by Ira Trivedi
‘I make a decent living. Trust me, you’ll realize once you’re out of the real world that money isn’t everything. You’re a clever girl, no matter what you do, you’ll make enough to support yourself. You might have to go to one fancy ball instead of three, or buy that Coach bag instead of a Louis Vuitton, but all that doesn’t really matter so much.’
‘Wow, you really hate banking, huh?’
‘It’s not that, Riya, I just wish someone had told me all these things before I landed up at Goldstein. I was afraid to ask myself what I wanted to do. When I finally did that, I found myself writing. I realized that it is possible to actually enjoy what you do and life is just so much better when you’re happy.’
‘Not everyone is multi-talented like you!’
‘I’m a schmuck,’ he said laughing. ‘I really am, and a lazy one at that. But when you enjoy something, you want to do it. When I was at Goldstein I’d spend all of Sunday depressed, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, just to prepare myself for Monday. It’s not supposed to be like that.’
‘That sounds familiar,’ I laughed.
‘At Goldstein I was always trying to please someone. Now my work speaks for itself. I don’t have to kiss ass if I do a good job.’
The food arrived just then, and for the next few minutes we ate in silence, relishing the warm naans and steaming heaps of butter chicken.
‘I have worked like a dog this entire summer,’ I said finally, ‘spent so much time at the office, but when I think about what I actually did, I can’t come up with anything.’
‘Exactly! That’s banking-wanking for you! You still have time to decide, so don’t to stress about it right now,’ he said gently.
‘That’s true. I just wish Sally wasn’t such a bitch. That woman hates me, and I just don’t understand why!’
Gautam laughed as he wiped his hands on the napkin. I felt kind of annoyed. Here I was opening my heart to him, expecting some sympathy, and he was laughing at me. ‘You’re so rude.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. It’s hilarious that Sally is such a bitch to you.’
‘What’s so funny about that?’ I asked indignantly.
‘She’s quite possibly the most servile, tight-ass lady in that office, and it looks like she’s taking all her frustration out on you. Let me tell you an interesting story about Sally.’
‘What can be interesting about that woman? She’s the dullest person I’ve ever met.’
‘Well actually …’ Gautam said and began regaling me with Sally’s story.
‘In 1982, straight out of high school, Sally Jenkins began her banking career as a receptionist at Goldstein Smith, answering the phones. She worked during the day, saving up money to go to night college in Brooklyn where she studied accounting. After graduating, she started working in the accounting department at Goldstein. Sally turned out to be a whiz at numbers and steadily moved up the ranks. She was a simple, uncomplicated woman who wasn’t very ambitious. All she really wanted was a decent job that would pay the bills and a small apartment in Brooklyn which she could call her own. Unfortunately, life wouldn’t be so rosy and simple for Sally. After the discovery that she was an accounting whiz, she was moved to operations where better use could be made of her number-crunching abilities. She was offered a salary package higher than she had ever imagined.’ Gautam took a break from his narration to sip his wine.
‘Operations was a different beast all together,’ he continued. ‘The people were different, not like the people in accounting. They were bigger, richer, and scarier, not the kind of people she was comfortable with. Sally had always been a workhorse, and she was determined to do a good job here as well. So she stayed, and studied and worked. Whatever semblance of a social life she had had earlier was totally annihilated. The only thing she cared about was work, and it continued to be like this until one day she forgot what life outside the office was like. Gone were her dreams of having a husband and a home.
‘On hearing about her fine work, one fortuitous day in 1992, exactly ten years after her humble beginnings in the back office of Goldstein Smith, the investment bankers came to find her. Everyone who knew Sally had known that they would come for her one day. She began in mergers and acquisitions, and quickly became invaluable. She was like three analysts rolled into one. It turned out that investment banking was even worse than operations; Sally began to see, feel and hear things that she had not before. She noticed how people sneered at her because of the way she dressed, the way she looked and her thick Brooklyn accent. She saw how they looked at her when she walked into the office. She stuck out like a sore thumb. Over time she realized that it was easiest to just become invisible, to be seen as little as possible, and to say as little as possible. The people around her took advantage of her in every single way possible; she knew it too, but she didn’t know what else to do. She wasn’t given the promotions, the bonuses, the extra benefits that she should have received. Though she structured the deals and put in most of the work, she was never put in front of clients, investors, or outside parties. She never went on road trips or client visits. She was never invited to dinners, parties or cocktail events, or sent out recruiting.’
‘Couldn’t she speak to someone about this?’ I asked curiously, interrupting Gautam.
‘It wasn’t so easy back then … it still isn’t. Wall Street is a man-eat-man world, women have no place here. Her career was her life; she couldn’t risk it.’
‘I just don’t understand,’ I said shaking my head in disbelief.
‘A few years ago, when they first formed the CDO group, they brought Sally in. She should have come in as MD, but she was brought in as a VP, and the associates and analysts that she had trained were given more senior positions than her. So Sally continues her life at Goldstein Smith, doing much, saying little, expecting nothing. Poor thing,’ Gautam said, shaking his head, his double chin doing a double take every time.
‘I never once imagined …’ I said astonished.
‘You understand now see why she’s such a bitch to you?’
‘Not really.’
‘She’s jealous of you, Riya. She sees in you what she could never have and can never have. She has wanted to be you all her life, and she is double your age! Sally can’t change now, it’s too late for her. You, on the other hand … well, she can see that you’re destined for I-banking greatness, if you want it.’
Could it really be true? Could Sally really be jealous of me? I had never even imagined that was the reason she hated me. I had always thought it was about me. That I wasn’t good enough, smart enough to be a banker, the one who always made mistakes. But maybe Gautam was right. I had taken it upon myself, but maybe it wasn’t me … maybe it was her.
Knowing the truth about Sally’s life somehow made me feel lighter. I wasn’t the incapable, inept, juvenile delinquent that I had been made to feel all along. For a change someone wanted to be me, someone was jealous of me. Ironically, it was my own boss. Strange are the ways of this world. I had been in Sally’s shoes for the past three years … more than anyone else, I knew how it felt. Little had I realized that Sally was the biggest investment banking pariah of them all. As my fear of the hard, cold, Nazi boss from hell, Sally, lifted I almost felt sorry for her. Finally free of Sally’s shackles, and satiated with the delicious Indian food, I was in an incredibly good mood, enjoying Gautam’s company immensely.
‘You want to see my favourite part of Manhattan?’
‘I would love to. As you can imagine, I haven’t been able to see very much. My anti-life at the investment bank,’ I said with a sigh.
‘Well, your first stop on the grand tour will be Central Park.’
Central Park was enchanting. As Gautam and I strolled, the cool air gently warmed itself as it blew along the still-hot summer pavement. A carriage rolled past us pulled by two white horses, the galloping a sweet constant tapping as it carried two tourist lovers relaxing into their city visit after a crazy New York day. Peopl
e meandered about without a care in the world (definitely not bankers). The street lights illuminated the grassy expanse where people lay and relaxed in retreat from the hot city day. A runner briskly ran past getting in her after-work exercise (probably a banker) followed by a roller-blader who was gaining way to pass her (probably another banker). So much going on, a new activity in every direction, an electric energy in even the most laidback part of New York City. We bought beers at a corner deli, stowed them in brown paper bags and sat on a park bench and drank them, just talking. I couldn’t remember the last time I had just hung out and relaxed like this.
When I was not at work, I was either passed out in my grimy apartment, or out doing something crazy. I unloaded all my banking woes on Gautam, and he calmly listened. He spoke about his job at the Journal, and I felt a momentary pang of jealousy at how great his job was, and more than anything else, how much he seemed to love it. I wondered when, if ever, I would feel this way about my job. I told him about my family and Indore, and he told about his childhood in Pune and then going to IIT. It was nice to talk to someone who had so many similarities, but at the same time was really quite different. I took a good, long look at Gautam when he wasn’t watching and I realized that there was something quite attractive about him. He wasn’t good-looking in that chic banker way, he wasn’t fit like Jonathan, or well-groomed like Sachin, but he was handsome in his own earthy way. His chubbiness was befitting to his personality, and the casual, jeans-sneaker look suited him. What I liked best about him, was that he was very real. He seemed to be so comfortable with where he came from, and who he had become. He seemed almost proud of his middle-class, small-town Indian roots. I was trying so hard to be so many different things at the same time—Goldstein Girl, New York hipster, good Indian daughter—that sometimes I felt totally lost. With Gautam, I didn’t have to pretend to be anyone, or to fit a role. With him, I felt it wasn’t such a bad thing to be Riya, failed banker from Indore.
Official Action
At 9 a.m. all fifteen members of the CDO group gathered in the conference room, except for Jonathan. Thank God, because I looked like shit. As had been happening recently, I had woken up at 8.45 a.m.—late—and hadn’t had the time to take a shower. My hair was greasy, and I desperately wished I had washed it this morning.
Brian Zeitlin, the group MD, was presiding over the meeting. He was a dapper man in his early forties, as well turned out as one would expect a managing director to be. Unlike so many of the ultra-aggressive bankers that I knew, he had a calm energy about him, and spoke with authority about the deals that the group had recently closed as well as the pipeline for the next few months. I could see why Jonathan and he would get along; they both had a quiet strength and presence about them that made people look up to them and trust them. As he spoke the rest of the group scribbled furiously in notepads, including me, though nothing was really registering in my mind.
‘As for Timebom …’ Brian continued.
My antennae quivered and I became alert. Timebom was Sachin’s deal. This was something of my interest.
‘We need to put a deal team in place. Sally is going to be heading it and we need two analysts and an associate on the job. We are working on a tight schedule, so we need to come up with our initial proposal and structure and have the deal team working on this right away.’
A senior VP piped up, ‘Sean and Amit just closed Wildcat and that deal went off well. Maybe it would be a good idea for the same team to work on this.’
Brian turned to Sean and Amit, both of whom were visibly devastated. They had been hoping for some deal-free chilling for a few days after the big closing. It didn’t seem like this would be the case. They could do nothing but feign enthusiasm and nod their heads. Sachin’s words echoed in my head, ‘Get on the deal team.’ This was my chance. It was now or never. I took a deep breath, mustering up the courage to speak in front of the group.
‘I would like to work on Timebom,’ I said in a squeaky voice.
Everyone turned to look at me. Interns were not meant to speak at group meetings, or ever, for that matter.
‘All right. Is that acceptable to the deal team?’ Brian asked politely.
‘She’s an intern, she leaves in two weeks. I’m not sure we’ll need her on this project,’ Sally protested, pissed that I had spoken at the meeting.
‘Riya was quite helpful on Wildcat,’ Seam chimed in. ‘I’m sure she could give us a hand with this deal, even for the two weeks that she is here.’ He was such a sweetheart! I gave him a grateful smile.
Sally wore the usual, blank look on her face, though she was probably seething on the inside.
‘Okay, that should be fine then. Riya, welcome to the deal team,’ said Brian moving on to other matters.
Score! I couldn’t believe my luck. This had been much easier than I had imagined. At least something in my life was going as planned even if it was illegal activity. I began scheming; it was much too early to be going through the Timebom documents and I didn’t want to raise any suspicions. I would wait for the weekend and then ask Sally for the passwords, print out the documents and then figure out what, if anything, to do with them. The rest of the day passed with great difficulty. I was so tired that all the lines, margins, and boxes on the screen were beginning to merge into one. I looked over at the stack of agonizing pitch work that I had to get through and almost felt faint with fatigue thinking about the night that lay ahead. After several cups of coffee that weren’t doing anything for me, I resorted to Red Bull. My only salvation came in the form of the four-cheese Dominoes pizza and hot wings that I had ordered. I went down to the lobby to pick up my pizza, salivating with the thought of biting into all that soulful grease, when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
‘Hey Intern.’
Jonathan. Shit. I looked like a wreck, I had even taken off my contact lenses and put on my geeky glasses because my dry eyes could not handle them any more. I quickly took off the glasses and turned around.
‘Hey!’
‘You didn’t have to take off your glasses, I think you look cute,’ he said with a grin.
‘Um … they were just … kind of poking me,’ I said, feeling like a fool. Why was it that with him I felt like a gawky, college student?
‘So Intern, how’ve you been? Long time no talk.’
‘I’ve been pretty good actually. You?’
‘Crazy, just really crazy.’
‘A lot of travel?’
‘Yeah. It’s turning out to be a total mess on the Street. You’ve been living it up in the city, I hope?’ he asked with a smile.
‘Not really. It’s almost the end of the summer, so it’s busy.’
‘Oh yeah, the summer has flown by. I can’t believe it’s almost August. Time for you kids to go home.’
‘I guess home is where the heart is.’ I said lamely. Where did I come up with these retarded lines from?
‘You going upstairs?’ he asked me.
‘Yeah.’ I looked down at my cellphone. Three missed calls from the delivery man. I couldn’t possibly let Jonathan see me with the boxes of Dominoes pizza and hot wings with me. What would he think of me? Juvenile, immature, uncouth college kid. So much for the four-cheese pizza. We walked towards the elevator in silence and waited till the elevator came.
‘You know, I’ve been thinking about you,’ he said as we stepped into the empty elevator.
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah. You know what I’ve been thinking?’
‘What?’ I felt his eyes on me and blushed. I just wished I didn’t look like such a disaster right now.
‘I’ve been thinking about how much I want to kiss you.’
At that moment the elevator beeped, the doors slid open smoothly and I found myself face-to-face with stone-cold Sally. I was too shocked to move or say anything. She gave me a revolting look, managed a semblance of a smile for Jonathan and walked into the elevator.
‘Coming?’ Jonathan asked me casually as he stepped out.
&nb
sp; ‘Uh … yeah.’ I flashed Sally a quick smile and rushed out of the elevator. ‘Oh my God! I hope …’ I stopped myself mid-sentence thinking it would be juvenile to mention my concerns to Jonathan.
‘Don’t worry about it, she’s … well, she’s just Sally.’
We walked into the mostly deserted office together, and before I turned left for the analyst pen, he took hold of my hand and led me down the hallway to his office. He held open the door for me to enter, and followed me in, quietly shutting the door behind him. I stood close to him and slowly lifted my gaze to his face. Jonathan was looking at me intently and I wished I could see what was going on in his mind. He took my face in both his hands and brought his lips to mine and kissed me. He began tenderly, first kissing my lips, then moved his tongue inside my mouth, always gentle but firm. The moment was shattered by the loud ringing of his phone.
‘Shit,’ he said softly, letting go of me and walking over to his desk, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Jonathan Goodley. Hey Jack, how are you?’ he continued. He looked over to where I stood by the door and mouthed, ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s all right,’ I whispered.
I opened the door and quietly slipped out, walking back to the analyst pen in a giddy daze. What had just happened there? Was this for real? Had I really just made out with the VP in his office? I was in a tizzy; somewhere deep inside me I felt a small pang of guilt as the image of Ivana giving her MD a blowjob in the office floated before my eyes. I shuddered. This is different, I told myself. It was sweet and innocent, and I had true feelings for Jonathan, and maybe him for me. I had no ulterior motive for being with him. The happy feeling stuck and even the loss of my pizza didn’t affect me. I waltzed over to the vending machine and got five packets of Skittles, three Cokes, two bags of chips and a granola bar for dinner. This would last me through the night. Fifty slides, three packets of Skittles and two Cokes later I was finally ready to leave the office at 2 a.m.
On my way out I walked past Jonathan’s office, and was surprised to see that the lights were still on. He never stayed this late. I knocked on his door.
