by J J Arias
“It’s pronounced meme,” Jo explained with a restrained smirk.
George waved her away with an eye roll. “Whatever.”
“He’s looking for anything to take the heat off that investigation into the undisclosed contributions to his campaign,” Josephine continued. “I’m sure he’s more than happy to push the spotlight onto someone else. And you’re an easy target for him. A woman, first generation American, and the kind of public servant who actually believes in helping people. You know, basically his opposite.”
George would have at least chuckled, but that girl’s accusations were nagging at her without reprieve.
“Why do people forget I didn’t approve those damn developments?” she asked after a sigh. “It’s not my fault they took two years before breaking ground. I had no legal right to rescind those contracts even if I did find them abhorrent,” she complained to the woman who would most certainly understand her frustration.
“Sometimes the finer details only matter to the person on the receiving end of an unfair accusation,” Josephine replied with a squeeze to her hand.
“I thought she was supposed to be an independent. You’d think that would make her open minded,” she grumbled.
“You know, I was watching them when they came in and while you were giving your remarks,” she started as she shifted to face George more fully. “I think we failed to consider how the rest of the staff and the other participants would react to her. By the way they were all staring, it’s obvious they recognized her. She was likely extremely uncomfortable. Someone may have said something to her.”
George let her weight fall back on her heels like a deflating balloon. “You’re right,” she admitted, regretting her failure to think it through. The planning and arrangements had been made so fast there’d been no time to consider all the possible repercussions. “Maybe we can send the anti-discrimination and workplace professionalism policy around again. Remind everyone subtly that they can’t create a hostile environment for anybody.”
“Good idea, and if that doesn’t work, we’ll subject them to those HR skits,” she said with a chuckle.
“Oh God,” George laughed despite her foul mood. They reminisced about how embarrassed they’d been during the training and questioned whether reenacting the offensive scenarios wasn’t some form of harassment. When some of the tension had eased from George’s stiff neck, she gave voice to what had really been nagging at her. “Is there any chance I’ve met this Mila woman before?”
Josephine furrowed her brow before replying. “Not that I can think of. Why?”
“I don’t know. She said something a bit strange after we took the photo,” she mused, still debating whether she’d actually heard her correctly. “She said it was nice to see me again.”
“Again?” Josephine parroted. The look on her face meant her sharp mind was whizzing around her excellent memory for any occasion where their paths may have crossed. After full consideration of the question, and a double-checking of Mila’s background information, Josephine shook her head. “I can’t think of any occasion where you’d have met in any meaningful way.”
“What about the times I guest lectured at the college when she was a student?” George suggested.
Josephine replied with a near simultaneous shake of her head. She’d obviously considered that possibility already. “She was a freshman during one of your talks,” she explained. “But she hadn’t declared a major yet and wouldn’t have been in a high-level political science course without satisfying the prerequisites.” She glanced at Mila’s transcripts on her smartphone. “In fact, it wasn’t until the following semester that she elected to double major in Political Science and Humanities.”
George’s reply was a dissatisfied grunt.
“Are you sure she said again?”
“Positive,” she said confidently.
“Is it possible she was messing with you? I mean, she was definitely irate,” Josephine suggested.
“I suppose it’s possible,” she agreed, thinking about their interaction. Her eyes had been icy blue lasers set to kill when she’d spoken.
“I’ll talk to the staff. Make sure there’s no nonsense going on and that everyone remembers it’s unacceptable to create a hostile environment for anyone. Maybe I’ll meet with the fellows too and explain our zero tolerance for bullying. If they want to stay, they’ll have to get in line. There are plenty of other applicants happy to take their place. That girl has sterling credentials and should be treated like any other fellow or staffer,” Jo said as she stood and retrieved George’s uneaten sandwich.
By the end of Jo’s speech, her heart had lifted. “That’s a good idea,” she acknowledged, taking part of the sandwich Jo had torn in half.
“I know, now eat,” she said with a mouthful of chicken salad.
Chapter Four
“Can you believe we’re actually getting paid for this?” Tim asked as he stared down at the paper in his hands. He’d been the only one not to get the memo about direct deposit, and based on the thrill of the meager paycheck, she was sure it was the first time he’d ever made a dime of his own money.
“It’s great,” Mila replied, trying hard not to sound as fake as she felt. In two weeks, she’d earned as much as she’d make in a single night at the club. A slow night.
Good thing I have that nest egg. She made a mental note to call her money guy to shift around her investments. Worst case scenario, I can pick up a roommate, she thought before shuddering at the idea of anyone stomping around in her pristine space.
The overwhelming stink of musk and old coffee yanked Mila out of her financial planning. She saw the male half of the unholy alliance she’d named Flotsam and Jetsam. His American Psycho coif remained unmoving as he strode toward their grouping of cubicles at the center of the maze. She narrowed her eyes preemptively.
“Be careful or you could catch something, Hayseed,” Flotsam, decades too late for the Yuppie revolution, muttered under his breath as he bumped Tim’s shoulder on the way to his own cubicle.
“Preferable to your carpal tunnel and blisters,” she snapped before Tim had even finished processing the insult.
Flotsam’s bright red face and stumble over a plastic chair mat was just reward for his douchebaggery. Her only regret was that no one had been there to witness it but them. Not that the weasel would’ve been brave enough to try his bullshit with a room full of ears.
“You should report him like Ms. Peters said at that HR training,” Tim whispered, his cow eyes soft and apologetic as if it were his fault the guy was an ass and a bully.
“People like that only learn one way. And a formal reprimand isn’t it,” she said with a shake of her head. “He’d turn it around on how political correctness is making it impossible to be an educated, straight, white, privileged man in society,” she explained with a squeeze to his forearm because his shoulder was too high to reach. “Come on, we have a very important meeting to crash,” she said, her sharp eyes gleaming with the prospect of mischief.
“Wait, what?” he asked, even though his enormous feet were already moving away from their cluster of cubes. “We’re not allowed in that meeting,” he complained uselessly as Mila dragged him by the wrist.
“Everyone is in there, Tim. Everyone except us, the interns, and the pages. You don’t think you have something to contribute with your master’s in economics? Don’t you think that’s being wasted with glorified data entry a ten-year-old could do? Do you think you’re the same as some freshman or high school student?” she challenged in rapid-fire action without slowing her pace. “I’m pretty sure your brain is suited to more than just indexing things no one is ever going to read,” she added with a grunt as he increased his resistance, forcing her to use her quads to keep him moving.
“God, you’re so strong,” he muttered futilely as she dragged the man double her size down the hallway. “But listen,” he said as if forcing himself back to the topic at hand. “We were told only staff was allow
ed in those staff meetings,” he complained as if she’d missed the crux of his objection.
“And what the hell do we look like?” she asked as she glanced back at the pale boy whose face had grown more colorless since she’d forced him from his desk. “What does that badge hanging around your neck say?” she asked rhetorically as she pointed to the security pass, immortalizing his expression a millisecond before sneezing. “You’ve got that paycheck in your hand, don’t you? You’re a competent professional, right?”
Mila suppressed a victorious grin when he stopped throwing his weight on his heels like a petulant toddler leaving the playground against his will.
“I’m not in high school,” he managed with trembling words.
“Exactly,” she said with a nod when they stopped in front of a closed glass door. “Now follow my lead. They’ll be a few hundred people in there. If we stick to the back and don’t draw attention to ourselves, there’s no reason for this to backfire.”
Tim nodded like a bobble head in an earthquake.
“Okay, good,” she said with a cleansing breath as she turned his badge over to the side with this state seal rather than his face, then straightened the brown suit jacket she was sure he’d inherited from an older relative. Maybe a dead one. “Let’s go,” she said as she tucked a strand of straight blonde hair behind her ear and wished she’d not picked a very red dress that morning.
Inside the large room, there weren’t nearly as many people as Mila had expected. She hadn’t considered that different divisions might meet separately during the same time. Fuck.
Instead of a sea of hundreds to hide behind, there were forty at most. Some were grabbing burnt smelling coffee at a station with a silver urn on the far side of the room, while others were messing around with an apparently malfunctioning projector attached to the dropped ceiling. Most were standing around in a dozen different clumps waiting for the meeting to start.
“We should go,” Tim whispered.
Mila didn’t have to look at him to know he was panicking. They hadn’t made it more than a few feet from the door. They could leave then and no one would ever know they’d been there. No harm no foul.
“Forget that,” she muttered, sheltering him from the f-bomb she most certainly wanted to drop. “We can’t turn back now,” she added more to herself than to him. “Fortune favors the ballsy.”
“I don’t think that’s how that saying goes,” he protested, but it was too late. She ushered him to one of the empty seats arranged in a semi-circle in the center of the room and sat next to him. Once the others took their seats in the several rows in front of theirs, they’d be blocked from view.
Crossing one leg over the other, she pulled out the little notebook and pen she’d stored in her jacket pocket and tried to look casual. She glanced around the room like she and her beanstalk of a partner hung out in there regularly. The musty smell of old ideas clung to the room like cold dead hands. It was a stuffy scent, but she’d grown to like it. It reminded her of all the important things that happened in that building, and how much closer she was to achieving her goals.
As if on some silent cue, the conversations died down and people milled to their seats. Thirty seconds later, Josephine, her salt-and-pepper micro-braids arranged in one larger French braid, opened a camouflaged door built into the wood paneling. She was smiling and mid conversation with a man and two women.
Mila couldn’t help but strain her neck in an effort to spot Governor Fernandez. It would be just their luck if she skipped the meeting this week. The audience was quiet despite the raucous chatter from the incoming group. Her pulse quickened as she watched. Seconds felt like hours until the door finally closed and the group dispersed, leaving Josephine alone at the front of the room.
Damn, she thought as her shoulders slouched forward like someone kicked the stand holding them up. She’s not coming.
“Sorry I’m late, everyone,” the governor announced dryly, still typing away on her phone, the door held open for her as she walked in without glancing at them. “Let’s get started,” she added when she finally glanced up.
Taking what Mila guessed was her usual seat between her Lieutenant Governor and chief of staff, the governor looked equal parts commanding and distant.
Oh thank God, she thought with immense relief as the lights went off and the screen for the overhead projector went down. Despite her firm conviction that they were doing the right thing and that she had several sensible arguments supported by office policy for their presence, she’d rather not be spotted on their first attendance.
The head budget analyst was the first to present his update. Mila had taken copious notes for most of it, but when a question from the crowd sent him on a deep dive into actuarial life tables for no discernible reason, her eyes drifted just to the side of the speaker.
I wonder what she’s thinking, she mused as she scanned the governor’s impassive face. She herself had been accused of being unreadable in the past, but this woman could teach a masterclass. As if always aware of her appearance, she hadn’t once slouched, or scratched, or yawned. It was like she was posing for a portrait. Permanently.
Maybe she hates me. The thought was sudden and intrusive like a jarring pop-up ad. I shouldn’t have come on so strong about the damn Everglades. What a stupid point to make, she’d decided minutes after having made the accusations. She might think I’m sleeping with her husband. The realization turned her stomach like souring milk.
Before she could get any deeper into her thoughts, the speaker changed. The presentation styles and lengths varied as different staffers took their turns presenting reports, data, updates, projections, and all other kinds of things that make fun powerpoint presentations.
Mila did her best to give each person her undivided attention, but her gaze strayed more than once. After nearly two hours, the lights came back on and Mila had so many notes and ideas, she’d forgotten she was a stowaway on the ship.
“Thank you for that,” Governor Fernandez said with a crease in her forehead conveying her seriousness, as if her somber tone hadn’t been enough.
I bet people used to tell her to smile, she thought. I wonder how she’d respond? Mila herself had met with near daily admonishments. Smile, you’d look so much prettier. She recalled one of her most hated suggestions. As if her appearance should serve at the pleasures of others just because of her former profession. It was her choice and hers alone what to put out for the world, and the only choice the consumer had was in whether to buy into what she offered. There was no room for opinion or modifications.
“I have just a quick announcement before I’m off to a meeting with the campaign team. As you might know if you read the news, Blankenship is on a one-man mission to ruin me with a nonexistent scandal,” she stated plainly.
The crowd muttered and groaned. Mila heard someone whisper her name followed by something that sounded like heifer but couldn’t identify the source. Part of her was impressed that she was somehow invisible in her red dress. People always see what they expect, she thought, realizing no one would guess her brazen enough to actually participate in the job she’d been selected for.
“Don’t worry.” Governor Fernandez put out her hands to calm the crowd. “My numbers are looking good,” she assured the people whose job security rested on her keeping her own. “With that said, a little community outreach never hurt anyone, so this weekend I will be attending the firefighter’s pancake breakfast.”
“I’m so sorry, Governor,” her lieutenant chimed in, looking like he’d gladly endure a root canal rather than correct her, “but you did participate in that last month. Given the pressure the senior senator is applying, maybe we should—”
“Yes,” the governor interrupted in agreement. “Good idea, we should do something new. Any ideas?” she asked as she turned back to the crowd.
“You might not realize this since it’s ninety-five degrees today,” a man standing near the coffee started, garnering a respectable number of chu
ckles. Mila rolled her eyes. Why do people like weather jokes? “But Sunday is the first official day of fall. My church is having a little fundraiser for a South American orphanage by hosting a pumpkin carving contest.”
“I like the creativity,” she said, leading with a positive before shooting down the idea, “but we don’t want to be alienating. Let’s put that on the list of possibilities and see if we can balance it with another faith’s charity.”
Mila’s lopsided smile conveyed her mix of amusement and admiration. The governor was a deft bullshit artist.
“There is a walk for heart health on Sunday,” a woman in the front row suggested. “That’s something everyone can get behind.”
In further display of gentle rejection, the governor shot down her idea and the half-dozen other lame possibilities.
Mila was surprised that with so many minds, no one could come up with a single worthwhile idea. How’d she even get elected, she thought as she looked around the room. Mila hadn’t known a single person under fifty who’d voted for her, despite her being the youngest candidate by two decades.
When someone tossed out a country club opening as an idea, it was the death blow to Mila’s silence. “Yawn,” she replied despite herself. The word echoed through the room like a fire alarm.
Oops.
Scores of heads snapped in her direction in unison. As their expressions changed from confusion to surprise, there was no doubt she’d outted herself. The muttering spread like a seismic wave until the governor’s squinting face changed to a cold and terrifying thing.
“Ms. Dortch,” Governor Fernandez said as if regarding a favored team member. “So good of you to join us,” she added with all the sincerity of a hostage. “Since you feel so strongly about knocking down someone else’s contribution, why don’t you provide us with something you deem worthy of our consideration? Something that doesn’t trigger such irrepressible boredom in you.”
