The Way You Smile

by Kiki Archer

  Camila re-read the words of her email. You promised we’d do iFly. It sounded too needy. She deleted quickly and stared at the screen, her subject header: Hi, and Harriet’s email address: hip@hipmarketing.com now the only sections filled in. She glanced left once more before starting slowly. Hi, Harriet. Good. Not too pally, but not too formal either. I realise we didn’t exchange numbers. Factual. I’ve spent the morning searching for your email address online, much to my frustration but obviously you don’t let any old hoity toity email you. Wise. Luckily I’m not any old hoity toity. Factual. I’m an employee and I have access to your company’s intranet where I found your address. Sneaky, but showing initiative. I also got to know you intimately in the limousine last night. Ish.

  Camila paused. Was it too stalkerish? She read again. No, it was light hearted and fun. She continued to type, adding in that she’d come up with a few good invention ideas this morning so Harriet wouldn’t think she’d wasted all her time trying to contact her. Admittedly she’d wasted a fair bit of time getting this phrasing correct, but it was important to set the right tone. It needed to be noncommittal and slightly standoffish. Harriet had been the one pushing things from the start, not her. I’m really looking forward to iFly this weekend, let me know the details as soon as you can. Not standoffish at all. If you still want to. Better. I don’t mind either way. Noncommittal. Well I do, because I was really looking forward to it last night, but understandably neither of us were in any sort of fit state to skydive, so give me a buzz on: 07184670201 or reply to me here or even pop in during the afternoon break today. Your red stilettos are calling me. Too much?

  “Camila, what have you found on the laser?”

  Quickly minimising her email, Camila pushed back on her chair and addressed Deana, whose head was peering around into her work pod. “It’s quite complex. Lasers are heavily patented.”

  “That wasn’t a personal email was it?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Sorry, you’re probably emailing about a patent query. I’m struggling to adjust to the lack of bossing around required in this role. Are we okay to regroup in five?”

  Camila nodded. “Ten? I’m almost there.”

  “I’ll make the drinks.”

  Geoff spoke up from the other side of the station. “And Deana making the drinks was unheard of in ALL her previous roles. Mine’s a hot chocolate, please.”

  “Black coffee for me,” added Brett. “She was my direct line manager once. Beastly.”

  Camila wasn’t sure if Brett was talking to her but she offered a: “Ha,” angled over the screen to the back of her computer just in case. She watched Deana at the coffee machine. She felt bad. The woman was being so nice. It clearly was a personal email from her Hotmail account, but Deana had chosen to handle it in the politest of ways with a quiet comment that she quickly retracted.

  Clicking the email back to life, Camila prayed Deana hadn’t noticed the addressee. Scanning briefly, she signed off and pressed send; it would have to do. Moving her mouse back to the patents portal, Camila scrolled down the list of inventions. Optical laser security systems, photoelectric light detectors, modulated beams of coherent light, reflective mirror beams, laser perimeter intrusion detection, it went on and on. She typed quickly: Battery powered laser beam security. A list of portable laser devices came up, mostly related to alignment tasks. She scanned down. Workmen’s tools possibly? Getting that shelf straight? Or maybe measuring the length of a room? She paused. It was difficult sometimes to understand the jargon. Laser pool guard. There it was. The same principle. The first patent cited by the California Crime Technology back in 1972! And here they were, almost forty years later, thinking it was the best idea of the morning. Camila continued to read. There had been numerous other patents cited along the same lines: swimming pool safety alarm: 1988, alert alarm responsive to an unaccompanied child: 1990, entry alert guard: 2000, solar powered lighting alert: 2003, and here it was: portable alarm system for passageways: 2015.

  “Is that you sighing, Camila? Do I need to rip up this drawing?”

  Camila peered to the side of her pod to see Brett’s bald head doing the same thing. “Yep, it’s already been done.”

  The bushy eyebrows were raised. “You feeling the frustration?”

  “Yep.”

  “You’re on day two.”

  Camila nodded. “Yep.”

  “So you want to apologise because we’ve been feeling the frustration for so many more months than you have?”

  “Brett, that’s enough,” Deana was back at the pods with the tray of drinks. “Let’s go to the sofas and re-group.”

  Brett shrugged. “I don’t have any more ideas.”

  “Camila, you said you had plenty.” Deana was nodding. “Let’s discuss some more of yours.”

  Camila pushed herself away from her work pod and stood up. This whole thing was about bullshit. It was all about bullshit. The more you bullshitted the more bullshit you encouraged; like a group of drunk girls discussing the meaning of life. One person would say something bollocksy but through the excitable energy it would snowball into something profound and before you knew it you’d solved the origins of the universe and discovered a new theory of evolution. The only difference here was the energy. It wasn’t excitable, it was panicked, but it had the same effect: people latching onto daft ideas in the vain hope they’d provide the answers.

  Camila took a seat on the sofa opposite Brett and Geoff. “What about an inhaler that can be kept in your bag for an emergency choking situation?” She waited, watching carefully for people’s reactions. Deana sat down but left her drink where it was on the tray, Brett stayed silent and Geoff’s shoulders shrugged.

  “Do inhalers help when choking?” he asked.

  Camila continued to observe, focusing particularly on Deana who lifted her mug but didn’t sip. Camila spoke again. “You know, when something goes down the wrong way, or catches in your throat but it’s not blocking your airways.” She paused. Still no reaction from Deana. There was no way Deana knew about her mishap with the Thai soup, meaning Deana wasn’t Harriet’s go-to gossip woman as last night’s gasping episode had been something that would definitely be shared between friends.

  “Aren’t you meant to get whatever you’re choking on out, instead of sucking it in?” Brett was leaning forwards, finally contributing to the conversation.

  “She means when your airways suddenly contract, like when you’ve swallowed sea water, don’t you, Camila?” Deana was nodding.

  Brett tutted. “If you’re in the sea you’re not going to have an inhaler with you.”

  “Make a waterproof one?” suggested Geoff.

  Camila continued. “I was thinking more if you’d eaten something spicy and your throat suddenly tightens. Wouldn’t the same principle as an asthma inhaler apply?”

  Brett tutted again. “You’d need a prescription.”

  “You don’t need prescriptions for all muscle relaxants,” said Deana.

  “Ai ai,” laughed Brett.

  Deana ignored him. “The medication in an asthma inhaler simply relaxes the muscles in the airways so they become less constricted.”

  “That’s what I was talking about,” said Camila.

  “But how often do you choke like that?”

  Camila replied to Brett’s scoffing question. “How often do you use the rape alarm that you keep in your handbag?”

  “Me? You think I have a handbag? You think I need a—”

  “Oh, stop being so snappy, Brett.” Deana was nodding. “This is good, we’re brainstorming, and Camila’s right, women keep so many things in their handbags just in case.”

  “And men? Don’t men choke?”

  “Of course you do,” continued Deana, “and we can invent a man bag for you to keep your choking inhaler in as well.”

  Camila laughed. “We can’t call it a choking inhaler.”

  “Oh, sweetie, we’re nowhere near that stage yet.” Deana paused. “Wait, let’s do th
at stage now; we’ve not done it for weeks.”

  Camila frowned. “What stage?”

  “Well, on the odd occasion where we actually manage to think of an idea that hasn’t been patented we take it down to the focus groups for discussion and development.”

  Brett stood up. “And we quickly realise that it hasn’t been patented because it’s a crap idea.”

  “Where are you going?” Deana was now arms raised.

  “I’m phoning floor one. Yes, the choking inhaler doesn’t have much mileage but I’d discuss just about anything right now for a change of scenery.”

  “We could give it an extension cable so it has more mileage,” offered Geoff.

  Deana’s groan was pained. “Was that meant to be funny?”

  “But what if it’s already been patented?” Camila was confused.

  “Oh, sweetie, it probably has and even if it hasn’t it’s not a universal enough product for us to take into the launch show. Plus there are the medical and legal issues. It’s just good to keep all the processes in place so when we finally have our eureka moment we can flow smoothly through each stage.”

  Looking to the hand that was back on her knee, Camila lowered her voice and tried to angle her body away from Geoff who was still sitting on the sofa opposite. “Can I ask why you keep calling me sweetie?”

  The hand was quickly removed. “Sorry, I was just being friendly.”

  “Right,” said Camila. “It’s just… I’m not sure…” She couldn’t find the words. “It’s nothing else is it?”

  “Like what?” Deana’s brow was furrowed. “Oh, you think I…?”

  “No! I just…”

  “Oh for god’s sake, you two,” Geoff was on his feet. “Deana knows you’re another one of Harriet’s casualties. She’s being nice to you because she knows what’s coming next.”

  “And what is coming next?” asked Camila calmly.

  “Next we’re going down to floor one,” said Brett, back in the sofa area having only caught the tail end of the conversation. “Doug and Nigel’s 18-to-25 focus group have had a cancellation. They’re free right now and happy to help.”

  Camila looked up. “The 18-to-25s? Well my day gets better and better.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Standing in the lift as it descended to floor one, Camila didn’t know what to say or how to behave. Clearly Deana, Geoff and Brett had been having a good old gossip, dissecting whatever information Harriet had passed on to whomever last night. Had Harriet told them to fire her? No, she was still here, and anyway she’d signed her new contract with Helen at the reception desk last night. But maybe Harriet had simply been mouthing off that she was done with her latest project due to her latest project’s criminal ties? No, Harriet had said she wasn’t a project. She’d said she was different. Special. Could this all just be speculation and sour grapes on Deana and co’s part based on the women who’d allegedly preceded her? Quite possibly.

  “Life’s wonderful when you’ve got Harriet’s attention, isn’t it? But when she drops you, well.”

  Camila turned to Deana whose voice, even though lowered, was still audible to both Geoff and Brett in the lift. Camila knew she had no other option but to address it. “Deana, if you, or any of you for that matter, have something you’d like to say to me, then please just say it.”

  “Fine. You shouldn’t be here.” Brett wasn’t shy about jumping in first.

  “You said a nice hello this morning, Brett. You were being quite friendly.”

  “I thought you’d be hauled out straight away, but now it’s the afternoon and you’re still here.”

  “And where do you want me to go?”

  “Wherever she moves the rest of the women like you.”

  Deana patted Camila’s arm. “Sweetie, this isn’t your fault.”

  Brett continued. “But you’re definitely on your way out if your mate went and nicked her car.”

  “Who told you that?”

  Deana coughed. “Sweetie, I’m her chief strategist; I know everything that goes on.”

  Camila thought back to the choking incident. “You don’t actually, and it wasn’t my mate, and Harriet is coming in.”

  “Sweetie she isn’t, and I do, and if it wasn’t your friend it was someone else on your street.”

  “Which would have nothing to do with me.”

  “Guilty by association.” Brett was smirking as he leant against the lift’s chrome interior. “She got rid of one woman she’d been nurturing because she found out she never washed her hands after using the bathroom.”

  Geoff spoke up. “Was that Sarah?”

  “No, she got rid of Sarah because Sarah kept saying Jiminy Cricket.”

  Deana smiled. “Oh I remember her! If something went wrong it was: ‘Jiminy Cricket’, or if something surprised her it was: ‘Jiminy Cricket’, or if something upset her it was…”

  The two men joined in with a chorus of: “Jiminy Cricket.”

  Camila looked at her three colleagues. “What’s wrong with you? Harriet would be devastated to hear you talking like this.”

  “She wouldn’t,” said Brett. “She laughs at the rumours and she’s actually quite open about her women.”

  “Don’t forget the odd man,” added Geoff. “Remember Dominic? He got the chop for vaping.”

  Deana spoke up. “I think it was because he vaped really weird flavours like rhubarb and custard.”

  Geoff was shaking his head. “No, it was because he blew vape smoke rings. Harriet said it was ridiculous.”

  “And all these people went to an employment tribunal, right?” said Camila, having had just about enough. “Because you can’t just get rid of people.”

  “Oh no, she promotes them, but into one of the companies where she’s not needed. She’s very clever is our Harriet.”

  “Not if she employed you three.” Camila couldn’t help it.

  The shocked silence that descended on the trio had a charge that felt new to Camila. Yes, she’d upset Mick and the boys in the past by saying the wrong thing or lashing out with her actions, but this was different. This was awkward. This was embarrassing. Were her colleagues furious, or gobsmacked? Or were they about to lynch her like a scene from a photo story in one of Julie’s Take A Break magazines: I got set upon in a lift and thrown down the lift shaft.

  The ping that announced the end of their journey jolted them all back into action, as did the hubbub on the corridor of floor one, visible as the lift doors opened. A group of old-aged pensioners were streaming past on three-wheeled hover boards, blocking their exit.

  “Close that again,” demanded Deana.

  Geoff did as instructed.

  “I’m sorry,” said Camila, in an attempt to halt the imminent onset of lift shaft crime. “I just don’t know what I’ve done wrong. I’ve come up with just as many ideas as you lot have, not to mention that we’ve selected a number of mine for the patent searches. I’ve arrived on time every day. I’ve made the teas. I’ve followed instructions and I actually think I’ve fitted in quite well.”

  “But why?” Brett was arms folded. “Why are you here?”

  “Because Harriet saw me in a focus group and said I had potential.”

  Brett continued. “Do you know how many others there have been? And the only real success story I can think of is Deana, which makes all these ‘projects’ of Harriet’s, who are now in positions of power, a kick in the teeth for the hard workers like Geoff and myself who’ve slogged our butts off to get where we are now.”

  Camila was confused. “So they’re successful? These people? These women?”

  Deana spoke up. “But they’re no longer in Harriet’s direct circle.”

  “Well, that’s a sign of good leadership then.” Camila was nodding. “Spot potential and move them on.”

  “You’re suggesting she chooses to keep an eye on me?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Geoff smiled. “Ooooh, Deana, does the latest project have a poi
nt?”

  “I don’t want to have a point. I just want to do the job I’m here to do.”

  Brett pressed the button to open the lift doors. “Here’s your chance then. Go and show us your stuff.”

  “No problem, I will.” Walking along the corridor, Camila was relieved to see the group of OAPs on their trike-like hover-boards at the far end, freeing her path to room five. Knocking once, she entered with gusto.

  The tall and perfectly coiffured D.O.G Doug, still dressed in tan, was the first to turn. “Whoops-a-daisy, there you go again, wrong room.”

  Doppelganger Nigel spoke next. “Have you brought back the Mesh-Up clothing?”

  Camila smiled politely as she walked past the two men, positioning herself at the front of the round table and nodding at the group of seated women, noticing the addition of the pink hair punk from the other morning. “Hi, I’m Camila Moore and I’m working with the H.I.Pvention team on floor five.” She turned to her three colleagues who were loitering in the doorway. “Thank you for seeing us at such short notice. We’d like to talk to you about a new product idea.”

  Tina rose from her seat. “Nigel! You said I’d be the next one promoted from this group! She’s on floor five? What’s she doing on floor five?!”

  Camila’s voice was calm. “I was never meant to be in this group and I’m sure your promotion will come, Tina.”

  “Only if you get the boss onside,” muttered Brett, audibly enough for the occupants of the room to hear.

  “I have been,” gasped Tina, now bashing Nigel’s bony shoulder.

  “Wrong boss,” said Brett with a laugh.

  “What have you got that I haven’t got?” demanded Tina, turning her attack on Camila. “You were just that old woman with all the crap ideas about waist bands for stretch marks who got kicked out, weren’t you?”

  Camila heard someone behind her sniggering. She didn’t need to turn; it could be any one of her so-called colleagues. She took a deep breath. In situations like these she knew what she had to do. She had to ask directly for help. People were more than happy to stand around and laugh, or watch someone suffer, until they were called out on it, but the second they were their actions would often change for the better. Like the group of boys at the skate park filming a fight, all jeering and goading until she marched over and told them to take a long hard look at themselves, the majority then choosing to lower their phones and help break up the scuffle. Or the people sitting on the bus, pretending not to notice the old man who’d just got on, choosing to stare out of the window instead of giving up their seats, until she’d politely tapped them on the shoulder to make them ‘aware’ of his presence, whereupon they’d jumped up as if it was their plan all along. Camila nodded. Now was one of those times. “Who’s getting the ball rolling? Nigel, isn’t it your job to call order? Deana? Geoff? Brett? Are we presenting this thing together?”