The Corporate Bitch

by J. J. R.

  Bitch Problem:

  Gossip has been around since the beginning of time. It can be friendly banter; the who’s where doing what conversation. Or, it can be brutal, filled with lies and determined to take someone down in the workplace. Even worse, when you are the center of it.

  Martinis, bottles of wine, even champagne flutes are floating all around the Diva’s happy hour at one forty-five in the afternoon. Is it me, or does the start time keep getting earlier and earlier?

  I’ve managed so far to stay on delightful terms with everyone, even able to make them laugh. I will admit it is much easier to take a back seat to Dante and let him keep them rolling. We do have a set plan to shift the conversation toward CEO after a few rounds.

  Dante is in the middle of some insane story about a date he had last week when I get a text.

  Finn: How’s the big plan coming? Fired yet? J

  Me: Hush up! And going well.

  Finn: For now…

  I slip my phone into my bag, ignoring him, and scoot in closer to hear Dante.

  “I know! Can you believe it? He’s just standing there staring at me with judgy eyes as I have a new cream wool sweater on and jeans so gorgeous my ass pops up to say hello.”

  “Nooo,” Queen Bee says and tilts back her glass of Grey Goose.

  “I don’t get it,” shrugged Pawn.

  “Because he was supposed to wear an ugly Christmas sweater,” snorts Puppet Master with a perfectly placed eye roll.

  “But he didn’t tell you it was that kind of party, did he?” Pawn asks with innocence.

  Dante senses her unrest and offers, “Exactly.” He pats her head like a good puppy and carries on with his story. “He was all like, ‘yeah, your sweater is pretty hideous, but where is all the weird patchwork or gaudy pom-pom balls?’ And then I get pissed. Any man who doesn’t understand the sheer perfection of that sweater can kiss my ass and call me gone. He was pi-ti-ful!” And the whole table bursts out laughing. It makes me frown a bit to see Pawn glancing side to side to make sure it is the appropriate time to laugh. It’s like me at a football game. Now? Is it time to clap?

  We order another round, and I feel the bonding begin. Queen Bee has her arm resting on my shoulder and Jock is eagerly telling me some story about her kids. When she finishes, I see Dante give me the eye and I know it is time to begin.

  “So what did you want me to know before my meeting with CEO tomorrow?” I smile sweetly at Queen Bee. I enjoy every second of watching her always completely polished self, struggle to focus in on me.

  And when she speaks, she slurs and even spits a little. Fantastic.

  “Nothing major,” she starts and blinks hard. “He’s just kind of a piece of work. He expects us all to be cookie cutter perfect employees, to fit in a nice round box. But we are square pegs, damnit! And he’s never even there to manage, so what say does he get? It all falls on my shoulders.”

  Puppet Master is eyeing us across the table, and I can tell she’s eager to hear what we are talking about.

  “So, what should I say to him?” I ask, provoking further.

  “Who?”

  “CEO!” I laugh.

  “Oh!” And she laughs, a deeply-rooted, drunken cackle. It’s so much more real, filled with genuine amusement. I wonder if it’s what her real laugh sounds like.

  “Just be yourself. He’ll love you. When he is there, he’ll love you. When he trusts you, he’ll love you. When he…”

  “Okay! What are we talking about over here?” Puppet Master slides in to the left of Queen Bee and narrows her gaze on me.

  “Not much, she was just prepping me for my talk with CEO tomorrow.”

  “Sure. I think we’ve all had a bit much to drink though to talk business, don’t you think?” She pulls Queen Bee toward her and offers a little wave to the group. “It’s been fun. Be safe. Ciao!” And they are gone.

  Pawn sidles up next to me, now that her leaders are gone and starts asking all sorts of questions, but mainly about Brisa, which shocks me immensely.

  “Is she still mad at me?” she asks wide-eyed and a bit drunkenly herself.

  “Mad at you? Why would she be mad at you?” I ask.

  “Because, it is all my fault. I’m the one who should have told her that I liked him. How was she to know? She went from being in our group to gone, all because of me.”

  “So why do you think that is?”

  “Well, Puppet Master had some really good points. She said she should have been able to read the situation better. She also said that she was kind of slutty by nature and that I should never trust a girl who dresses like that.”

  I can’t help myself. “Whoa.”

  “I know! Brutal right! She can be pretty harsh, but at the time I was so upset about the whole thing that I was mean right along with her. And now, it’s too late. She won’t understand and Puppet Master will think I’m an idiot,” she says forlornly. “Plus, I feel like crap stereotyping her in the first place. A woman should be able to dress anyway she wants and not be judged by it. It’s such a hateful thing that women do. We should support each other, but if we feel insecure, we judge. I’m a bad person, right?”

  “No, Pawn, no. You are a nice person. I understand why you got mad. I’ve had some pretty major crushes that never worked out. It is easier to be mad at Brisa than to be sad, right?”

  She nods.

  “I don’t think you should beat yourself up. After all, you barely knew each other back then. And it’s what you do now that matters.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’d say, ignore what others are telling you and do what you feel is right.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. I just saw how pissed she got at you when you went shopping.” She snaps her hand over her mouth and looks at me wide-eyed. “Oh, shit! Don’t tell her I told you that!” Ashley—formerly known as Pawn—is clearly falling apart before my eyes.

  I’ve done it! I’ve cracked through the Divas! I’ve gained their trust! I keep pressing before I lose her. “I would never say anything. You have my total word of confidence.”

  She sighs a little and glances toward Jock to see if she heard. “I think she really does like you.” She smiles. “She can be tough though. It’s all about building an alliance with her. She hired you after all, so I think it will all be fine.”

  “I know it will. And I never meant to upset her, I’m just trying to play fairly. I think alliances can be pretty hard to manage in the workplace, way too hard to keep up with,” I say.

  “Yeah, I agree. I think I might be more like you. I sometimes have to ask who we’re mad at that week. Silly, huh?” And the nerves break way to genuine laughter and my heart smiles. Ashley is just a sweetheart inside.

  We finish up our round and head out to a fresh layer of snow. It feels like the sun should be coming up any second with how the city is glowing. The moon is full and bright and the white crystals twinkle in the night.

  Dante and I wave goodbye to Jock and Ashley before heading down the sidewalk. The thick layer crunches under our feet. We are merely big kids skipping through the snow. I loop my arm through his and lean my head on his shoulder, loving my new-found friend.

  “Progress,” he whispers and it almost echoes off of the silent concrete walls behind us. “Katrina will be proud.”

  “Right?” I giggle into his arm. “They have no idea. Queen Bee was spilling her heart out about CEO.”

  “Did she say anything about her plan to dethrone him? Any concrete evidence?”

  “No, not exactly. She was ranting about how he’s never there, and she does all the work.”

  “And then Puppet Master jumped in and stopped her from spilling too much.” He grunts.

  “Yep, she has to protect that alliance. That’s what Ashley was talking about, how she’s all about alliances. She was spilling her little heart out too, going on about how Puppet Master was pissed I went shopping with Brisa and how she feels bad about Brisa being hated. That it’s basically Puppet Master fo
rcing her.”

  “Shut the hell up, she did not!”

  “Yep! We got some good material tonight, babe.” I squeeze his arm. “The plan is officially in full swing.”

  * * * *

  I’m not going to lie, the martinis may have been a little bit stronger than I’d hoped for. I feel every sip as I slip from my bed and let my feet land on the cold wooden floor of my loft. I barely slept a wink and now I need to get into the bathroom to do some major damage control. I want to look fresh, polished and ready for anything as I head in to win over the CEO. This is my one chance.

  I take a long hot shower and let the night wash off of me, remembering the hateful things that were said. It was in gossiping with the Divas that I almost felt dirty, disappointed in myself. I scrub my scalp like I’m scrubbing my soul, watching my pitfalls and flaws whisk down the drain in a mound of soap suds.

  “This is all for the greater cause,” I say to Oliver, who is perched on the edge of the shower watching me in a semi-perverted fashion. “I’m not becoming one of them or anything. I’m getting the dirt and using it against them.”

  He yawns, which turns into a long, stretched, meow.

  “I know, I know, I hear how it sounds. Not good. It almost sounds like I’m just as bad as they are for doing it. How does it prove anything or make me any better? It just does, okay.”

  I roll my eyes as he openly ignores me and cleans his paws.

  “Thanks for listening,” I say and offer him a pat. Don’t worry, I am fully aware I am talking to my cat.

  I pick out a sleek black pantsuit over a silky tie shirt, straight from the sixties. Large pearl earrings compliment my hair tightly slicked back in a low bun and tall black stilettos complete the look.

  I assess my look in the mirror and decide it’s fierce. I’m screaming, take me serious because I’m a bad ass marketing director.

  “Boom,” I say and loop my bag over my shoulder.

  * * * *

  I arrive to the office almost a full hour early and am instantly caught off guard as Julie races toward me at the elevator.

  “CEO is here!” She’s completely out of breath. “And he’s in your office!”

  I pat her shoulder and try to remain confident. What’s he doing in my office? I’m even an hour early.

  Stay calm. Be confident.

  I walk in long strides, trying desperately to remind myself to be calm, cool, and collected.

  “Good morning!” I croon as I enter my office. “What a lovely surprise.”

  He is typing away on his phone and looks up with a half grin. “Morning. Hope you don’t mind me popping in like this.”

  “Not at all! You own the place after all. My casa es your casa.” I grimace, hearing the pathetic attempt to be cool.

  He types another word or two and tucks his phone into his impeccably tailored suit.

  “Care to join me for a coffee?”

  “Sure! I’ll go grab us one.” I drop my bag and start to head for the door.

  “Nah.” He rises and a wave of his after-shave hits me, reminding me of the day I basically sobbed on his shoulder in the hall. “Let’s get out. Enjoy New York on this beautiful winter’s morning.”

  “I’d love that. I’ll follow your lead.”

  * * * *

  Instead of heading down to his car in the garage as I once did with Queen Bee, I follow him out through the front door and onto the street, where a sleek, black sedan pulls up instantly to scoop us up.

  I’m not going to lie. His life is strikingly fantastic and I find myself yearning for my own personal driver. I slide in next to him with a smile and we are off, watching the blurry streets pass by in a wave of splendor.

  His selection? Café Grump where I order a delicious signature Heartbreaker espresso and settle in on this grey day to make him love me. On the car ride over, he was dedicated to answering emails and offered me one-word answers.

  Here, his phone is tucked safely in his pocket and his attention is all on me.

  I let him lead the conversation, but trust me when I say I know the key to winning someone over.

  “So how’s Allure treating you?”

  “Amazing!” I gush. “My team is fantastic. Our budget is on target, our conversions are up and I couldn’t be happier. Thank you by the way for the opportunity of a lifetime.”

  “You’re not interviewing, Melanie. You don’t have to be so ‘on’. I already think you are doing a fantastic job, so please don’t feel like you have to impress me.” He motions to the guy working behind the counter for some fresh cream.

  I cringe under the words. This may be tougher than I thought.

  I try a different approach. A more honest and leading approach. “Understood, sir. If I’m truly honest, I’d say the politics are a bit challenging at times, but I’m trying to avoid all that as you indicated in your first email to do and stay focused on the work.”

  He nods. I have his attention. It’s now or never.

  “I guess what I’m trying to say is it is a bit harder here than anywhere else I’ve ever been. There is kind of this group that runs the place, and I suppose it makes things a bit unfair at times.”

  “I see. And I am aware of what you are saying. Is it anything you can’t handle?”

  There it is. The test. I bite my lip and shake my head no.

  “Then let’s talk about something else than office drama, shall we? For example, I am mainly interested in the strategic plan you put together and the work your team is doing. If I were to sit here and ramble on about the doings and gossip of the team, I wouldn’t exactly be any better, would I?”

  I swallow hard. “Yes, sir, of course.” I pull out my laptop, hands shaking as I start opening various presentations. Somewhere between the drama and the last minute request to talk with him, I’ve managed to put together what I consider to be a fairly impressive presentation for him.

  He puts an arm on my shoulder. “I’m not dismissing you, Melanie. I know how hard they can be. I’m just hoping you can rise above it. Be an example, as Diane is, of a professional. I sensed that from you from the moment I met you. I said to myself, this woman is different. Better than all that. Please don’t tell me that they’ve gotten to you. I fear my hope in humanity may fall apart if that’s the case,” he says with a little chuckle.

  “Of course not, sir. Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “If it does get to be too much or it crosses the line, my door is always open. And another thing, call me Tom. This whole ‘sir’ thing is a bit much,” he says and his eyes actually twinkle as he flashes a smile.

  I dig deep inside and flip on the presentation mode switch and get to work. I spend the next hour and a half letting the work speak for itself, exactly as I should have done the whole time. I curse myself for thinking that I could schmooze over a man of his status. Woo him with my ability to defeat the office drama with some grand scheme. I was acting like an entry level, gossiping girl in her early twenties and I could just quite frankly, punch myself in the face.

  * * * *

  “So he was impressed?” Dante asks later that afternoon over a hearty salad with chicken, pecans and raspberry vinaigrette. “Sounds like you did a hell of a job.”

  I grin and he groans at the spinach in my teeth.

  “You are seriously like five years old sometimes,” he says with a laugh. “And I love you for it.”

  “I think he was. I shared with him all of the progress we’ve made and the big external push we have in mind for next year. I was extremely detailed and thorough with ROI projections and I saw him get really into that.”

  “Boring. But he didn’t bite on all of the Diva stuff? I mean I think we still achieved our goal, don’t get me wrong. You were only supposed to win him over, make him like and trust you. Sounds like mission accomplished.” He delicately dips a piece of chicken into the dressing. I, however, have drenched the whole serving over my lettuce and am considering asking for more.

  “I don’t know anymore, Dan
te. He gave me this whole speech about rising above it. Not letting them get to me and everything. He said, and I quote, ‘if I let them get to me, he will have lost faith in humanity’.”

  Dante’s eyes grow to saucers. “Heavy stuff. What did you say to that?”

  “I just said it wasn’t anything I can’t handle and that I am dedicated to my work. I will tell you…”

  “Don’t tell me.” He puts his face in his napkin and stomps his feet under the table, his tight yellow pants and black shiny shoes a blur of bumble bee movement. “You’ve decided to be the bigger person, be the professional, yada yada. Please tell me I’m wrong.”

  I shrug.

  “Ugh! No, Mel! You are letting them get away with murder. You aren’t just doing this because they’ve gotten to you or because you aren’t strong enough to handle it, you are doing this for humanity. To stop people like them from bulldozing their way to the top. Where does it end? I mean, weren’t you bullied as a kid?”

  I stop shoving my face, appearing very much like a fat hamster, and time stops. Suddenly, I’m on the playground, wearing a neon striped skirt, my hair in a side ponytail.

  “Wait!” I squeal and drop my Babysitter’s Club book and run after my friends. I’m in the fifth grade and yes, admittedly and proudly, a little bit of a bookworm.

  My two best friends, Sasha and Jessie are miles ahead of me and my short legs are getting shin splints trying to keep up. And then I stop, dead in my tracks, about face and run the other way so fast my heart may actually leap out of my chest and run with me. They were running straight up to Isabel. The larger than everyone else, no sock wearing, and buttered crust around her fat lips bully that has it out for me. They’ve pointed in my direction like the true best friends they are and now she is chasing me. She’s running so hard that her Cabbage Patch Kid cheeks are bouncing up and down.

  That is the moment I learned about alliance. Sasha later told me how sorry she was, but that Isabelle was going to take her lunch if she didn’t tell her where I was. She sold me up the river for a pepperoni snack pack. If I hadn’t reached the teacher in record time and sold her out, then I would have been face first in the dirt.