get your input on something,” I began. “It must have been an oversight, but I got an e-mail from Deb in Accounting, saying that the last check we cut to Wade was for five grand. They brought it to my attention since I was his manager. I wanted to let you know about the clerical error before I told them to cancel the check. I’ll have them reissue one for the accurate amount, which is something like a thousand dollars, including severance pay.”

  “All right,” he said, then cleared his throat. “Thank you for bringing that to my attention. I’ll take care of it personally. You don’t have to worry about it.”

  I squinted at a man who seemed to be changing his clothes before an open office window across the street.

  “Are you sure? Because I can do it. It’s only a matter of one phone call—”

  “I am aware of that, Vina. Since it was just a mistake, let’s not make a big deal of it.” He brightened. “So, what do you say we talk about your performance review and bonus? Is this a good time?”

  “It’s as good a time as any.” I tried to sound perky.

  The man changing his clothes caught me staring, and gave me more of an eyeful than I cared to see. Namely, a view of his red lace panties and what was inside. I cringed, swiveling back to my desk.

  “That it is. That it is. Can I assume you have had a chance to read over the written performance review we sent out via e-mail to you this morning?”

  “I have,” I lied.

  “Then you know that the feedback, both from your managers and from your teammates, has been solid. And to add to that, I do want to tell you what a pleasure it has been to work with you this year. You put in the hours, and that has not gone unnoticed.”

  “Thank you. It’s nice to hear that,” I said.

  “But let’s be honest,” he continued, “that much is expected of every man on this team. You bring more to the table. We see you moving into management because you are a real team player. Not a ‘showboater.’ Steven and I believe that you understand the importance of doing what’s best for the firm, and we appreciate that. All things considered, we are more than pleased with your contribution. We look forward to your bringing even more enthusiasm to your work in the coming year. We have decided to give you a performance bonus of $30,000. We want to see you take that enthusiasm to the next level, moving forward. Keep up the good work.”

  “Really?” I couldn’t hide the surprise in my voice.

  “Is that a problem?”

  “No. I mean…it’s just…” I stumbled over my thoughts.

  “Vina…is this something that we are going to have to discuss at length? Because I would like to get these performance reviews finished quickly, and I still have to talk with some of the other people on the team.”

  “No, Alan. Not at all. It’s exactly what I expected, or I should say, what I hoped I deserved.”

  “You’re a smart girl, Vina,” he practically snorted. “You’ll go far at this firm.”

  By seven the next morning, I hadn’t slept a wink. Another restless night had left me with bags under my eyes that were so large my entire head could have fit into them. I must have spent about twenty minutes trying to make sense of myself in the bathroom mirror. Before I knew it, however, I was running late for work. So I slapped my face with cold water, loaded on the concealer and told myself to take it like a man. Unlike some women, I didn’t have time for this crap.

  The last coat of powder was what did the trick, erasing almost every hint of uncertainty and emotion from my face. I breathed deep and then smiled, and the woman my colleagues were expecting smiled back at me. The firm didn’t pay me to get in touch with my inner child, I reminded myself. They paid me well enough to hire it a sitter. And I had a job to do. One more deep breath and a posture check later, I was ready to face the day.

  Even though my apartment building wasn’t ritzy enough to employ a doorman to proactively deny them entry, nonresidents never had an easy time getting in. The sad truth is that most New Yorkers will look you right in the eye while closing a door in your face. Their defense is that they have no way of knowing whether or not you’re a homicidal lunatic. So, unless you have your own key, they can justifiably assume you’ve escaped from Bellevue, tossed your medication and been attempting to recommence your stalking of someone in the building. This cynicism is normally a bad thing for me. Like when I’ve got two arms full of groceries and am unable to locate my key, and my so-called neighbors still refuse to open the door.

  Wednesday morning, however, their unwillingness to trust their fellow man made me feel very much as if they were on my side. When I left the building I found Jon waiting outside the door. He said he had been trying to get in for an hour. He was holding two venti Starbucks Caramel Macchiatos, and wearing a tie I had bought for him.

  I will not give him the satisfaction of witnessing the joy with which I usually greet a Caramel Macchiato, I decided, but I will give him the image of my backside as I walk away from him withou
t missing a step.

  He held a cup out in my direction and I waved it away.

  “Vina, wait. You’ve got to hear me out. This is ridiculous.”

  “Oh! You had a child you never told me about, and my behavior is ridiculous?”

  Apparently, I wasn’t so good at the unaffected facade.

  “Look, I have to get to the office.” I brushed past him. “Why don’t we just both try to move on.”

  I had no plans to engage in this, and now I was running even later for work. I walked briskly to the subway, with my briefcase held close and my lips held tight. There was no way I’d let him hear my pain.

  “Wait!” he yelled, as I struggled to disappear into the crowd.

  I picked up the pace, weaved my way down the stairwell, and nearly knocked over an unsuspecting preteen. How many casualties must this relationship claim?

  “Vina, come on!” I vaguely heard him say as he faded into the noise of the city.

  The 7 train pulled into the station, and I made my way quickly toward the far end of the platform, managing to board the train just before the doors closed. I sandwiched myself between an elderly woman and the doors. She made no attempt to disguise her irritation, and the sign that was an inch from my eyes informed me that I shouldn’t be leaning on the doors, either. It was cramped and stuffy. I had to close my eyes to steady my breath. Though at least I knew I was safe.

  But not for long. I almost had my heart rate back to normal when I heard his voice again. I couldn’t believe I ever found comfort in that voice. He must have boarded a different subway car and been pushing his way through the other commuters. Soon enough, I found myself cornered, along with the old lady, and a smirking teenager who immediately yanked off his headphones.