Citizen Girl (37 page)

Eyes cast down, I walk swiftly against the exodus.

‘Hey, lady, where do you think you’re going?!’ a cop calls after me.

‘I’m on the list.’ I turn, handing over my ID.

‘Elevator’s locked for security. Have to walk up.’

‘Thanks,’ I mutter, spinning back around.

‘Watch out!’

I collide into the marketing woman, her purse upending and files scattering across the floor.

‘I’m so sorry.’ I crouch to help her collect her belongings, picking up children’s finger-paintings and a list of notes under the heading ‘Orthodontists – Upper West Side’. She grimaces. ‘I’m sorry, God, I’m sorry, but they’re not going to let you take this if it’s in folders.’ We stand up together, and she tugs the papers out of my hands.

‘Why didn’t you just tell me when I asked you?’ She folds the color-daubed pages swiftly and tucks them under her blazer.

‘I couldn’t—’ I begin to offer a futile explanation, but she turns dismissively to join the march towards the guarded exit.

I’m bumped again from behind and carom into Stacey, her cheeks splotched. ‘What do you even
do
here, anyway?’

‘I – I—’

‘Forget it. I don’t even care.’ She gets in line to be searched.

I chug up the ten flights, my labored breathing echoing in the now-empty shaft. Outside MC’s deserted entrance stands yet another security guard. ‘Blue ticket?’ he asks suspiciously.

He lets me through to the barren offices where the few Unaffecteds, all techies and accountants, wordlessly shuffle from desk to desk, packing their fired colleagues’ belongings into labeled boxes, Filofaxes, alumni mugs, wedding pictures. The freight entrance door opens and a
team of movers in orange jumpsuits begins loading the cleared desks onto dollies. Rex strolls in, his hands tucked into the back of his belt, like a farmer surveying his crop.

‘All right, folks! Folks, listen up!’ I turn at the sound of Guy’s exhortation. ‘I am
very
psyched to be moving forward with you,’ he cheers, barely winded from his own ten-flight jog. ‘And I just want to reassure you that you all have
nothing whatsoever
to worry about. You should be relieved to know that
you are unaffected
, absolutely
unaffected
by this morning’s event.’ He beams, unaware that his use of our ‘project’ lingo has a less than soothing impact on those remaining. An accountant loses his shaky grip on an Affected colleague’s make-up bag, a birth control pill pack clattering across the floor to Guy’s feet, exactly, I’m sure, where she’d have wanted it. ‘Let’s finish this up quickly. And when you’re done, empty your own desks. We’ll be moving our operation to a new location in Long Island City! Okay? But before anything else, I need everyone to come over and fill out these non-disclosures here. Everybody got that? Great!’

I dodge movers already unloading Guy’s office to stuff my few remaining belongings in my purse. My cell rings. ‘Hello?’

‘Oh, good, I found you. How’d it go?’ Manley asks.

‘They were pretty devastated.’ I rub my forehead, watching as the Unaffected line up to sign Guy’s form.

‘They’ll get over it.’

‘I hope. So, we’re moving?’ The ridiculous pony chaise is carried down the steps.

‘We didn’t need such expensive real estate. Don’t worry
– I’ve built a car service into your new compensation package. Now, a small favor. In the rush this morning I forgot to clear out a few things from the bathroom in my office. Think you can throw’em in your box?’

‘Sure.’ Whatever.

‘I hope you’re ready to play a significant part in our new venture. We launched last night and, Girl, early numbers look
fantastic
. There should be a car waiting for you downstairs. Try to hurry – the kick-off party’s just getting started.’

I cringe, hot needles pricking the back of my eyes, forecasting a migraine. ‘I don’t really feel up to a party. If it’s okay with you, I think I’ll just go home and see you Tuesday morning.’

‘No, no, this’ll cheer you up! And you need to meet the new team, so we can hit the ground running after the holiday. I’ll expect you in about forty minutes, okay?’

I reach for an empty box. ‘Okay.’

Rex passes me as I head over, one of the pink nondisclosures in hand. ‘Hey, Guy!’ he calls across the floor. ‘Let’s have you sign one of these babies while we’re at it.’

I enter Manley’s emptied office and cross to the granite washroom that was once Guy’s eminent domain. Shutting the door behind me, I feel the sudden relief of no longer being watched. I let my shoulders drop and find my face starting to crumple, warm tears breaking. I lock the door and drop onto the toilet lid, soaking my palms as the last hours, days, months catch up with me.

‘Guyser, get in here for a second.’ Rex calls from the other side of the bathroom door. I hold my breath. ‘Grab
the door, would’ya?’ Manley’s office door clicks shut.

‘I know I wasn’t supposed to be here, but man, Rex – I had to. I mean those were my people out there, you know? I just had to see this thing through. Just like you taught me.’

‘Yes. Can I have the form?’

‘Sure. Here. I’m so psyched for what’s next. I’m really amped. You know, Bovary fucked us – so we tried, we learned, but it was worth the gamble, right? You got to take those risks—’

‘Guy, I’m letting you go.’ My eyes bulge in the silence. ‘Don’t look at me like that. You know the board’s been at me for weeks. You asked for this shot, we gave it to you, and it fell through. I have every confidence in you, Guyser. You’ll land on your feet.’

‘But you’re gonna hook me up?’ Guy’s voice is faint.

‘Well … look, I think it’s best if we put some distance between us for a while.’

‘I see.’

‘You know how it is, Guy. This has been a bit of an embarrassment for me with The Bank. We just need a cooling-off period.’

‘Right.’

‘Don’t look so down, buddy. You’re the idea man. Something’s going to hit, just need to keep shooting.’

‘Yeah, no, you’re right. Well, at least let me take you out for a drink—’

‘I’ve got to get going. I’ll call you, though.’

‘I’m going to be out on the island over the weekend, I’ll stop by—’

‘We’ll be busy. I’ve gotta go.’ I feel the rush of air over my feet as Manley’s door reopens. ‘We good? … Guy?’

‘What? Yeah, Rex, definitely … we’re good.’

I sit and wait. And wait. And wait. Listening with every ounce of attention. I give it ten minutes, and then, just to be safe, fifteen. Grabbing Manley’s toiletries, I tense every muscle before unclicking the lever and opening the bathroom door.

‘Fuck. You’ve been in there this whole time?’

‘What? No. Yes.’ Guy is slumped against the window, elbows propped on his bent knees, his skin matching his pale green shirt. ‘Yes, sorry, Manley asked me to get her things so—’

‘You must really be enjoying this.’ Stunned that I’m not, I grip the box, trying to nail down what I’m feeling, if not enjoyment. Exhaustion, mostly.

‘Not really.’

‘Right.’

‘I’m not, Guy. It’s sad.’ I nod out at the emptying office. ‘This whole thing is just sad.’

He pushes himself up to standing. ‘Don’t be so fucking sanctimonious.’

‘I wasn’t—’

‘You were. It’s your thing. You reek of it.’

I start for the door.

‘Don’t judge me,’ he growls after me. ‘You don’t know a single fucking thing about running a business.’

‘Nor was I supposed to – that wasn’t my responsibility.’ I dig my fingernails into the cardboard. ‘I wasn’t the CEO.’

‘Exactly – and you never will be. Underneath all that uppity bullshit, you’re totally useless.’ Light streams in through the cracks of the blinds behind him, turning the gray in his hair a spectral white. ‘You don’t take direction, follow through, or deliver what’s asked for. You have no imagination, no respect, and absolutely no fucking guts. You’re a
shit
team player.’

‘Oh! Oh, sorry, there was a
team
? There was direction? It wasn’t just—’ I drop the box and flail my arms to the left. ‘Over there. Or, oh no, wait. How about over here?’ I flail to the right. ‘I’ve just been so busy “not thinking” I must’ve missed it. I know, why don’t you break into my house when I’m naked and we can have an
inappropriate
conversation about it in the dark? Or, hey! I could just fire everybody for you – either one! Anything you need, Guy. It’s all about you.’

He glowers with sunken eyes. ‘Whatever.’

‘Right.’ I heft the box into my arms. ‘Look, Guy, you were supposed to give information and clear directions. You were supposed to motivate, with consistency, and courtesy – be a
role model
!’

‘Jesus, Girl, you’re
deeply
fucked up.’

‘No.’ Standing in my power heels, I stare at him, eye to eye. ‘What I am … is employed.’ I stride out with Manley’s panty-liners.

12. Oh Yeah, Baby, Don’t Stop, Don’t Stop, Don’t Stop!

The limousine pulls up in a row of parked limousines outside a warehouse in a neighborhood of warehouses and I eagerly hop out, a million-pounds-of-crappy-boss lighter. I breathe in the warm air, the intense reflection from the white sidewalk feeling deliciously beach-like as I scan the glimmering tin buildings for the entrance to a new era.

MC board members tread from their cars, one slapping his palm against a garage door. It flies up, icy air rushing out of the darkness as I follow them under a ‘Congratulations’ banner. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust before I can make out the cavernous black ceiling arching a good thirty feet above, while a long center passageway rolls out before me, flanked by glassed-in offices. Manley was right; the new-carpet smell mixed with the lingering hint of fresh paint buoys my spirits even further.

‘Champagne?’ a gracious voice offers and I reach around the nearest board member, my hand accidentally brushing bare skin. I lean past a seersucker shoulder to find a topless – top-
less
– server handing off flutes from a tray painted to look like a yellow legal pad.

‘Sorry, I seem to be in the wrong place. Do you know which building My Company is in?’

‘Whoops! Be careful, there, sweetie.’ I spin to face
another half-naked server, steadying the flutes she carries on her own legal pad tray.

‘I’m looking for My Company.’

‘Hush.’ A man addresses me as he helps himself to a drink. ‘We’re not calling it that anymore.’

‘This is
Fun
Company,’ the waitress offers.

Her clones flank us, all sporting identical glasses, buns, pencil skirts, and pumps, all offering hors-d’oeuvres and cocktails from legal pads, their young hair liberally sprayed a silvery gray.

Confused, to say the least, I head down the glass-walled aisle, hunting for Manley in the flanking empty offices, conference rooms, copy rooms, and kitchen.

Suddenly a school bell clangs. The doors spring open in the back of each of the rooms and a professionally clad man and woman enter. They freeze in artificial mid-workday positions, like Office Kens and Barbies. The men are young, the women made up to look older, much older. Some sort of party entertainment? Some training group Manley’s brought in? I scan along the windows as a second bell sends the women into fits of contrived gesticulated yelling at their male counterparts. In the kitchen a woman lectures a young man by the coffee urn when, out of nowhere, he hauls off and backhands her. I twist away from the window, only to catch sight of the woman in the boardroom across the aisle reeling over the conference table. She lands against the wall, the wind knocked out of her. The man unzips his fly.

‘It’s completely interactive.’ An elderly board member explains to his colleagues, tugging the handkerchief from
his breast pocket to pat his freckled brow. ‘The user just clicks on whichever one looks most like his boss, how he wants her done, and the actor takes over.’ Office Ken rips Office Barbie’s clothes off on the conference table, penetrating her with an assaulting level of force, her head knocking into the wood laminate. She turns her face away from him and we lock eyes, her Slavic features coming into focus.

‘Moldova—’

‘Watch your step, dear.’ He extends his freckled hand, as I struggle to remain upright.

‘Girl, there you are. Great work this afternoon.’ Manley rounds the corner holding champagne, her free hand patting her pregnant belly beneath her beige linen shift. I blink at her utterly, utterly—‘We’re having a problem with the air,’ she announces flatly. ‘Too warm and the nipples won’t stay hard, too cold and they get gooseflesh, which reads on camera.’ She grimaces. ‘I’m learning. Haven’t they offered you a drink yet? The waitresses should be circulating back here, too,’ she scowls past me at the servers.

‘How did you – how did she—’ I point to Moldova, a trickle of blood escaping from her nostril.

‘Guy discovered her. What a pistol. Been at it since we went live last night. Great work ethic.’

‘Manley, she came here in a
cargo container
—’

‘And now she’s making a fortune,’ she smiles. ‘American dream, isn’t it?’

‘No! I don’t – What
is
this? I mean I know what it is, but what—’

‘Cash cow.’ She takes my elbow and leads me away. ‘Six aisles going from soft to hard core. We’re finding our users progressing through the site much faster than we anticipated, so we’ll have to ratchet up the content. But we don’t have to worry about that till Tuesday.’

‘Tuesday?’ I repeat stupidly.

‘Today we’re celebrating. I wasn’t planning on taking you through all the boring details, so you could just relax over the holiday.’ Fat. Fucking. Chance. She takes me in from shaking-head-to-toe. ‘Or we can talk now, if you’d prefer.’ She drains her glass and sets it on a passing steno pad.

‘Yes. I would.’

Manley takes me through a door marked ‘Management’, and we’re suddenly vacuum sealed in her office. With its gray drapes and crisp charts, it’s an identical replica of her space at MC. ‘First, here’s the thirty-day bonus check Guy promised you.’ She puts the folded green paper in my numb hands. ‘Have a seat.’ She indicates the worktable once again spot-lit in the center of the room.