Meeting Dr. Obatu left me discombobulated. Climbing Alpe d’Huez on the Schlein TdF99 didn’t help. Adhering to my routine of Chinese food and a long shower after my workout didn’t help. Reading Pride and Prejudice didn’t help. As soon as I closed my eyes, I was back on the metal slab being tortured by the woman with speculum fingers. Then, instead of stabbing me with probes, the man-beasts branded me with glowing metal flowers until my skin bloomed like a garden of weeping welts. The sensation of drowning in a sea of bloody tears made me wake up breathless and sweaty. I couldn’t close my eyes again. The memory of the faceless woman whispering, “You’re all alone. You’re all alone,” over and over in my ear still echoed in my head.
I dragged my body downstairs and booted up my laptop. By dawn, I had emailed Letitia my analysis of the copper and manganese markets and thrown in a forecast of how plumbing supply prices might affect housing starts in the northern states for good measure. I went ahead and converted my report into a PowerPoint for her and rewrote my analysis in plainer language. I knew she would ask me to do that before her next meeting with the executives on the ninth floor anyway.
At 6:00, fingers of fog crept over Ruby’s hood as I resigned myself to a long, slow commute to work. I looked east and saw the sun struggling to burn through the mist above a line of big box stores. Blue flashing lights emerged from the fog bank ahead just as a line of cars broke off and took the first exit. I joined the line and hoped they knew where they were going; I only knew one way to get to the office from my house. The green sedan in front of me had a Bettel Occidental Commodities parking permit on its rear window and a bumper sticker that said, “God is talking. Are you listening?” When it turned its blinker on and headed east, I followed. Twenty minutes into the drive, I was still behind the same green sedan. I followed them until they pulled into the Bettel Occidental Commodities parking lot. I wasn’t clear how we got there, but we did. As I pulled into my usual spot, a round balding man got out of the green sedan. He took a hard look at me before walking into the building. Observant. Good. I could be a stalker or something. I did follow him the whole way here all on side streets.
Later that morning, I was checking Red Headed Woman’s report on coffee futures when I received an email message from Human Resources telling me to come down to their department as soon as possible.
What now? I was just getting a handle on how the wars in Central Africa will affect Arabica prices this winter. I bet Pathetic Dog Owner reported me to HR for asking him about those crude oil tankers after Letitia didn’t punish me. What a crybaby!
I grabbed my backpack and stormed toward the elevator. Might as well go face the music; I’ll never be able to concentrate now. I gave the wall of Pathetic Dog Owner’s empty cubicle a swift kick on my way by. Several photographs fluttered to the dusty carpet.
The Human Resources department didn’t feel like it belonged with the rest of Bettel Occidental Commodities. The lobby alone was the size of half my department. I wasn’t certain how to proceed when I initially got off the elevator. I stood in front of a monumental reception desk for a second until I saw two young women collating stacks of papers around a table in one of the three glass walled conference rooms. I waved to them; they just blinked at me like goldfish endlessly circling their bowl. I set off down the wide central corridor to find the person who sent me the email before they sucked me into their zombie-like task. Brass nameplates graced each of the glass office doors. There was no warren of anonymous cubicles here. Then again, I wondered if the offices had glass doors so the other people could see if an employee went postal inside.
Vanessa Klaitner was on the phone when I found her. Her unnaturally orange hair blossomed out of a hot pink scrunchie atop her head and framed her round face like a Gerbera daisy. She wore a violet silk blouse with an intricate ruffled neckline and a bright yellow jacket. Vanessa was the type of person who used all the crayons in the box. When she saw me, she quickly hung up and waved me in.
“Ms. Klaitner?” I said. “I’m Lara Blaine. You sent me an email?”
Vanessa slowly massaged a file folder with my name written on the cover. “Yes, please come in. And, close the door.”
Oh boy, here it comes. I knew Letitia was pissed at me for missing two staff meetings in a row, but I didn’t think it would get me fired.
She cleared her throat and focused on the wall behind my head. “Ms. Blaine, I asked you to come down because… well, we have a little problem.”
I stepped across the plush carpet to the edge of her desk. “A little problem?”
Vanessa bit the bright pink lipstick off her lower lip as she fiddled with the silk flower attached to her ballpoint pen. “You see, Letitia came down here first thing this morning… and, uh, said that she was, you know… worried about you.” I started to protest but Vanessa put her hand up to stop me. “Let me cut to the chase. Letitia says you’ve been acting weird. She told me you sometimes have way too much energy and at other times seem to be out of it. You’ve been getting into arguments with your co-workers. Missing meetings. Working crazy hours. Writing reports in the middle of the night… You do look a little pale.”
“I’m fair!” I pointed at the file folder in front of Vanessa. “Are you firing me?”
“No, not today.” Vanessa nervously tugged at her ponytail. “Bettel Occidental Brokerage is committed to supporting our people as both individuals and employees.”
What the hell does that mean?
Vanessa tapped her long vermillion nails on the edge of a stack of sticky notes. “We understand that our line of work can be very stressful so when one of our team members gets themselves in a pickle, it’s Bettel policy to provide you with whatever treatment you need.”
“A pickle? You call cancer ‘getting into a pickle’?”
Vanessa slammed her hand on the desktop. An acrylic nail bulleted past my face. “Cancer? Letitia said you have a drug problem.”
“No way! Me? Drugs?” I sat down hard in the chair in front of the desk. “She thinks I’m a drug addict?”
“My God,” Vanessa scoffed. She swiveled in her ergonomic chair and tossed the file folder onto the low cabinet behind her. “That Letitia. She can’t tell the difference between someone who’s sick and a drug addict? Makes you wonder.”
She shook her head as if it was an Etch-A-Sketch before swiveling back to me. “I’m sorry, Ms. Blaine. What can I do to help?”
“Help?” I covered my face with my hands. Letitia thinks I’m a druggie. I can’t believe I just told a complete stranger that I have cancer and she wants to know how she can help?
“I’m sorry. Of course. Your condition is none of my business. And it certainly has no bearing on your tenure here at Bettel. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s absolutely fine.” I started to get up to leave when Vanessa went on, “On the other hand, now that I do know that you’re having… health issues. I really would like to help.”
I turned to look back at her. “Can you cure cancer?”
Vanessa got up and stepped between me and the door. “I’m sorry, I wish I could do that for you.” She put a hand on the door to keep me from leaving. “I can deal with Letitia for you though.”
“She really said I’m a druggie?”
“She really did.” Vanessa gestured to the chair in front of her desk. “Please sit down. I’m sure there’s something I can do to make things easier for you around here.”
“I don’t get it. Why would you want to help me?”
A wide smile spread across Vanessa’s face as I sat back down. She pulled two Diet Cokes from a mini-fridge behind her desk and pushed one toward me. “Look Lara. Can I call you Lara? I really do want to help you. But I also really need to know what the deal is up on the eighth floor.”
“What do you mean?”
“Letitia goes through team members like paper towels. She fires people without cause all the time, so she’s killing us with unemployment claims. Seventy percent of her team has been with her less than a year, yet you’ve been with her for more than six. Maybe you can tell me, how does she wow the executive committee every month with such an inexperienced staff?”
That’s because I do all the work!
“Is the department over staffed? Are there redundancies? She says she needs all twenty-two desks, but I’m not so sure about that.” Vanessa played with the tab on top of her soda can. “Look Lara, I don’t know what kind of relationship you have with Letitia, but something tells me that if you weren’t willing to share your illness with your her, it’s not that great of a relationship.”
“I was afraid she would fire me if I told her.”
“She can’t fire you for getting sick.”
“I was worried about losing my health insurance.”
“Okay.” Vanessa bit her lip again. Poppy-colored lipstick floated on her front teeth as she asked, “Do you need to spend some time in the hospital? Do you need to take some time off? We could talk about going on short-term disability.”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I’ll need to take next Tuesday off to go to an appointment. Then I’ll have to either come in late or leave early for a few weeks.” I felt disoriented. Why was I telling this woman any of this? I didn’t know her.
“We can definitely arrange that. I pulled up your file earlier and you have tons of sick time. Did you know you have nine weeks of vacation accrued? You can take several weeks off if you want to.”
“I think I’d rather work if it’s okay with you guys.”
“Okay, but you’ll need to take it easy,” Vanessa said. “I can ask Letitia to reassign some of your work to one of the other people in the department.”
“No need,” I replied. “I’m ten days ahead.”
“You’re ahead? Greg Blankenshipp was just down here the other day complaining about how much work Letitia piles on you guys.”
“He’s just lazy.”
“Whatever works best for you. I just want to help.”
“I appreciate that, but what do you want in return?”
“Just keep your eyes and ears open. I want to know how Letitia manages to get such good results out of the revolving door of people up there.”
“I help her out a lot.”
Vanessa popped her Diet Coke open and drank half of it down. “So what should I tell Letitia about this meeting?”
“I don’t want her to know I have cancer.”
“Okay.” Vanessa took another sip from the can while studying me. “That makes things a little more difficult. How do you want to explain needing to take time off?”
“When I came in you alluded to drug treatment programs. Why can’t we let Letitia think I’m going to one of those?”
Vanessa raised her eyebrows. “You want her to think you have a drug problem?”
“Not necessarily,” I replied. “I just don’t want to tell her the truth. Will you get in trouble if you lie?”
“Only if someone finds out,” Vanessa snorted. “People lie to me all the time about why they need time off when I know they are going on vacation or getting plastic surgery. It’s about time I stretch the rules for someone who really deserves a few days off.”
I shook my head as I thought about how angry Letitia would be if she found out HR had me spying on her. “I don’t know. Letitia is going to be pissed if she finds out you’re doing anything to help me.”
“Honey, the woman reported you as a drug addict. I wouldn’t worry about her feelings.” Vanessa stood up and opened her office door. “Tell you what—you look tired. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? I’ll tell Letitia you had to go. Don’t you worry about a thing.”
I didn’t know what to say. I got up and walked out of the office without saying goodbye. The two women in the conference room stopped collating and watched me walk back to the elevator like cows watching a car pass their pasture.