by Lacey Legend
At the time that she’d given me this choice, my mom wasn’t bankrolling me, and I didn’t live with her. I rented my own little apartment, and had been paying my own bills for years with my limited earnings. So, I probably should have felt free to politely yet firmly decline to make the choice she’d given me.
However, although we’d never been very close, I’d always felt the need to please my mom and not be a disappointment to her; so, when she’d given me her little “you have two choices” speech on my twenty-seventh birthday, telling me that she was fed up with the path I was taking in life, and “nearly sick” about how I was wasting my potential, I told her I’d take choice A, a marketing job. Then, after she’d made a few calls to some of her well-connected friends, it was a done deal, and I’d started my entry-level job as “coffee girl” to the marketing department of Testera’s Detroit division.
That had been a year earlier. I was now twenty-eight, had wet pants, and was zoning out during my first meeting as “assistant to the junior marketing executive.” I knew my mom would likely be so proud.
While Federico talked about numbers, I found that while I couldn’t focus on them, I couldn’t not focus on him. Specifically, on how good his broad shoulders looked in his impeccably tailored navy-blue suit. While he’d been standing, the rest of his body had looked damned good in his suit, too, from his trim waist and hips to his long, muscular legs. He was definitely in great shape; there was no doubt about that.
At present, while he was sitting, his white Oxford shirt was stretched over his chest just enough that I could see the faint outline of rock-hard pecs. With my imagination really beginning to wander, I stole a few little peeks at him and imagined running my hands over those pecs, a little embarrassed in the back of my mind for having this thought. I still didn’t stop thinking it, though.
However, a few minutes after Federico had started the meeting, Genevieve pulled me out of my reverie.
Hissing in my right ear, she slid a tablet across to me. “You should be taking notes, too. You are my assistant, after all.”
A little irritated, I whispered back. “I’ll have Sheila email her notes to us both.”
Genevieve said no. “You do what I say. Unless you want me to ask Molly to be my assistant.”
Molly was the “coffee girl” one floor up, on the twelfth, where the “creative managers” of the marketing division worked. After a year, I still wasn’t quite sure who the “creative managers” were or what they did, but I did know one thing. Molly had only been with the company for two months, but she was highly ambitious, having not only a marketing degree but an MBA, unlike me. She’d also recently started coming down to the eleventh floor sometimes, seemingly just to flirt with Ted.
In response to what Genevieve had said about Molly, I took the tablet and dutifully began typing notes about what Federico was saying, knowing that I had probably three years of servitude to Genevieve ahead of me before I ever became a “junior marketing executive” myself, which was something I was becoming less and less sure that I wanted. My mom sure wanted it.
Not long after I began taking notes, Federico switched gears from numbers to “creative concepts for the next campaign.” Saying that he wanted to illustrate a few key points, he got up, went over to a dry erase board near the table, and began opening a pack of markers. And it was at this point that the meeting got crazy.
Chapter2
While Federico began taking different-colored markers for the dry erase board out of the package, Ted spoke to Sheila across the table in a low voice. “Can I get some water, Sheila?”
Despite the fact that the carafes of ice water she’d brought were just about right smack in front of Ted, along with a few glasses, and also despite the fact that Sheila was still busily finishing some note-taking, she answered his request by saying of course. She then got up from her seat, leaned across the table, and filled a glass with water.
Except actually, with her hands trembling slightly, she overfilled a glass, making a little puddle of water slosh over the side, onto the glossy surface of the mahogany table. While she’d been taking notes, I’d noticed her hands trembling a bit, and had guessed that in addition to still being flustered and embarrassed about spilling water on me earlier, she was probably a little star-struck and rattled just to be in the same room with Federico, too.
Wanting to spare her any further embarrassment and rattling, not to mention any rude or snappy comments from our co-workers, I instinctively hopped up from my seat and reached out an arm the moment I saw the little spill, blotting it up with my cotton sleeve, before it had a chance to run across the table. Within a second or two, I’d sat back down, and that should have been the end of it. However, just as Sheila silently mouthed the word thanks to me, Ted made sure that that wasn’t the end of it.
Picking up his water glass with a slight frown of disdain, he spoke to Sheila without even bothering to lower his voice so that Federico couldn’t hear him. “Geez. Why don’t you just turn a firehose on Jasmine today?”
Immediately, I told Ted that it was no big deal. “Spills happen.”
Beside me, Genevieve snorted. “Yes, they do, but they seem to happen to Sheila a lot more often than to normal people.”
I was beginning to think that Genevieve was not only demanding, snippy, and rude but a real bitch as well.
Instantly angry about what she’d just said, I turned to look at her without really thinking about what I was doing. “Excuse me, but Sheila is a ‘normal person,’ and how dare you imply that she’s not.”
With the tone of her voice making me think she was cringing, Sheila squeaked out a few words cross the table from me. “Jasmine, don’t.”
With her face registering shock at how I’d spoken to her, Genevieve scoffed and spoke to me, ignoring Sheila. “Well, normal people don’t run around constantly spilling water all over everything, including their co-workers. Which, speaking of people not being normal, you say you want to move up to my job someday, but you enter a meeting looking like you’ve just wet yourself. Very professional.”
With my hands on the table, I had to work hard not to ball my fists. “I never said I want to move up to your job someday. In fact, I don’t even know why I’m here half the time, considering how you and Ted treat certain employees in such a demeaning, belittling sort of way.”
Genevieve scoffed for the second time. “Ted and I don’t treat you-“
“No, not me…although yes me, but I specifically meant Sheila. She hasn’t had an easy year, not that you and Ted probably know or care, and you both treat her like absolute crap most of the time.”
Looking absolutely incredulous, Genevieve scoffed for the third time. “Sheila is a secretary.”
Genevieve had said the word secretary the same way that some people might say sewer rat.
Knowing that I was already as good as fired and discovering that I didn’t care, I stood up from the table, glaring at her. “You’re right. Sheila is a secretary, and a damned good one, too. She’s the most organized person I’ve ever met in my life, and the fastest, most accurate typist, too. Not to mention that she’s incredibly long-suffering and helpful, always doing random tasks for all you higher-ups that you all could easily do yourselves, such as leaning across the whole table to pour water for Ted when the water was literally ten inches from his face. Instead of treating her like this, you all should show her some respect, and maybe a little gratitude for the great work she does, too.”
With her face turning just about as red as her glossy, crimson lips, Genevieve glared at me. “’Gratitude? I’m sorry, but I have an MBA from the Ross Business School at the University of Michigan. I’m not going to grovel at some secretary’s feet just because-“
“No, I didn’t say ‘grovel.’ I said gratitude. As in, ‘Hey, Sheila, you do really great work, and we’re all really thankful to have you in this office as part of our team.’ See? It’s easy.”
With her upper lip actually curling in a sneer, Sheila ro
se from her chair, glaring at me. “Hell will freeze before I ever-“
“Excuse me.” Federico had spoken, and he now cleared his throat before continuing, dry erase marker in hand. “Is there a problem, ladies?”
I’d honestly forgotten Federico was even in the room. Judging from the startled, embarrassed look on her reddened face, Genevieve had, too. Now not only was he looking at us, but Ted and the other senior executives were as well.
Ted piped up before either Genevieve or I could say anything. “I apologize, Federico. The only problem here is just a little insubordination from a very low-level employee. The situation will be remedied immediately after the meeting; I promise you.”
Turning from Genevieve to Ted, I snorted with my anger coming to a boil once again. “Sorry to deprive you of the satisfaction, but you can’t fire me, because I quit. However, while you’re in the mood to ‘remedy’ things, there is one thing you could ‘remedy,’ which is how you continually sexually harass women around here and make them feel deeply uncomfortable, despite being warned by HR no fewer than five times now, and despite the fact that you’re a married man.”
With that, I sidestepped around Genevieve and began heading to the door. Once there, I decided I wasn’t quite done yet and turned to face the table once again. “Have a good day, everyone. I’m going to clean out my desk now. Or, rather, clean out the little drawer that Sheila kindly gave me for my own in her desk, since I was never actually given the dignity of my own. Federico, I apologize for interrupting your meeting. Sheila, I’d urge you to see what other secretarial jobs are out there and maybe apply for a few. You deserve to be treated much better than you are at this company.”
Now finally having said my piece, I left the boardroom, shutting the door hard behind me, although not outright slamming it, because for one thing, I was determined not to stoop to Genevieve’s level of rudeness, and for another thing, I didn’t want to fray Sheila’s nerves any further than I was sure they were already frayed. I knew that mine were pretty frayed.
After walking down a long corridor and across the office lobby by the elevator bay, I’d just reached the wide front desk, which was Sheila’s, when a vague feeling of triumph at finally having told off Genevieve and Ted suddenly vaporized. This was because I’d just suddenly realized that I’d have to tell my mom that I’d quit my job. The one that she’d pulled strings to help me get. And on the first day of my promotion, no less.
I could hear her voice in my head right then.
“You what?” she’d say.
“I quit my job, Mom. I just wasn’t happy there at all.”
“Well, I hope you’ll be happy going back to McDonald’s and working there for the rest of your life, because I’m not pulling any more-”
“I won’t ask you to pull any more strings, Mom…and I didn’t even the first time. And by the way…I’ve never worked at McDonald’s. And I think you know that.”
“Don’t you want a career, Jasmine? What are you going to be without one? How are you going to make your mark on the world? Here you are, thirty years old, now unemployed, way behind all your peers professionally, not climbing up the ladder anymore, just not doing anything.”
“I’m twenty-eight, Mom…just turned. Not thirty.”
On the other end of the line, she’d flare her nostrils. “I think you know what I was getting at. You’re going on thirty years old.”
“Okay.”
I pretty much knew how the entire conversation would go, from start to bitter finish, when my mom would escalate her rhetoric, asking me if I wanted to be a “dead-end, no career loser” for the rest of my life. About two hours later, she’d send a text apologizing for that remark. But, Jasmine, understand that I only said it because I care about your future.
I knew how everything would play out, to the point that I knew telling her that I’d quit my job was going to feel like déjà vu.
At Sheila’s desk, I got into my drawer and began putting the contents in a reusable shopping bag that I kept at work for when I did errands on my lunch break. I didn’t have much. Just some snacks, some cosmetics items, and a few other odds-and-ends.
I’d just put a few packets of instant vanilla cappuccino mix into the bag when Federico came strolling up to the desk, surprising me.
“What are you doing?”
With every fiber of my being, I resisted the urge to say, “What does it look like?”
He shrugged. “I wondered if you were maybe just taking a minute to cool off and rethink things.”
I snorted. “’Cool off?’ You probably think I’m the stereotypical ‘ABW,’ don’t you?”
He frowned. “’ABW?’”
“’Angry black woman.’”
He frowned even harder. “No…I don’t think that. In fact, I think your anger back in the boardroom was completely justified. I get upset when I see people being treated rudely, too.”
I hadn’t expected him to respond like this, and now I didn’t exactly know what to say in return. So, I just changed the subject, breaking eye contact with him while stuffing a few packets of instant hot chocolate mix into my bag. “Look. I’m not out here ‘cooling off’ or ‘rethinking’ anything. I’m packing up my things…because if I hadn’t already quit, I’m sure I’d soon be fired anyway.”
“Oh, I don't know about that. Everyone pees their pants at work sometimes, don’t they?”
I could almost see the humor in this little joke, and I almost wanted to laugh. Just almost, though. However, not sure if Federico was showing a bit of genuine humor and commiseration, or was instead making fun of me, I just ignored what he’d said, looking up from my bag again.
“Can I help you with something, Mr. Balducci?”
“Yes. You can, in fact. First, you can call me Federico, like I asked you to. You can even call me Fed, if you’d like. This is what my friends call me. The second thing you can help me with is that I’d like to go for a cup of coffee at any nearby diner, but I don’t have a companion. Will you go with me?”
He’s actually hitting on me, I thought, with the realization shocking me for some reason. After all, although I knew that many people considered me attractive, I wasn’t an actress or a model, and I didn’t dress in a way that many men would probably consider conventionally “hot,” especially not in the office. In fact, although I definitely didn’t dress like a “granny,” I always dressed pretty conservatively, wanting my smile or my eyes to be the first thing people noticed about me, and not my fairly large breasts.
Also, there was the matter that I was still wearing wet pants, which made me a bit incredulous that Federico wanted to take me out for coffee. Maybe he’s not really hitting on you, though, I thought. Maybe he just wants to get more info on everything that’s been happening in the office.
At any rate, I felt hesitant to accept his offer, so I just deflected.
“You want to go to a ‘diner?’ I hate to tell you, but there aren’t any diners around here. There are, however, Coney Islands. They’re Detroit’s version of the diner.”
“Well, then, I’d like to take you to ‘Detroit’s version of the diner.’”
Not having expected him to persist, I hesitated in my response. “I don’t think you’d like visiting a Coney Island. They're all pretty casual, down-home sorts of places. Some of them are even a little dirty.”
“I don’t mind ‘a little dirty.’”
“Well…the ones that I go to are pretty clean, actually. So, I just don’t think you’d like visiting one.”
“Well, I like clean places, too.”
Feeling a little backed into a corner, I sighed. “Look. Don’t you have a meeting to run or something?”
“I called for a little break to give Ted and Genevieve the opportunity to apologize to Sheila in private, if they choose to. Although now, I’m thinking that I may just reschedule the meeting for tomorrow so that you and I can go get some lunch at a Coney Island together.”
“Oh, you want to get coffee and lunch
now?”
“Well, being that I’ve never been to a Coney Island, I figure I should get the full experience now.”
Once again, I sighed. “Look. It pretty much has regular diner food, with Coney Island hot dogs and some Greek food, too. They’re great places, but going to one probably won’t be that thrilling of an experience for you.”
“Well, I’ll be the judge of that. So, let’s go. I’ll buy you a Coney Island hot dog.”
“Well, I don’t even like Coney Island hot dogs, actually…which is kind of sacrilegious in Detroit, but I just don’t like them.”
Ignoring all the attractive young secretaries that were waiting at the elevator bay with their eyes just about glued to Federico, he leaned against the front desk with his gaze on me. “Well, what do you like to eat at a Coney Island?”
Trying not to think about just how devastatingly handsome he was, I pulled my gaze from his face and went back to putting the contents of my desk drawer in my bag. “I like the gyro plate at Georgiou’s Coney Island. It’s basically just thin-sliced beef, toasted pita bread triangles, and salad on a plate, and then you dip everything in tzatziki sauce. You never, ever drizzle the sauce over the top of everything, like salad dressing; you just dip.
That’s what all locals do at Georgiou’s, anyway. They have amazing baklava sundaes there, too. They top a big scoop of vanilla ice cream with three little squares of baklava, then drizzle a bit of cinnamon-almond sauce over everything. See, drizzling tzatziki sauce may not be okay, but when it comes to baklava sundae sauce, it is.”
“Well, that all sounds delicious. Let’s go.”
Realizing that I’d been more than a bit snippy to him, when I was really just mad at Ted and Genevieve, I stopped dropping things into my bag and looked up at him with a little smile. “You’re not going to stop, are you, Federico?”