Green Card

by Elizabeth Adams

  “Liz, I appreciate your concerns and they’re valid ones, but I’ve been doing this a long time. Men like Shankman have to be contained. It’s bad for everyone if he’s not. Don’t you see that?”

  Her shoulders slumped. “Yes, I see.”

  “And I seriously doubt he’s told anyone. Think about it. He’s the only one who knows who you are. There are other editors there—have any of them approached you?”

  “No,” she said thoughtfully.

  “If he had already said something, you would have gotten some kind of reaction; people wanting to use you, or anger or curiosity or something. It’s been two days. Has any of that happened?”

  “No,” she said slowly. “I did tell Alice, but she won’t say anything.”

  Will nodded. “He thinks he’s found his own private corporate ladder. He’s not about to share that with anyone. If the other editors knew, they’d be lining up to mentor you. And since they’re all nicer than he is, they’d have a better chance of currying your favor. If he’s smart at all, he’ll keep this to himself.”

  Liz took a deep breath. This was all a little much. If someone had told her a year ago that high-ranking editors at a major publishing house would be competing for her attention and that she would actually have influence—of any kind—she would have laughed in their face.

  “What are you going to tell Arnold?” she asked.

  “I’ll just tell him the truth. He can handle it. And he needs to know what’s going on. For all we know, Shankman has a file full of similar complaints.”

  *

  Liz went to work on Wednesday filled with apprehension. She knew Shankman had been pissed at her the day before, and despite what Will said about his talk with Billington and the possibility of Shankman getting fired, she had no assurances that it would actually happen. He was still her boss.

  After lunch, she got summoned to Shankman’s office again. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and stepped into the room.

  He rose to shut the door behind her, then touched her shoulder briefly as he walked past her. “Please, have a seat.”

  Liz sat stiffly in the chair in front of his desk and he settled in comfortably.

  “What did you think of Jonathon Daniels?” he asked. He smiled in a friendly way.

  “He seems like a talented writer.”

  “He is. I’d like you to work with me on his manuscript.”

  “Excuse me?” she blurted.

  “You seem to have a good rapport with the author and I could use a right hand.”

  Liz looked at the floor, trying to sort her spinning thoughts. Her internship would be over in less than three weeks. Surely not much could be done in that time. Was he asking her to stay on? And if she said yes, she would be leap-frogging over the assistant editors and associate editors and everyone in between.

  “My internship only has a couple more weeks,” she said hesitantly.

  “I know. About that: you know it’s customary for the stand-out interns, ones who show particular promise, to be offered a job when they graduate. You finish next month, right?”

  Now he reads my file?! “Yes, commencement is May sixteenth.” Her final day as an intern would be the fifth of May, then she had to write one reflective essay on her experiences as an intern (which she’d already drafted), meet with her advisor, and that was it.

  “Congratulations. You must be very proud.” He gave her a smarmy smile and she nervously returned it. “How would you like to work here at Taggston Publishing, full-time?”

  “Um, well, I, uh, I’d need to think about it,” she said.

  “Good. You do that. We can always use another good set of eyes. You’ll make a fantastic assistant editor.”

  “Assistant editor? Not editorial assistant?” she asked, surprised. Everyone started as an editorial assistant. Most spent two or three years there before moving up to assistant editor. Was he suggesting she skip an entire step?

  “You’re bright, you have more experience than most interns, and you have the necessary contacts and know-how to be fast-tracked to editor.”

  “I see.” Her stomach turned. He had no faith in her abilities, that much had always been clear, and now he was trying to bribe her with a job. A job that she would probably be good at, but still one she hadn’t earned.

  She stood abruptly and moved behind her chair. “I’ll think about it and let you know. Thank you, Mr. Shankman.”

  She made her way back to the intern room as quickly as she could, clenching and unclenching her fists, her heart racing. What was she going to do? This was everything she had tried to avoid, all happening at once. She looked at the clock. It was only two in the afternoon. She had two more hours before she could go home, but she didn’t know how she would focus on anything now.

  She calmed down as best she could and made her way back to Watson’s office. At least he was a good mentor. He’d taught her an unbelievable amount and been kind and supportive along the way. He was the same with his authors, and they produced beautiful work for him. Men like him should move up, not bastards like Shankman.

  “Ah, Liz, there you are. Everything all right?” asked Watson as she took a seat.

  “Yes, fine. What’s next?”

  He looked at her speculatively and was silent for a minute before saying, “That’s all we need to go over here. You can take these notes home with you and work on them there if you like. It’s nothing that has to be done in the office.”

  She looked at him appreciatively and said, “Thank you, Mr. Watson. I’ll do that.”

  Feeling immeasurably relieved, she packed up her notes and headed home. She would try to avoid Shankman Thursday, but since he’d made a point to see her every day since the party, she didn’t think it was possible. Was it wrong to take a sick day? Or ask to work from home? She wished she could, but she knew in the end she wouldn’t do it. It would feel like she was letting Shankman win, and she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

  She shot a quick email to Watson asking if she could work in the art department or even marketing tomorrow, and he returned it immediately saying she should report to art at nine. They needed some cover art couriered to an author out in Queens and he’d like her to handle it. It would take most of the day, but he didn’t trust it with anyone else.

  Sending him a quick thank you, she went to the kitchen and started making cookies for Watson. He was fond of her oatmeal butterscotch ones and after this week, the man deserved a gift.

  **

  Will’s lunch with Arnold Billington went as expected. Or at least how Will had expected it to go. After the usual pleasantries, he told Arnold what had been said at the engagement party, including the part he hadn’t mentioned to Liz.

  Arnold was outraged that one of his senior executives had spoken in such a way, to William of all people, and in his own home! That it was about Liz, a hardworking intern and wife of a very powerful man, just made it so much worse. If Shankman was willing to speak that way to William, how did he behave with less influential people?

  The thought was somewhat nauseating and Billington requested Shankman’s file from human resources. Unsurprisingly, there were two anonymous complaints of harassment filed in the last three years, but because they were anonymous and included no specific details, he’d only received a slap on the wrist.

  When Will added in the offer Shankman had made to Liz that week, Billington saw red. What had the man hoped to gain? If Liz had wanted to use her connections, she could have done that from the very beginning. Surely Shankman had figured that out by now? He could only be making her uncomfortable.

  Billington was very disturbed that his editor-in-chief hadn’t informed him of the situation and with a little digging, and a confidential chat with another editor Arnold trusted, he had a complete picture of John Shankman and it wasn’t pretty. By Friday evening, Arnold Billington had decided to let Shankman go, and he had compiled enough evidence to do it with cause. He would also be keeping a closer eye on t
he editor-in-chief, whose trustworthiness didn’t seem so concrete anymore.

  *

  Will walked in to Liz’s bathroom Friday evening and saw her standing in front of the mirror, putting on a pair of sparkly earrings. He put his arms around her from behind and burrowed his head into her neck, breathing deeply.

  “You okay?” she asked gently, reaching up to touch his hair.

  “Yeah,” he said gruffly and straightened. “What are we doing tonight, again?”

  “We’re going to dinner with Jen and Andrew and some other friends of theirs. I think you know one of the guys. Andrew plays tennis with him?”

  William nodded. “Of course. I’d forgotten.”

  She turned away from the mirror and faced him. “What’s going on, Will?”

  “Billington’s going to fire Shankman. I wanted you to hear it from me.”

  She paled. “Because of me?”

  “No, although that certainly played into it. He already had a file with HR and there were some other questionable instances. His fellow editors were quick to give their opinions. Doesn’t sound like anyone will be sad he’s gone.”

  “When will it happen?” she asked.

  Will looked at his watch. “He should be packing up his office right now. The policy is for all firings to be immediate. Security will escort him from the building.”

  She let out a breath. “Should I feel bad about this? I feel a little bad. Just a little.”

  “You shouldn’t. He should have been put on probation when the first author asked for another editor. She wasn’t a big seller yet, so no one listened. The fact that she switched houses after her first book should have been a big hint.”

  Liz nodded silently.

  “Hey, this is not your fault. Shankman made his own bed, and if his deeds caught up with him that’s on him, not you. All right?”

  “Yeah, all right.” She sighed. “I don’t feel terrible. It’s just a little odd, feeling like I put something like that into motion. But you’re right. He deserved it.”

  “He did. Do you still want to go out?”

  “Yeah, let’s have a good time. I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink after this week.” He tugged her out of her room and towards the front door and she asked, “Do you know who will replace him?”

  “One of the associate editors, most likely.”

  She nodded, crossing her fingers that Watson would get it. The others were nice and they were all good at their jobs, but Watson was special. But she wouldn’t say anything. She was discovering that she had power, and she knew she had to be careful in how she used it.

  35

  Cap & Gown

  Late April

  1 Year Married

  Liz popped her head into the door. “Mr. Watson, do you have a minute?”

  “Of course, Liz, come in, come in. Have a seat.”

  She moved a stack of papers off the chair in front of his desk and sat down. “Congratulations. I just heard that you’ve been promoted to editor.”

  “Thank you, Liz.” He smiled genuinely. “It was quite a surprise, but I’m glad for the opportunity.” He looked at her speculatively for a moment, then shook his head like he’d changed his mind about what he was going to say. “Before he left, did Mr. Shankman make you an offer?”

  “Yes, he did,” Liz said uneasily.

  “Well, it still stands. We’d be glad to have you as an editorial assistant.”

  Liz didn’t want to correct him; that was the job Shankman should have offered her, but now she wasn’t so sure if she would have gotten an offer at all if it wasn’t known whom she was married to.

  She thanked him for the offer, told him she’d think about it, and then offered to help him move his things into the bigger office across the hall.

  “Thank you for the offer, I think I’ll take you up on that. I’ll be glad to finally have a window, but I think I prefer it in here. I’ll only admit that to you, though,” he told her with a crinkly smile.

  “It is rather unwelcoming, isn’t it? Why don’t you ask the company decorator to help you change it? I’m sure there’s different furniture in a storage closet somewhere.”

  “There’s a company decorator?”

  “I don’t think she’s here full-time, but Linda has mentioned her several times. Do you want me to make an appointment?”

  “Thank you, Liz. I appreciate that.”

  She stood to go and hesitated by the door. She transferred her weight from one foot to the other nervously. “Mr. Watson?”

  “Yes?” He looked up from the stack of papers he was studying.

  “Did you—have you heard anything about what happened with Mr. Shankman?”

  “One hears rumors, of course. Linda has no fewer than three verified stories,” he said with humor. “I doubt any are true.”

  She smiled. “Yes, well.” She tugged on her shirt hem. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  “What is it?” he asked kindly.

  “I just wanted you to hear it from me. It doesn’t seem right, you not knowing.” He looked at her in confusion. She took a deep breath and continued, “You know I’m married, right?”

  “Yes, you’ve mentioned a husband before. Bill? Will?”

  “Will, William, yes. I haven’t said anything else about him because I didn’t want to be treated any differently than any other intern.”

  Watson looked intrigued and Liz plunged ahead.

  “He’s William Harper.”

  He continued to stare at her.

  “Of the Taggston Harpers.”

  His eyes widened. “I see,” he said after an interminable silence.

  “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

  “No, no, I understand your thinking.” He paused. “Did Shankman know?”

  “He found out last weekend, at a party at Arnold Billington’s home,” she said uneasily.

  He nodded. “I see.”

  She imagined he did. Watson had gone to enough events with Shankman over the years. He was likely very familiar with the other man’s behavior and particular brand of rudeness. Watson’s imagination could do the rest.

  “I really hope this doesn’t change anything. I just wanted you to know. To hear it from me, in case it gets around,” she said.

  “So it isn’t public knowledge yet?”

  “As far as I know, Mr. Shankman didn’t tell anyone before he left, but now that he’s gone…” she trailed off.

  Watson nodded again. “Yes, well. I see no reason to spread it about. Whom you’re married to is your business. If your husband were anyone else, no one would give it another thought.”

  Liz released a breath. “Thank you, Mr. Watson.” She reached for the door handle. “I really appreciate everything you’ve taught me here. I’ve learned a lot. You’re a wonderful mentor.”

  Watson blushed brightly and Liz gave him another smile before slipping out the door.

  *

  By the end of the week, Liz had helped Watson decorate his new office—he was more comfortable with her assistance than the company decorator’s, who he thought was unnaturally partial to leather sofas, and between her and the other interns, they’d moved all his stacks of papers and sloppy piles of photographs in. She’d even convinced him to get frames for some of them and they were now proudly displayed on his new bookshelf, twice the size of his previous one.

  She was hanging a framed book cover on the wall beside the window Thursday afternoon when she casually said to Watson, “I want to talk to you about something.” She stood back to make sure the frame was level.

  “About what?”

  “My future here at Taggston.”

  “Oh. Have you made a decision?” He smiled kindly and his eyes crinkled behind his smudged spectacles.

  Liz was filled with sudden nostalgia; she would miss this funny, unkempt, endearing man. “Yes and no. I wondered if there was any flexibility in the offer you gave me?” She turned away from the newly hung art and sat on
the cozy chair in the corner.

  “Flexibility?”

  “Yes. I wonder if the job could possibly be part-time.”

  He sat down and looked thoughtful for a moment. “I don’t know. I’d have to look into it. Though I imagine you wouldn’t get any benefits, or not as many with part-time.”

  “That’s all right, I have health insurance through my husband.”

  “Well, it’s more than health insurance. What about paid leave and vacations, maternity leave—which may be more important if you’re married—job security? Those are all better with a full-time position.”

  “I understand that. The thing is,” she bit her lip. “Mr. Watson, may I be frank with you?”

  “Of course, Elizabeth.” He placed his elbows on the cluttered desk and leaned toward her.

  “Well, I’ve had a bit of trouble deciding what to do in the long term, and while I love working here, choosing this job would mean giving up working as a writing assistant, which I really love doing. However, if I could do that part-time and this part-time, I think that would be a really good fit for me.”

  “You could have more freedom and keep a toe in the publishing world,” he said thoughtfully as he leaned his chair back. Liz waited anxiously until he spoke again. “You’ve been a writing assistant before?”

  “Yes. I worked with Mark Basurto for three years on his first book. And I’ve recently had a meeting with Jonathon Daniels. We’ll just have a few sessions.”

  “Hmm.” Watson was looking at the wall, deep in thought. “I might have just the thing, but I’ll need to do some checking.”

  “Okay,” she said hesitantly.

  “Let’s talk again in a few days.”

  The next few days were torturous for Liz. Why did she talk to Watson on a Thursday? Now she had the whole weekend to fret. She wondered if she’d screwed up her existing opportunity by asking for more and spent hours overdramatizing events that were unlikely to happen.