My worries over Gloria and how I somehow upset her combine themselves with my presentation-related nervousness and the gnawing sick emptiness of my stomach to make it impossible for me to sleep more than a few minutes at a time that night despite taking two sleeping pills, and I get up and shower and dress the next morning feeling even more like I’m walking through a thick fog than usual.
I miss my subway stop, because I don’t register that I’ve reached it before the doors shut again, so I end up rushing into the office only five minutes before the presentations are to begin. I cut off Andrea the receptionist’s greeting with, “Could you grab me a coffee with four artificial sweeteners? Right away? I’m running way behind today.”
She looks taken aback. “Sure, of course. Coming right up.”
She rushes off, and is back just as I’ve stuffed a notebook and pen into my bag because Elle is famous for never attending a meeting without taking notes and I want to impress her.
“It’ll be one minute for the—”
“I don’t have one.” She should have already had some brewing. “Gotta go.”
Her eyes widen but she says nothing as I speed past her to the elevator.
In the elevator, fidgeting from foot to foot during the seemingly endless climb to the top of the building, I look at myself in the mirrored wall and realize why Andrea looked so confused at the sight of me.
I only made up one eye.
“How the hell?” I mutter, horrified. Fortunately I have makeup in my bag, but it isn’t exactly what I’d used.
Though my hands are shaking from fear and anger at Andrea for letting me leave looking like this, I manage to put on a halfways decent line of eyeliner that more or less matches the other eye. Certainly better than nothing. As I do mascara, though, the elevator jolts to a stop and I jerk the wand across my cheek.
“Damn it!” I stare at the ugly black mark for a moment, then realize I’d better move fast before the waterproof mascara sets. Holding the elevator open with my foot so I can use its mirror, I dig in my bag for a tissue then lick it and scrub at my cheek. The mascara does come off, but so do my foundation and blush, leaving my face with a visibly bare streak.
The elevator begins loudly protesting being held open, and I have to get out. There’s no time to fix my face, and even if there were this floor of the building has no restrooms because Elle doesn’t want “that sort of thing” in her domain, so all I can do is slap a coat of powder over my whole face and hope it evens out the coloration.
My legs feel like rubber as I walk down the hall toward the plush conference room where my fate will be decided. Reaching for the door, I hear Jaimi say something and everyone’s answering chuckles, and for the first time it sinks in that the executive might make their decision based on more than just job skill. I am smarter and more experienced than Jaimi, but people seem to like her for some reason. And of course there’s the wild card, the outside guy. I have no idea what he’s like. I wanted, I needed, to come in here calm and prepared and controlled so I’d ace my presentation and be the only possible choice for CFO, and instead my makeup looks like a monkey applied it and I’ve got no food in me and worse no coffee and—
I snap the rubber band on my wrist, harder than I ever have before, and the sharp sting makes me gasp and shuts down my rising panic. I can do this. I will do this.
I push my shoulders back and lift my chin to make myself look confident in my size-zero hunter green dress, though even that movement dizzies me, then pull open the door.
Then I nearly keel over.
At the table, across from the executives and between Jaimi and an empty chair that’s obviously meant for me, is a man I don’t know.
The blond man from Gloria’s photograph.
“Ah, Valerie,” Elle says, raising her perfectly shaped eyebrows. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”
What sounds like a hint of disdain in her voice weakens my knees even more, and I know I need to pull myself together, but I can’t stop looking at the man.
“Robert Adrian,” he says, getting to his feet and walking toward me. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too,” I say, staring at him so intently I don’t realize he’s held out his hand for me to shake until I hear suppressed chuckles from the executives. I jerk my hand out and we shake, and as he smiles at me I realize it’s not him.
At least, I don’t think it is.
I’ve looked at that photo so many times that I should be able to know for sure, but I don’t. This could be my chance to figure out an element of Gloria’s life, but it’s also my chance to make my career dreams come true, and I can’t process any of this right now.
“I’m Valerie Malloy,” I manage to say, studying his face to see if he reacts to my last name.
He doesn’t, just nods and smiles and says it’s nice to meet me. I do all of that back to him but my smile freezes on my face when he adds, “I’m glad you did make it. I’d hate to win the position without a fair fight.”
His confidence, and his willingness to express it right out loud, surprises me, but I clear my throat and say, “Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”
He nods and smiles again, but now I can see the hunger in his eyes. I’m still not sure whether he’s Gloria’s photo man, but he’s definitely my biggest competition for this job.
As we move toward the table, Jaimi says, “How’s your sister?”
Though her voice holds nothing but concern I wonder if she’s trying to make me look bad for what I said about not missing the presentation.
“Far better,” I say, “which made being here today easy.” I settle gratefully into my chair and immediately feel less like I’m going to faint. “The doctors say she may make a full recovery.”
“That’s wonderful,” Jaimi murmurs, but Elle speaks over her. “Yes, I’m sure we’re all glad to hear that. We do need to get going, though.” Elle’s eyes focus on my face then lock onto my cheek where the mascara was, and I fight to keep my expression calm and relaxed.
It must work, because she looks away without seeming bothered and says, “Now, who’s going first?”
Our chief information officer Drew says, “Age before—” then cuts himself off sharply as I glare at him and Elle clears her throat with meaning. He flounders for a moment, then says, “Alphabetically?”
“Fine with me,” I say, trying to sound like I’m letting Jaimi go first because she’s probably nervous and not like I desperately need a few minutes to collect my thoughts.
“And me,” Robert says, and I take the opportunity to glance at him again. Is he the guy from the photo? I’m not sure. If only I’d put it into my phone, I’d be able to check. Why didn’t that occur to me?
Jaimi gives a little giggle, sounding like a scared teenage girl, then clears her throat and pulls a sheaf of papers from her bag. “If you’ll each take a copy of my handout, I’ll just connect my laptop to the projector and we can get started.”
We pass around the papers, and I study my copy. It looks good. Not as good as mine, since I reused the exact format George always used for his presentations which I know Elle likes, but good.
Her presentation’s good too. She does sound terrified at the beginning but she quickly gets herself together and explains her vision for the company clearly, and when the executives and Elle and Robert begin firing questions at her when she’s finished she handles all of those well. There’s a bit too much “I’ll do whatever you think, of course” in her answers for my taste but the executives appear to like that. Elle seems to be reserving judgement, and I like that. It leaves room for me.
I know I should ask questions too, point out the flaws in her plan and make myself look good, but I can’t think of any. Elle does eventually say, “Valerie, any questions?” and I struggle for a second to come up with something then have to say, “They’ve all been covered.” She just nods and turns away, but I know I’ve disappointed her and I feel bad. Worse.
“Robert, you’re up,” Drew says, and I promise myself I’ll find some challenging questions for him. I try hard to stay focused on his presentation, which is frankly not as good as Jaimi’s, but despite my best efforts my mind keeps shifting gears to wonder whether he is the photograph guy. If he is, what does it mean that he’s here? It can’t be a coincidence.
But the longer I watch him talk, the less I think he is that guy, because something about his eyes isn’t right, and by the time he reaches his final statements I’m sure enough he’s just a random guy that I’m able to focus in on his words and realize his plan is never going to fly with Elle. Expanding into all regular sizes and even plus size clothing? Not a chance.
That the board agrees with me is pretty clear from the kinds of questions he gets, but what really surprises me is how ferociously Jaimi goes after him. Unlike me, she obviously took in every word he said, and she doesn’t seem to like even a single one. I manage to get a question in this time, challenging his estimate of the cost of retooling our overseas factories to produce larger clothing, but that’s nothing compared to how much Jaimi attacks him.
Robert does defend his proposal but I don’t think he’s impressed the board. The problem is, I don’t know whether I will either. I thought I’d feel better sitting in the comfy chair, but instead my brain seems to be getting less active all the time. When Robert takes his chair and Elle says, “Thank you. Valerie?” I have no idea what I wrote in my proposal and even less idea of how to explain it.
I can’t admit that, though, so I snap my rubber band under the table to give myself a jolt then push my chair back and get to my feet, carefully so as not to pass out. Once I’ve given out my handouts, I get my computer connected and get to work.
Each brain cell feels like it’s been packaged individually in cotton. My thoughts seem quiet and dull, and every sentence I speak feels like it takes an eternity to be assembled and come out of my mouth. Fortunately I’ve practiced so many times that the material comes back to me once I get going, but I can hear that I sound flat and unenergetic. I try to perk up my voice, but I have no energy anywhere in my body to give to that effort. Staying standing and talking is absolutely all I can do.
When I’m finished, Drew asks me, “How is your proposal better than Jaimi’s?”
A simple question, and one I’d expected so had prepared for, but as I stumble through an answer I hear myself and cringe inside. I know this stuff, but my words won’t come out right.
He nods when I finish, like I said something insightful. Maybe I did; I can barely remember my own sentences now that they’re out.
Robert does pepper me with questions, but not as many as he asked Jaimi, and my protégée goes almost insultingly easy on me instead of attacking me as she did Robert. Even the board doesn’t ask much, and Elle asks nothing at all. Is this good or bad? I have no idea. I should know, and I don’t.
Once the questions peter out Elle mercifully says, “Well, thank you, Valerie. Why don’t you take a seat while we discuss what happens next?”
I nod and make my way back to my chair, trying not to look like I’m rushing there even though relief at being done and shock at how difficult it was are making every joint in my body come undone, and as I sink onto the seat she says, “So. Thank you all. You have different views, but you’ve all put a lot of effort into your presentations and I appreciate that. Don’t you agree, gentlemen?”
The other board members nod, and I wonder whether a bunch of older white men will prefer the younger and prettier Jaimi or the ‘another guy just like them’ Robert to me. Nothing I can do about that, though.
Fear and helplessness slink through me and I snap my rubber band to push them aside as Elle goes on with, “The board and I will discuss, and then take a little time to think, then meet again at two-thirty to vote. Assuming we can decide, we will call Jaimi and Valerie back to this room at three, put Robert on conference call, and make our announcement. Understood?”
We all nod, and she pushes back her chair and gets to her feet. “Well, thank you again, and we will talk later.”
Everyone rises, since she did, and I scoop up my stuff and head for the door as Jaimi and Robert do the same thing. Robert leaves without a word to anyone, but Jaimi is stopped by Drew and the departing CFO George, who begin telling her in what sound to me like condescending tones how surprised and impressed they were with her presentation. I keep going, not wanting to look like I’m waiting for someone to compliment me, but Elle’s quiet “Valerie” behind me makes me stop and turn around.
My boss’s eyes skim over me. “You do look great, you know,” she says. Her eyes narrow and she studies my face more intensely. “But tired and stressed. Are you all right? Is the situation with your sister causing—”
I can’t let her think I won’t be able to handle the job. “It’s fine,” I say. “Gloria is doing better, and at any rate I am fully committed to my career. I don’t need any accommodations.”
She gives a single nod. “Good to hear. And you’re a zero now, yes?” Her eyes focus in on my waist. “Or less, actually. Right?”
I nod. “Double zero.”
“That takes immense discipline,” she says, glancing down at her own tiny figure, “and I just want you to know I know that and admire it. A great character trait for upper management.”
“Thank you,” I say, relieved that she’s on my side. That’s what matters most here.
“And you definitely look the part.” Her eyes flick to Jaimi, whose Elle dress can’t be smaller than a two and might even be a four, where she stands surrounded by men. “Dignified and professional and disciplined. Well done.”
“Thank you,” I say, somehow managing not to throw myself at her feet and beg for two things: the promotion and the ability to eat a full meal.