This Could Hurt

by Jillian Medoff

  “Of course I consider you a mentor, Rosa.” Afloat on the wine, Rob felt sentimental and expansive. “So does Lucy. We all do. We know you’re the only one looking out for us.”

  She nodded. “I’m doing my best to protect you—all of you—but you have to meet me halfway. Rob, don’t misunderstand. I know you’ve been busy with recruiting. Still, training is just as important, and I fear our lack of attention is starting to show.” Rosa lowered her voice. “What’s going on? Everything okay at home? I’m hearing about unreturned calls, incomplete projects. We need to right the ship before it sails off course. I can help you.” She paused to enunciate. “I want to help you.”

  Rob’s heart raced. Was his job at risk? The room suddenly shrank and grew dark. He wanted to bolt; he had to call Lucy. “Everything’s great at home,” he said, a true statement. “Nothing’s changed.” Another true statement, but also the source of his woes: every day was another day was another day. When did it end? When he died? He drifted awhile, reflecting.

  “It’s a wonderful quality,” he heard Rosa say. “I’d like to see you capitalize on it.”

  Was she talking about him? He had a wonderful quality? “Sorry, Rosa. I missed that.”

  “I said you have a terrific way with people. You’re understanding, and you encourage without pushing. Which is why I think you’re the ideal manager to create a formal mentorship program. Overseeing such a highly visible initiative will satisfy your training goals and enhance your value to the organization. I spoke with Rutherford, and he agreed.”

  That she’d discussed him with the CEO made Rob feel better. I am understanding, he thought. And good with people. Last week he’d successfully guided Courtney through a complex web-based recruiting tool. (Well, she’d guided herself, but he’d printed out the manual for her.)

  “So is it possible to get a proposal by the end of the month?” Rosa asked.

  “How about next week?” he said magnanimously. And because he was heady with his own value, because he decided, right then and there, to buck up and fly right, Rob told Rosa his hopes for the future. “Look,” he said. “We both know I didn’t plan to work in HR, that I fell into this business and ended up with a twenty-year career.”

  “That’s how a lot of people end up here,” Rosa said. “But you’ve done well.”

  “‘Well’ is a bit of a stretch. I’ve done ‘okay.’ I do have goals, though.”

  “Which are?”

  Rob considered the question, but nothing came up, jobwise. “I’d like to own an apartment. Lots of New Yorkers rent—we have for years—but I need to build equity.”

  “So make it happen. Borrow the money from your 401(k). Or better yet, your father.”

  “Our relationship is complicated.” Rob tried to imagine that conversation, him asking his asshole father for money. “He’d lord it over me for the rest of my life.”

  “If you want it that badly, you’ll suck it up, Rob. Besides, it would be a loan, not a gift. If you borrow thirty grand and pay it back over, say, ten years—that’s less than two hundred a month. That’s practically nothing. Look”—she paused to drain her glass—“I’m here to help. I’ll do whatever I can. As I said, I want to help you. Thirty grand sounds like a lot, but it’s really just moving assets between funds. Of course, you have to consider taxes, but that’s why we pay accountants.” Rosa glanced at her watch. “Oh, Rob! It’s so late!” She dug in her purse for her wallet. “Also, Rob? Your Travel and Tourism ideas won’t work, but you’re on the right track.”

  It took Rob a few beats to realize what she was offering. “Wait . . .” He coughed into his hand, tried to straighten up. “Rosa, that is very generous.” A lump formed in his throat. He felt a sweeping sense of relief. “Thank you; really—thank you.”

  She looked at him blankly.

  “You said you could help.” For a second, Rob was afraid he’d misheard, but then Rosa flashed a smile. Her teeth, like her lips, had a purplish cast from the wine, making her look girlish. Yes, she was his boss, but she was also his mentor, maybe even his friend.

  “Of course,” she said grandly, signing the bill. “I’d be thrilled to help you.”

  “YOU’RE IN EARLY, Rob,” Rosa said now.

  Rob stood at her door, still wearing his coat and gloves. Barely 8:20, and already a small crowd had formed outside her office. “One at a time,” she told them. “I’ll get to everyone. Except you.” She pointed to Hal Foster, from Finance. “Unless you’re approving another hundred grand in my budget, you’re banned from this hallway.”

  “That’s cold, Rosa,” Hal said, laughing. The rest of the crowd joined in.

  Rob rarely arrived at this hour, so he’d forgotten that Rosa was in highest demand before nine. “I can see you’re busy,” he told her. “Let’s just talk later.”

  “Later will be worse.” Ushering Rob in, she shut the door and sat down at her desk. Facing her computer, she typed as she talked. “Please excuse my back; I’m on deadline. So, I’ve been noodling over your Travel and Tourism ideas. Let’s forget hiring an outsider—it’s too expensive. But what if we have Kelly Ray oversee the unit? Crazy, I know, but if we promote from within, there’s investment on both sides. Plus, we put a woman in a senior spot. Everyone wins, right?”

  Rob was impressed. “Yes, actually.” He never could’ve come up with that, which was why she was chief and he was what he was. “So . . .” For a second, he felt tongue-tied. “Um . . . so, remember the talent symposium? You told me about your mentor? He helped you pay for college?”

  “Al Moscowitz.” Rosa’s face softened at the name. “Great man, changed my life.”

  “Exactly! Which is why I appreciated your offer to help me. At first I didn’t think I should accept a loan from you—because you’re my manager, I mean—but then you didn’t mention it again, so I wasn’t sure where we stood.”

  Rosa swiveled around. “Oh?” Her face was immobile, her eyes fixed on his, but Rob could see from her rapid blink-blink-blinks that she was startled. “A loan?”

  Rob was stumped. During all his agonizing over whether or not to take Rosa’s money, he never considered she might’ve forgotten offering it. “I had a bit to drink”—he chuckled weakly—“but you did mention a loan, nothing extravagant, just something I could put toward a home.”

  “How much are we talking about?”

  “Twenty . . . maybe thirty?”

  “Thousand?” She went white. “Rob, there’s been a terrible misunderstanding.” She shook her head. “I’m . . . well, I’m not sure what to say, except I’m sorry.” Her sympathetic smile only made it worse. She looked like a teacher dealing with a subpar student who couldn’t grasp a vital lesson. “I believe I was talking about your father offering you a loan, not me.”

  Rob bit his lip. He was a moron. A moron! What HR chief in this universe would offer her employee a loan? Clearly, he’d had more to drink that day than he realized. “It’s okay,” he assured her. “No big deal.” No new apartment, his surprise a bust. “Sorry to bother you, Rosa.”

  “No bother, Rob,” Rosa said, feigning cheer. “My door is always open.”

  ALONE IN HIS office, Rob couldn’t shake off his shame. Not only had he been criminally off base, but he’d looked like an ass in front of his boss. Ignoring his phone’s message light, he launched Brick Breaker on his BlackBerry. Laser-bombing chunks of wall had a soothing effect, and after ten minutes of intense battle, he felt ready to face the day. This meant reading Gawker, making coffee, and hitting the men’s room—whatever it took to avoid his work. Today his plan was to Google-stalk his ex-best friend and send him an e-mail, because why not? Why. The. Fuck. Not. Nothing—not even Evan’s probable success—could make Rob feel smaller than he already did. Besides, Evan might respond with encouraging words; maybe he’d take Rob under his wing again. Thirty years before, Evan Graham had saved Rob’s life—well, his social life. His first day at Dartmouth, a nerdy Jew among the golden goyim, Rob felt so out of place, he was
ready to repack his suitcase and return home to Long Island when his roommate sauntered in.

  “Bobby Hirsch!” Evan had extended his hand. “Great to meet you.” Wealthy, magnetic, a popular scholar-athlete (with an unending supply of the most potent weed Rob ever smoked), Evan instantly boosted Rob’s status.

  Rob hit compose. Hey Evan! Dear Evan. Dude!

  From their first day at Dartmouth and for fourteen years after, Evan had been Rob’s best friend. Maddy liked Evan too—at first. Amused by his flirting, she chatted with his girlfriends; she even signed off on his and Rob’s crazy scheme to quit their jobs and start a business. Evan, for his part, turned up the charm, kept his hands off her, and stayed out of their marriage. When the business tanked, though, the two men’s relationship splintered. They tried to stay friends after Rob went to Ellery, but soon drifted apart, then slowly, inevitably, lost touch.

  Evan, Rob started again. How long has it been since we’ve seen each other?

  Nine years, he thought.

  If you want to get a drink sometime, I’m around. Miss you, buddy. Give a call.

  He double-checked his work signature at the bottom, making sure his BlackBerry number was correct. (Rob only had one device, business and personal; Ellery paid, why use two?) Then he sat for a moment, and considered his next move. Hope you’re doing great, he added. All good on my end.

  He pressed send.

  Ten minutes later, Rob was strolling to the conference room for Rosa’s weekly senior staff meeting, BlackBerry in hand, a new game of Brick Breaker on the screen.

  “Quickly,” Lucy said, grabbing his arm. “Can you review my deck? Before Oswald gets here.” Oswald was Lucy’s nickname for Rosa, along with the Wizard, the Wiz, Oz, Ozzy, Ozzy Osbourne, Ozymandias, Ozzy Gosling, Ryan Gosling, Gooseberry, and other variations reflecting equal parts affection and irritation.

  “Do I have to?” Studying his device, Rob launched bombs, then rockets.

  She waved a sheath of papers in his face. “Be a pal, Rob.”

  His game over, Rob flipped through her PowerPoint, entitled Harnessing Social Media to Promote Policy, Enhance Engagement, and Drive ROI. “Jesus, Luce. Is all this really necessary?” Each week, Rosa had one of her managers research a timely issue and prepare a case study for the group. Today, apparently, was Lucy’s turn. “Handouts, too?”

  “Just a few.” Lucy’s foot jiggled. She had restless legs syndrome (self-diagnosed) and never stopped twitching. “It’s mostly filler.” Lucy liked to downplay her efforts, but Rob knew better. A veteran of Wall Street, she’d spent her formative years satisfying C-suite HR executives. Now, as VP of communications, Lucy’s drive and intensity put the rest of them (well, him) to shame.

  Sighing, Rob fished a pen out of his pocket. He traveled light, always had—pencil, pad, company BlackBerry—unlike Leo Smalls (Benefits) and Kenny Verville (Comp), who sat across the table, hunched over their devices, gear lined up like weaponry: laptops, pens, pencils, highlighters, keycards, water, coffee, company BlackBerries, personal iPhones (a novelty, but both men had one), banana (Leo), muffin (Leo), trail mix (Leo), mocha Frappuccino with extra whip (Leo).

  “So?” Lucy was waiting.

  “Very impressive,” Rob said. “The charts really pull it together.”

  “Please, Rob. You barely read it!” This was from Leo, who continued to tap out e-mails. Beside him, Kenny did the same. Leo was white and very fat, Kenny was black and very tall, and both were overdressed for Ellery’s business-casual environment. Sitting side by side in their funereal suits, lips pursed in similarly sour expressions, the two of them looked like a late-night comedy duo performing a skit about kooky employees.

  “Lighten up, Leo,” Lucy said, blowing her bangs off her forehead. She tucked a rogue strand behind her ear. Over the past decade, Lucy’s appearance had changed. Back when she was nearing thirty, with her wide-set blue eyes, unruly hair, and heart-stopping body, she was striking enough to shift the tenor of a room; now, nearing forty, she was still attractive, though pleasing in the way of a once-grand house that has fallen into disrepair. Her looks notwithstanding, Lucy was more than just a colleague to Rob. She was his better half, serving as his conscience at Ellery. She was certainly a harder worker, putting in long hours, gunning for extra assignments, mentoring the junior staff. Lucy was the type of employee Rob would’ve aspired to be if he’d had any aspirations.

  Leo kept watching the door. “So where is Her Highness?” He extricated the phone console from a tangle of Ethernet cords and punched in Rosa’s number. “Hey,” he said to her voice mail. “It’s twenty till. Everyone’s here except Peter, who’s on the road.” Signing off, Leo turned to Lucy. “Weird, right? When was the last time Rosa Guerrero was late to a meeting?”

  “Nineteen seventy-six,” Lucy mumbled. Head bent, she was using a red Sharpie to mark up her PowerPoint. “Maybe Ozzy’s talking to Rutherford?”

  “No, she would’ve told me.” Leo chewed on a pen cap. “Should we be concerned?”

  Rob found Leo tiresome, particularly his sycophantic obsession with Rosa. (On the other hand, this obsession wasn’t without its advantages. Case in point: Leo had arrived at Ellery only six months before Rob, but since then, he’d been promoted four times, Rob only twice.) Not that Rob’s irritation with Leo was anything new; they’d known each other since 1988, when they both worked at Revlon—Rob on staff, Leo temping. In those days, he went by Leonard and had a full head of hair, which he dyed jet-black, along with his eyebrows. Rob’s most distinct memory of Leo was the time he broke down outside their supervisor’s office after being denied a permanent position. Crying! In the hall! Over a job! As soon as Leo left, Rob forgot all about him. So a decade later, when Leo called (on Rosa’s behalf) out of the blue, inviting him to interview at Ellery, it took Rob a minute to place the name.

  “You’re quiet,” Lucy said, turning to Kenny. “Do you know where Oswald is?”

  Shaking his head, Kenny continued to stare moodily at his computer.

  What’s his problem today? Rob wondered. Our forecasting process too slow? Our software out of date? Though Kenny Verville (“V-as-in-Victory-E-R-V-as-in-Victory-I-L-L-E”) was the least experienced of all five managers, his MBA was from Wharton, so he looked down on the rest of them, even Lucy. He was also the best looking. Tall with long legs and broad shoulders, Kenny had a lean torso and massive chest, all of which he accentuated with body-conscious suits. Rob knew he was Kenny’s physical inferior, though that didn’t bother him. (Given his smallish stature, Rob was always inferior to someone.) What Rob envied was the younger man’s future, which, unlike his own, had yet to be written.

  Leo’s BlackBerry rang. “Oh!” His voice, rising three octaves, made him sound like a cartoon mouse. “It’s her, it’s Rosa! Hey, where are you? It’s late, and we’re worried.”

  “Is she coming in?” Lucy asked, gathering up her folders. “Rather, can we leave?”

  “Sure thing, Rosa.” Leo kept rubbing his scalp. His now-graying hair was styled in a pompadour to hide his thinning crown. When he got excited, he patted it down as if calming a willful animal. He covered the phone. “Guys, Rosa apologizes for missing our meeting, but she had to step out. She’ll be working remotely—”

  “Remotely?” Lucy balked. “The woman who claims telecommuting killed the economy?”

  “So the meeting’s canceled?” Rob rose from his seat, resuming Brick Breaker.

  “Wait, Rob! We’re not done.” Attempting privacy, Leo hunched over. “Sure, Rosa. I’ll swing by with the files. No, I don’t mind; I can also pick up lunch. Turkey on rye? No mustard?”

  Hearing this, Rob wanted to knock Leo’s head against the wall.

  Swiveling back around, Leo clicked off his phone. “Again, Rosa sends her apologies. There was a last-minute crisis.”

  “What happened?” Lucy asked.

  Leo pulled an imaginary thread off his sweater-vest. “She didn’t say.”

  “Of course she did, Leo. What�
�s the crisis, and which files did she ask for?”

  Leo sighed. “Vendor invoices going back ten years. Records of everything we spent—cleaning costs, supplies, water delivery.” He stood up and sat back down. “Lucy, she mentioned Dave Darnell.”

  “In Legal? Okay, that’s odd.” She grabbed Rob’s arm. “Don’t you think it’s odd?”

  Rob shrugged; he couldn’t think straight. A patch of fog had rolled in and settled above his eyes, clouding his vision. This loan business was a big blow. Bigger still was realizing Rosa had invited him to lunch last month to criticize his shitty work. She’d offered to help because he was, in fact, at risk. “Very odd,” he agreed, hiding his growing panic. “Strange times, Luce.”

  4

  Evan and I had a rare relationship,” Rob said the next day. “Most men go their whole lives without admitting they love other men. Not sexually, Lucy. Intimately.”

  “Christ, Rob; that sounds so gay. Not that I’m judging,” she added quickly. “Be whatever you feel.”

  It was raining, and their flimsy umbrellas kept flipping up against the wind, providing little protection. The ground was slushy: dirty snow and wet detritus combined to form a gray sidewalk soup. More snow was in the forecast, if not for Friday, then definitely the weekend.