The air-conditioning is broken and a temporary mobile unit has been placed in the corner of the boardroom. Melissa is sitting closest to the unit. It’s blowing her normally immaculate hair all over the place.
‘I feel like I’m in a nineteen eighties music video,’ she mutters to Cassie, the head of HR. ‘The wind machine is lifting my hair while I sing about my heart going on.’
‘That was the nineties,’ Cassie points out.
‘Whatever.’
The finance director has to raise his voice to be heard above the motor of the unit. ‘Next year’s budget is almost final. We’re just waiting on sales forecasts ...’ He directs a meaningful look at Melissa.
‘By the end of the week,’ she says. ‘As you know, it’s not something that can be rushed.’
Melissa is resolute. She will not pluck sales figures from the air; they’re too important for that. Commission is affected. Family incomes. Performance ratings. There is a protocol to go through: a review of the pipeline, a discussion about probability, an estimation process that is neither too bullish nor too cautious. This all takes time.
He turns his attention to Cassie. ‘The headcount numbers and employee costs still need tweaking.’
Melissa and Cassie are the only two females sitting around the oblong table. The testosterone can be overwhelming at times.
‘The headcount numbers are final,’ Cassie retorts. ‘You think they need tweaking only because you don’t like them.’
Go Cassie! Melissa is well known for her activism in the industry, constantly campaigning for female advancement and representation around tables like this one. She also mentors a few young women who are starting out in their careers. She has a lot of advice to give them. Work hard. Stand up for yourself. Be confident even though you might be shaking inside. Unfortunately, she can’t offer guidance when it comes to matters such as maternity leave and work-life balance. Melissa thought she’d have children by now. She expected to be juggling work and daycare, manoeuvring sticky fingers away from her business suits and small bodies in and out of car seats. But the prospect of children is looking increasingly unlikely. Henry – already father to two teenage children – is decidedly unenthusiastic. Melissa’s ambivalence has been another factor; she has not issued an ultimatum or put any priority on the matter. And if that weren’t enough, there’s the added, insurmountable, problem of living arrangements.
The meeting comes to its conclusion and Melissa escapes the icy gusts of the air-conditioning unit. She detours to the bathroom on the way back to her office. As suspected, her hair is in complete disarray. She pulls a comb from her handbag and roughly runs it through. She is a striking-looking woman. Near-black hair. Flawless white skin. When she was in her final year at school, she had a holiday job as Snow White in a theme park. Some of her old school friends still call her Snow White.
OK, Snow White. Enough prettying yourself. Back to work.
This morning’s meeting feels like a lifetime ago. A few things have gone wrong, souring the rest of the day. A potential client changing his mind at the very last minute. Another client being put on credit hold and threatening to walk away. Sales can be hard, thankless work. It’s all or nothing; there’s no middle ground. Either you clinch the deal or you don’t.
Now, all Melissa wants to do is go home and put her feet up. Tomorrow she’ll start again with renewed verve.
‘I’m calling it a day,’ she says to Samantha, her assistant. Samantha is one of the young women she mentors. Next year Melissa will promote her into a junior sales role and recruit another exceptionally bright personal assistant, who will also – if she works hard and proves herself capable – be promoted in due course.
Melissa’s apartment is cool and welcoming, a haven after a frustrating day. In the bedroom, she swaps her business suit for pyjamas and her stilettos for a pair of fluffy slippers. If only the executive could see her now!
Dinner is Weight Watchers’ chicken pasta. She likes the convenience and portion control, even though she’s fortunate enough not to have to watch her weight. She burns a lot of energy at work. Zooming from meeting to meeting at a hundred miles an hour. Taking the fire stairs instead of waiting for lifts.
She’s fed and settled in front of the TV when Henry calls.
‘How was your day?’ he asks politely.
‘Don’t ask ... You?’
‘Christopher missed his bus so I had to do an emergency trip to school. The traffic was horrendous.’
Henry’s children live with him most days of the week. The initial arrangement was meant to be Sunday to Tuesday but Henry’s house is closer to their schools than their mother’s. Melissa tries to put it down to less commuting time. Tries not to think of herself as a factor and the fact that the more they’re in his house, the less she is.
‘Am I going to see you tomorrow?’ she asks carefully.
‘Yeah, I’ll drop in after I’ve taken Tessa to dance.’
That means they’ll have an hour at most. Henry will want sex. He can think again.
‘Will I make dinner?’ she asks, even though she already knows the answer.
‘No need. I’ll eat early with the kids.’
‘Whatever.’ She knows this will annoy him – it’s the favoured retort of his children – but says it anyway.
‘Now you sound like a fifteen-year-old.’
‘"Whatever” is a good word for all age groups,’ she argues, picking a piece of fluff from her pyjama pants. ‘It’s the perfect balance between indifference and frustration. It’s not as blunt as “Who cares” or as rude as “Fuck off".’
‘Do you want to tell me “fuck off"?’
‘What I want is more than a stolen hour between dance drop-off and pick-up.’
‘Sorry.’ He sighs. ‘I’ll make it up to you on the weekend.’
She says nothing. There is no making up the missed time together. There’s too much of it. It’s lost for ever.
‘What are you doing now?’ he asks in a softer tone.
‘Just watching TV. One of those hospital emergency shows. After this I’m going to rouse myself to answer the questions for the new yearbook.’
‘Okay. You do that ... Goodnight, then. Love you.’
‘Love you too,’ she says automatically.
The truth is, she is not entirely sure.
She did love him. Couldn’t believe how lucky she was to have met him, how well matched they were. She was still deliriously happy on their wedding day, a year later, even though his children were digging in their heels and they both decided that it would be best if she held off moving in for a few months. Now here they are. Three years later. Still living apart. And she is not deliriously happy. Not remotely.
Melissa reaches for her iPad and opens Katy’s email. Good on Katy for organising this. Tracking down eighty or so ex-students is no mean feat and should not be taken for granted. They should all chip in and present her with a bouquet and their thanks on the night of the reunion.
What are you doing now?
Where do you live?
Do you have a partner/family?
What has been your greatest achievement since leaving school?
Straightforward questions, really. Melissa can’t fathom why it has taken her this long – over a fortnight – to answer.
Melissa is sales director for a multinational pharmaceuticals company. She lives in a modern apartment that has corridor views of Bondi Beach. The apartment cost a small fortune but is well within her means because her on-target salary would make some of her old classmates’ jaws drop. Henry is her husband. She doesn’t have children of her own, and can’t count Christopher and Tessa because they’ve refused to accept her. It seemed easier at the time not to force the issue, not to foist herself upon them. Now she realises it was a big mistake. She and Henry have grown distant. They have become set in their ways. They have not learned how to be with each other for long periods of time. And the children are no more welcoming now than they were three years ago.
Melissa turns off the television. She is finding it hard to think. What is her greatest achievement since leaving school?
Her career? Is that a little too predictable? Too boring?
Melissa imagines that she’ll be one of the few who followed the career path she set out to follow.
What will you be doing ten years from now: Working my way up the corporate ladder.
She’s proud of her success. Proud of the fact that she helps other women climb the ladder too. Her work life has been anything but predictable or boring.
It’s her marriage that’s the sticking point. She is not proud of it, not at all, and has just realised that’s what caused her to stall, to procrastinate rather than type an immediate response to Katy, which would be her usual style. Melissa’s marriage is tripping her up. It feels fake. Like it doesn’t deserve mention in her updated status.
Living in separate houses to keep the peace; well, that was even dumber than eating the poisoned apple, Snow White.
Now that she thinks about it, marriage is a bit like sales. It’s all or nothing. There is no middle ground.
What you will be remembered for: Being the class idiot.
Best memories of high school: The day the frogs escaped captivity and were bouncing all around the science lab. (It wasn’t an accident. Sorry, Mr Collins.)
Worst memories of high school: Getting a three-day in-school suspension in Year 10 and having to spend those days in Miss Hicks’s office doing classwork while she kept her beady eye on me.
What will you be doing ten years from now: Trying to stay out of trouble.