by Lucy Lambert
Faroukh was still talking about something or other, but I just watched the yellow taxis flock by and looked at all the beautiful people wandering up and down the sidewalks. It was like being on an amusement ride.
So, when the cab finally pulled over, disappointment twinged inside me.
“Here,” I said, shoving a fresh new $20 into the little cash tray in the divider before Faroukh could say anything more.
Then I was out on the sidewalk. Steam issued up lazily from a nearby grate. Those evil, red-eyed pigeons bobbed their heads as they crawled over an upended trash can’s contents.
I stood in the middle of the sidewalk like a rock in the middle of a river, people parting around me. The sun glinted off the skyscrapers that seemed more glass than metal, and the bit of air that managed to circulate around me was tinged with the scent of a hotdog stand a block down the street.
Smoothing my skirt, straightening the strap of the purse on my shoulder, I straightened my back and started walking.
I wasn’t going to let Jerry ruin my first day. I had a job on Madison Ave! That day was my first as a true New Yorker.
Moving in through the big revolving door at the base of one particular skyscraper, I walked past the security desk and over to the bank of elevators. Styrex, Inc. had its offices on the 32nd floor. The elevator opened up and I did my best to squeeze in with all the other men and women in their business suits.
Everyone in there seemed to be all elbows and knees. You couldn’t move an inch in any direction without treading on someone’s foot. I caught hints of a dozen different expensive colognes and perfumes. My nose itched from it.
This was my first trip to the office. I’d done my interviews over Skype. Mom asked me if I felt nervous when I’d been leaving, but I said no. I’d laughed, even.
But now, crammed in there like a sardine, the anticipation, the nervous tension, built in me like a spring being slowly compressed.
It didn’t help that people moved in and out of the elevator at practically every floor, the digital screen above the door advancing with an aching slowness.
Then, when it finally did display “32” in big red digits, I almost didn’t make it! A fat guy with a loosened tie got in as I tried to get off, crowding me back. I shoved my arm forward, trying to trip the sensor to keep the door from closing.
For a moment, my heart lodged in my throat as I thought it might just close on me anyway, but it reopened.
Everyone glared at me as I got off for delaying their trip upwards those few extra moments.
I stepped out into the air conditioned hall, breathing a sigh, trying to rid the air around me of the pungent smells that followed me from the elevator.
A black sign with white lettering read “STYREX ->” so I turned and followed it to a set of double doors. I was happy that I chose to wear flats instead of heels that day; my legs felt so shaky I knew I would have fallen or stumbled.
The first layer of the Styrex office was a small reception room, a dark-haired secretary tapping away at her computer behind some half-moon desk. She gave me a practiced smile when I approached.
“May I help you?” she said, ignoring a red light that started blinking on her phone.
“Umm… Yes. I work here,” I said, “Err… I mean, I start today. I’m Jennifer. Jennifer Snow.”
Should I show her my driver’s license? I wondered, my hand straying down towards my purse and the little black wallet tucked within.
“I understand,” she replied, not blinking an eye at my apparent inability to string a sentence together.
Then she turned back to the keyboard, her fingers flying. They were painted a bright red, like the warning light on a car’s dash when you’ve forgotten to put your seatbelt on.
I pulled the sleeve of my jacket back to glance at my watch. I sucked in a breath.
I was late! It was the elevator, I knew. I hadn’t thought to provide for the lengthy ride up.
The receptionist glanced at me, and I smiled at her. I could feel my lips quiver. An urge built inside me either to laugh or to cry. I didn’t really know which. They both seemed appropriate.
Then the receptionist’s smile vanished for a moment before she could plaster it back on when she looked at me.
“I see you’re Bud Loughery’s new assistant. His office is to the back, at the corner. I’ll let his secretary know you’re on the way.”
“Thanks,” I said. I started walking to the left, around her desk.
“Watch yourself around him,” the secretary said, stopping me in my tracks.
“What do you mean?”
She pursed her lips and looked up at the ceiling as though regretting saying anything.”
“It’s just… He’s…”
A man in a charcoal suit, a black briefcase gripped in one fist, walked in. The receptionist immediately turned her attention to him, leaving me standing beside her desk for a moment.
Whatever it was about him, I doubt it was any worse than what I’d left behind at my apartment.
A set of double doors painted slate-grey guarded the entrance to the office proper. Their metal handles, the latches gleaming in the fluorescent light from the ceiling, called to me. My right hand itched with the desire to reach forward and yank one open, revealing for the first time the next stage of my life as an adult.
My hand seemed alone in its desire to discover what lay beyond. My stomach twisted, and a cool sensation spread along the small of my back. And, to top it all off, dry mouth!
Jerry’s face popped into my mind. What if something like that happened at work?
A ridiculous thought, I guess. But then again, just a few hours ago breaking up with my live-in boyfriend seemed ridiculous as well!
For a moment there, I actually considered turning around and going back to my apartment.
The apartment I would lose in about a month if I didn’t take this job.
That in mind, I told myself how childish this was. It’s just a job! I told myself.
So, squaring my shoulders and taking a deep breath, I grabbed one of those cold metal handles and yanked the door open.
I strode in, doing my best to look confident, like I knew what I was doing, why I was here, promising myself that I would leave this place better than how I found it.
As with most offices, it was largely a cubicle farm. Those ubiquitous grey wall dividers drawing a maze though the place. Somewhere to my left, a bank of printers and photocopiers hummed. The air blew so cold out of a duct that I felt my arms pebble with goosebumps. Men in white shirts and ties wandered around with folders under their arms, or fixated on their computer screens at their desks. Women in grey skirts or pants-suits did largely the same thing.
To my left were doors leading into offices, each fronted by a desk with another woman sat at it, most of them busy answering phones or tapping at their keyboards.
I remembered the secretary told me Mr. Loughery’s office was towards the back, so I glanced at the nameplates on the doors until I came to the one just shy of the corner office.
A woman with curly, dun-colored hair did her best to cope with her work. The black receiver of the phone was wedged between her shoulder and ear as she spoke into it. Her eyes scanned her monitor even as her fingers flew across her keyboard. The intercom on her desk buzzed, the little cherry-colored bulb on it blazing each time.
And to top it off, her iPhone vibrated beside her purse.
Normally, she would be pretty, I knew. A heart-shaped face, narrow waist, and full lips spoke to that. But the lines on her forehead and the little wrinkles beside her eyes made her look probably ten years older than she was.
I stood by politely, holding my small purse against my stomach with both hands.
“Yes, of course Mr. Loughery will be able to see you this weekend at the club. I’m sorry; I don’t know exactly when he’ll arrive. Sorry, could you hold for one moment?” she said, her voice surprisingly strong despite the strain on her face.
I opened my mouth to speak as she l
eaned across the desk, one hand clamped over the receiver on her phone. She didn’t even notice me as she pushed down the button to the intercom.
“Yes, Mr. Loughery?”
“Lucinda, has my new assistant shown up yet?” the intercom made his voice sound distant and small.
My heart sped up. That was me!
“No, Mr. Loughery, I’m sorry, but I haven’t seen her…”
“Excuse me? I’m his new assistant,” I said, trying to cling to that sense of purpose from when I’d walked in.
Lucinda’s green eyes took me in with one glance. Whoever was on the other side of that phone call was clearly not pleased, as their tinny voice squeaked around her clutched fingers.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Loughery, she’s right here at the desk. Should I send her in?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart, why don’t we let her sweat it out for a few minutes? Of course I want her in here!” Bud Loughery’s voice squawked.
I winced as I met Lucinda’s eyes. Thoughts of just turning around pushed through that barrier of bravado I’d tried to construct. I wished now that I had been able to meet him before agreeing to the job.
“Yes, sorry Mr. Loughery. I’ll send her in straight away.”
“That’s my girl,” Bud said.
Lucinda nodded at me, then glanced at the door with “Bud Loughery” on the nameplate behind and to her right.
I went in, trying to put that last look she gave me out of my mind. It had been pity. First the receptionist, now his secretary. Just who the hell was Bud Loughery?
I pulled the door open and stepped into his office. His desk was too big, and didn’t match the sterile office decor outside. It was a monster, made of polished mahogany or something. There was a model tall ship complete with pirate flag at one corner.
It took me a second to realize that there wasn’t a single piece of paper or file on that desk. Only a chromed nameplate, an enormous monitor, and that model.
There were also no chairs in front of the desk. The only one in the room was occupied by Mr. Bud Loughery, his body framed by the large bay window behind him through which I could see a glittering skyscraper across the street.
Bud wore a wrinkled suit, the knot of his tie pulled down to reveal the unbuttoned collar of an off-white shirt. I couldn’t tell if the thick mop of black hair was a wig, but, based on his paunchy, sagging jowels I would have bet money on it.
His teeth were too white, and contrasted sharply with the Halloween pumpkin orange of his spray tanned cheeks.
His eyes were beady and too small for his face. And at that moment he had them fixed squarely on my chest, not even bothering to hide the hunger I saw in them.
He was a walking sexual harassment machine, I could tell. My skin crawled as I tried to make myself smaller.
I cleared my throat to let him know I could see his bald stare. He took his sweet time lifting his eyes.
“Looks like ole’ Bud’s lucked out again!” he said. He put his hands on his thighs, below his desk. They worked back and forth. I hoped to God he was just straightening his pants.
But just because he wasn’t being professional didn’t mean that I couldn’t, or shouldn’t, be. So I stepped forward and offered my hand even as I forced the muscles of my face into a smile.
“Hi. I’m Jennifer Snow; I believe we’ll be working together…”
He took my hand and I immediately regretted the gesture. His thumb rubbed in suggestive circles on my wrist as he pulled me forward so that I had to lean over his desk.
I sucked in a breath as he kissed the top of my hand. That was too far. I yanked my fingers back, trying not to think about the warm wetness on the top of my hand, and where it came from.
My face twisted in disgusted shock so hard my cheeks hurt. It didn’t faze him. Bud just smiled at me for a moment before getting up and making the long journey around the desk.
Not only was he rather round, but tall as well. I had to crane my head back uncomfortably to look up into those beady eyes of his. They glinted down at me.
“The pleasure is all mine, I’m sure,” Bud said, sitting up on his desk and crossing one leg over the other. The move pulled his trousers up, revealing the long white socks struggling to pull free from their garters.
A little voice inside my mind kept saying, I told you so.
“So, you have a degree in marketing, sweetie?” Bud said.
Despite my jacket covering them pretty well, his eyes again strayed to my breasts. I crossed my arms, hoping the move looked natural enough.
Just think about the money, I told myself. All that money. Enough to afford rent in Manhattan.
That didn’t stop the bile from coming up my throat. I swallowed it back down, and even contorted my face into something like a smile.
“With honors,” I said, “I’ve done a lot of research on Styrex, and I really think I’ll be able to help you to…”
“Of course you will.”
He put his hand on my arm. I looked down at it. He squeezed, making little wrinkles in the sleeve of my jacket. My skin crawled, and that ball of bile forced its way back up my throat. This guy looked older than my dad!
And this close, he smelled. It a slightly sour smell, covered up by what had to be half a bottle of some rancid cologne.
“Why, each graduating class is even prettier than the last!” he said, grinning. I pulled my arm from his grip.
How many graduates had he been through? Was this why I’d gotten the job? I wondered what the turnover rate was around here.
He started saying something else, but then his phone buzzed. My shoulders slumped with relief when he spun on his desk to grab it.
“Yeah?” he said, his forehead wrinkling as he listened to the reply. His eyes flicked to me as he covered the receiver with one sweaty palm. “Just go on out and ask Lucinda for your file. Nice meetin’ you, sweetie!”
He winked.
I had to resist the urge to back out of the room, wondering if he was about to jump me from behind.
The air itself seemed to change as I left his office. Cooler, lighter. Infinitely refreshing compared to the miasma of old perv smell.
When I closed to the door behind me, Lucinda tapped my arm. It seemed she’d finally gotten the best of all those calls and emails. The lines around her eyes had disappeared, and the blood had returned to her face. A pretty woman.
“Is he always…?” I asked, letting my question remain implied in case anyone else was listening in.
Lucinda nodded, “Always. Worse. Look, I’ll do my best to make sure you two don’t have to interact very often. I can’t bear to watch him mess up another girl. Here’s your file for the day. Your cubicle is straight down there. Third one on the right. Welcome to Styrex.”
She pointed down one lane of grey cubicles even as I hefted the file folder. It was a lot of work. More than I could do in one day, I knew.
As I walked down to my cubicle, I thought that a lot of work right now might be a good thing. I could really throw myself at it. If I did well enough, maybe I’d come to someone else’s attention and get a promotion or something.
And it would keep my mind off Jerry.
I pulled out my chair, the castors whisking softly against the plastic desk mat. I hit the power button on my computer and entered in the login information I found on the first page inside the folder.
I worked all the way through the day, completely missing lunch and all the various fifteen minutes breaks I was entitled to. Not that I really cared. I wasn’t really hungry. And if I did feel a bit peckish, all I had to do was bring Bud’s fat face to mind and the desire instantly left, replaced by slight nauseous sensation.
In fact, I got so into looking over the copy for an ad of Styrex’s latest plastic wonder that when the phone on my desk rang I nearly fell out of my seat. It took my brain a moment to register what I was hearing.
“Oh!” I said, grabbing the receiver and jamming it between my ear and shoulder.
“Hello?”
“Hey, sweetie! First day going okay?”
It was Bud. I swallowed as I glanced around, wondering if I should tell him that this was a wrong number. I relented, realizing he’d probably had Lucinda patch in the call. She’d probably get in trouble if I said that.
“Yeah. So far, so good…”
“Great! Workin’ hard or hardly workin’? That’s what I always say, right?”
“Sure…” I said, squinting at the clock on my monitor. It was a few minutes shy of five! Cool surprise flowed through me as I tried to figure out where those hours had gone.
“Listen, sweetie, come and see me in my office before you head out for the day.”
“Oh… okay.”
I wanted to say no. But I also didn’t want to get fired. Especially on my first day.
After turning off my computer and making sure the file was in a desk drawer, I grabbed my purse and traced my path back to his office.
Lucinda’s desk was empty, the chair pushed in. A number of papers were scattered around, and there were still at least three incoming calls on the phone. She’d left in a hurry.
As I reached for the door handle, I wondered if she didn’t have the right idea.
Bud had his jacket off, slung over his shoulder with one finger as though he were a fashion model.
Sweat stains ringed his armpits, a bead of it rolled down his forehead as I watched.
“You wanted to see me?” I said, making sure to stand in the doorway.
I’d become uncomfortably aware of just how quiet it got behind me. Everyone seemed to make a mass exodus right at five. I was pretty much alone in here with Bud. No Lucinda to keep me safe, or send him a call as a distraction. Even though I just met her, I dearly missed her at that moment.
“Yeah. Why don’t you come on over here?” Bud said, patting the smooth, finished surface of his desk.
Against my better judgment, I did as he asked. Though, I stopped short of actually sitting on the desk beside him. However, this did bring me so that his face was less than a foot from mine.
“You did some good work out there today,” he said, letting his eyes play freely over my body.
“What? Thanks… Wait, I don’t think I showed you any work, Mr. Loughery,” I said.
