There's no Love on Wall Street

by Ira Trivedi

  ‘Oh, all right! When and where were you thinking?’

  ‘How about now? I’m in the neighbourhood …’

  ‘Like right now?’

  ‘Yeah, five minutes?’

  ‘Give me ten. I … uh … just got in from dinner and have a few things to take care of.’

  ‘Okay, baby.’

  I was looking pretty good for a five-minute job. I was wearing a short white dress, a pair of espadrilles and carried my new, very beautiful white Dior clutch bag which had been my present to myself last week. Ross arrived in a very sexy Porsche Carrera. The top was down and a popular hip-hop tune blared loudly. He leaned back pompously in his seat and smiled, his white linen shirt unbuttoned to reveal a shiny chest. He was hot, that was for sure, but I just wished he wasn’t such a sleaze.

  ‘I’m going to take you to Gold Bar. It’s a hot new place in Little Italy,’ he said as soon as I got into the car.

  We zoomed off into the night and all of a sudden I felt better. Hot date, nice car, and cool NYC bar. I just wish it had been a different hot guy, that’s all. He navigated expertly through the traffic and stopped the car outside a dark bar where a crowd of people stood waiting to get in. He high-fived the bouncer who unhooked the velvet rope and let us enter. Inside the sleek, dimly lit bar, Ross led me to a red velvet couch in the corner. There was a trendy crowd here tonight—lots of thin, tall, stylishly dressed people, though the bar was fairly empty and I wondered why they didn’t let in all the people waiting outside. A statuesque waitress dressed in a short black dress and razor-thin high heels came and took our order.

  ‘So Princess, the summer’s almost over. How’re we feeling about that?’ He put his hand gently over my thigh and I let it rest there.

  ‘I’m feeling great actually, it’s been a fab summer. I love Goldstein.’

  ‘It’s the best place on the Street. I’m presuming you’re all set with your offer?’

  ‘Um, yeah, I think so. I mean, who knows how it is with these things, but yeah … whatever.’

  I couldn’t believe the kind of gibberish that was coming out of my mouth. I had almost finished the large vodka–Red Bull that I had ordered and was kind of tipsy, especially since I hadn’t had dinner. But I didn’t want to reveal my apprehension and insecurity to Ross and have him think of me as the loser intern who couldn’t get an offer on Wall Street.

  Suddenly Ross stood up, grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the dance floor. He put his arm around my waist drawing me much too close for comfort and began moving. I felt his hands move down my back and cup my ass, and I wondered why I was letting him feel my ass and rub against me. I was so depressed at this point in time and Ross and the alcohol kept my mind off Jonathan at least. A few drinks later we found ourselves back on the couch. By now the bar was significantly more crowded, there was hardly any place to stand. Instead of getting tipsier, I was just more tired and everything had manifested into a terrible headache.

  ‘Um Ross, I think I’m going to go home now, I’m kinda tired.’

  ‘Come ooooonnn baby, the night is young! I wanna spend some time with you.’ He was obviously more drunk than I was.

  ‘Thanks for the night, babe, but really, I’m super tired. I’m going to call it a night.’

  ‘Whatever Riya,’ he said in an annoyed tone.

  ‘I’m sorry … we’ll do this again, definitely.’

  As I stood up, he pulled me back down aggressively. ‘Baby, listen to me,’ he said, looking at me intensely. ‘It’s a tough year for jobs. I’m on the intern-selection committee, you know.’

  ‘Uh-huh … Ross, let me go.’ I said, not quite understanding what he was getting at.

  ‘You know I can hook it up for you if you want.’

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

  ‘Baby doll, I can hook up this job for you … but …’ he put one arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer, ‘… you know … I’ve wanted you for a long time, Princess, for as long as I can remember. I’ll make it worth it, is all that I’m saying,’ he said, rubbing his hand over my thigh.

  For a second I didn’t know what to think. Was Ross really suggesting that if I slept with him, he would ‘hook’ up a job for me? This was too crazy to be true. The images that had been plaguing me for the last few days returned to my mind. Ivana in her MD’s office … Ivana sitting on her MD’s lap making out with him … Ivana underneath the table, crouched between his pale, hairy knees giving him a blowjob. I shivered. It was disgusting. Disgusting and simply infuriating. Who did these men think they were? Did they think they could just dangle these jobs in front of our eyes and we would have sex with them? I stood up.

  ‘Ross, you’re a dirty, slimy, bastard. I don’t want to have anything to do with you, now or ever,’ I shouted, and snatching my half-full glass off the table, dumped its contents on Ross’s head. That was for me, Ivana and all the other interns who had to deal with ass-aholics like Ross.

  ‘You little bitch!’ said Ross, desperately looking for a napkin. ‘You know how much this shirt costs? More than what you’re worth, you fucking tease.’

  I gave him a dirty look. I wanted to kick him in the balls but decided against it, and stormed out of the bar, leaving a cursing Ross behind. I was seething with anger. How dare he think I would whore myself out to him for an offer? I was glad I had given it to him pretty damn well. I grinned when I remembered the expression on his face as the vodka–Red Bull streamed down his hair. Served him right. Now if only I could get my hands on that dirty MD. I called Ivana, and wasn’t surprised when she didn’t pick up her cellphone. I tried her at work. It was the last stretch before offer week and the last chance to make an impression.

  ‘Hey,’ she said in a tired, terse tone.

  ‘I just wanted to check on you. Is everything all right?’

  ‘Uh-huh … I’m fine, babe.’ She was clearly not focused on the conversation.

  ‘You don’t sound fine.’

  She sighed. ‘Well, you know how it is, I’m just trying to push through.’

  ‘Any news from the MD?’

  She laughed harshly. ‘Not a word.’

  ‘Well, that’s probably a good thing.’

  ‘Maybe,’ she said quietly. ‘Babe, I wanna finish up and get the hell out. Can I call you later?’

  ‘Of course, take care, you.’

  ‘Trying,’ she replied in a desolate voice and hung up.

  I no longer recognized this person who called herself Ivana. Who was this mess that I was speaking to? What had happened to my friend who was sexy, full of life and energy, the belle of the ball, or in this case banker of the ball? The Ivana of three months ago would never have taken this bullshit without a fight. Banking had crushed her spirit, ruined her pride and shattered her confidence.

  Jonathan

  He had called back and apologized for not being able to take my call—he had been really busy. He suggested we meet that evening.

  It was the perfect summer evening. I sat across the table from him at a wine bar downtown. I had dressed carefully, blow-dried my hair and done my make-up with care. Jonathan looked tired; he had dark circles underneath his eyes and his skin looked paler than usual. He ordered a bottle of wine and we shared the tiramisu that I had ordered. There was so much I had to say to him; I had rehearsed it a hundred times, but the minute I saw him my mind went totally blank. I wanted to tell him that I really liked him, ask him if he thought something could work out between us, if we could be together. Instead we spoke of frivolous, sweet things that didn’t mean much to either of us. He spoke about work and his college days. We talked about India, and he told me about the summer he had spent backpacking through South America. We chatted like friends, but we weren’t really friends, I didn’t want us to be friends. I told him about my summer, about the things I had liked and those I hadn’t. He listened intently, like a boss, but I didn’t want him to be my boss. Somehow, I got the feeling that this was the last time I would be seeing him like this. At
one point during the evening he reached across the table and held my hand. If only he knew how much I liked him, and how much it was killing me that I couldn’t just get up and kiss him. He asked me when my last day was and I quietly told him it was tomorrow. He was leaving on a business trip later that night and he casually mentioned that he wasn’t sure when he would be back. A few minutes later, he stood up, saying it was getting late and he had a flight to catch. He kissed me before he left, a soft, gentle kiss. Then he walked away in that swagger of his, while I stared after him.

  A part of me knew he wasn’t right for me. I wasn’t even sure he liked me enough to try to make it work between us. Hell, there would be no us. I would go back to being a college student at Wellesley and he would continue his fabulous banking life in New York City. What could I possibly bring to him? The dorky-Indian-failed-banker? I would probably never even be back in the city, since chances of an offer looked so slim. And if my parents ever found out, I would be on a one way flight back to India. All odds were against us. But Jonathan represented so many things that I wanted. Freedom from my Indian-ness, from my parents, a fabulous life in New York and a top job at Goldstein Smith. With him, a part of my dream walked away. Without him, Goldstein Smith, investment banking, New York City, none of it seemed as glamorous or adventurous anymore. Like him, they were all just burnt hopes and wilted dreams.

  I walked back home and without a warning the floodgates broke open and the tears came. Tears for the hard work that I had done that no one ever acknowledged, for the long hours that I had spent in the office, the humiliation Sally had heaped on me, the way Ross had disrespected me and for the seven pounds that I had gained that summer. Being a Goldstein Girl just didn’t seem as fabulous any more, and for the first time in my life I missed Lola and the latex gloves. As if the city could sense my mood, lightning flashed across the summer sky and in a matter of seconds thundering rainclouds covered Manhattan. Without any warning it began pouring and chaos broke out on the streets. Some crazy ran past me, pushing me as he tried to get ahead, and I stumbled in my high heels over a pile of trash. My heel got stuck in a subway grate and I fell down, spilling the contents of my bag all over the maddening sidewalk. No one stopped to help me, I feared that people would just run over me. I lay on the pavement, never wanting to get up, contemplating setting up home permanently next to the smelly drunk a few feet away.

  A familiar voice broke my thoughts, ‘Need some help?’

  I looked up and saw Gautam Pandey’s smiling face.

  Gautam Pandey

  He took my hand and pulled me up. We recovered my bag and the few contents that hadn’t been consumed by the grate. The heel of my new Prada shoe had broken, so I clung to his arm, hobbling my way through the crowds and the rain. I was thankful for the rain that concealed the tears streaking down my cheeks.

  Ten minutes later I sat sipping hot chocolate with a towel around my shoulders in a cosy, warm bar in Soho. The rain had stopped, the city was quickly recovering its former glory and in a few minutes, everyone would have forgotten about the storm. That was the nature of this city, it had a very short memory.

  Gautam, being the sweet soul that he was, had gone out to find me a pair of shoes. He returned minutes later and handed me a bag.

  ‘This is the beauty of Manhattan—everything, and I mean everything, is just a block away.’

  Out of the Zara bag I pulled out a cute black cotton dress and a pair of flip-flops.

  ‘You’re a small, right?’ he asked.

  ‘Gautam! You didn’t have to this, it’s so nice of you. I’m going to have to pay you back.’ I was touched.

  ‘Chill. Just because you’re the big, bad banker and I’m a starving writer doesn’t mean I can’t get you something small.’

  ‘Whatever,’ I said, rolling my eyes. ‘Thank you … this is really nice of you.’

  ‘Yeah, I didn’t want to be on a soggy date,’ he said with a grin.

  I smiled, slightly embarrassed, and walked over to the bathroom to change out of my wet, mud-stained clothes and my broken shoes. I was a mess—my hair hung limply around my face, runny mascara and eye-liner formed dark smudges around my eyes, making me look like a raccoon. I washed my face, tied my hair back and changed into the dress, which was a perfect fit. I even found some make-up in my bag, and emerged from the bathroom, a new person, in more ways than one. I returned to the table to find a slice of warm apple pie waiting for me.

  ‘Exactly what I would have wished for right now,’ I said with a smile.

  ‘You look re-invented.’

  ‘I feel re-invented.’

  ‘So how’s it going in Bankerdom? It’s almost over, right?’

  ‘Yup, the verdict is tomorrow,’ I said with a nervous gulp. Just thinking about O-day sent electric currents through my entire body.

  ‘And how are we feeling about it?’

  ‘Okay, I guess.’

  ‘I guess?’

  ‘I doubt I’m going to get an offer,’ I said glumly.

  ‘Oh come on! I’m sure you’ll be fine.’

  ‘Hmm …’ I couldn’t bear thinking about this right now.

  ‘I just didn’t get the feeling that you were into banking.’

  ‘I don’t think I am,’ I admitted dejectedly.

  ‘Then why do you even care?’

  ‘I don’t know, Gautam. It’s tough … I don’t know how to explain it to you,’ I said shaking my head.

  ‘You don’t have to explain it to me, as long as you understand what it is you want.’

  I nodded, quietly playing with the vanilla ice cream on my plate. We sat in silence for a few seconds, and then I said, ‘I just really want to be free.’ I paused, not really knowing what I was going to say next, but I knew that as I told him about it, I was explaining it to myself. ‘I’m an only child, and all my life I’ve done what my parents wanted me to do. I want to be independent more than anything else. I want to have my dreams, live my life.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ he said, listening intently.

  ‘I was sent to Wellesley with the baggage of my parents’ expectations. They had it all planned for me, I would get my medical degree, get married to an Indian doctor in the US, settle down in suburbia somewhere. Just the thought of that life made me nauseous, and all the pressure … it was just too much. I thought banking would set me free, give me a chance to do something for myself for once.’

  ‘Why did you think that?’

  ‘I don’t know, I just did. Bankers make a lot of money and live this glamorous New York life, and if I could just get a job on Wall Street, then I wouldn’t have to go back to India …’

  ‘For me personally, banking was prison. I was always in the office, always answerable, forever chained to my BlackBerry. I had no life. It wasn’t exactly freedom, you know. Yes, I made a shitload of money, but what’s the point if you can’t enjoy it?’ said Gautam gently.

  ‘Yeah, I guess so.’ I took a sip of my now-cold hot chocolate. ‘I went to a wedding this weekend, and I met this guy my parents introduced me to and my mother totally wants me to marry. He is a banker, but not a cool one at all. And I thought to myself, are these the only choices I have to be free of my parents—either stay in banking or get married?’

  ‘You’re being irrational, there are lots of jobs out there, you know.’

  ‘I know, but its tough, Gautam, being an Indian citizen, and most first out-of-college jobs pay so little. My parents don’t really respect anything other than doctor or engineer.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Gautam laughed. ‘Indian parents! You know, Riya, you don’t have to worry. You have an entire year before graduation so you have a lot of time to think about it. You’ll have to talk to your parents, there may be a fight, but when is there not? But they love you so they will accept it. And eventually, they will trust you, and respect you, and someday be proud of you, too. That’s just the way parents are.’ He grinned and took my hand, ‘It’s your life, not theirs, you have to live it, remember that.’

/>   Easier said than done, I thought to myself. Gautam didn’t know how my parents were. My life was their life. Without me their life had no real meaning; I couldn’t bear to disappoint them. I thought back to the summer, of the late nights I had spent in the office, of the brain-numbing work that I had done, of the unpleasant characters I had come across, and I wondered if it had all been worth it. All I had to show for my Goldstein Girl summer was a lot of designer shoes and clothes. I didn’t even have substantial savings, considering the obscene amount of online shopping that I had done. Did I really want this to be my life for the next few years? I couldn’t imagine living like this. All of a sudden the fatigue hit, I felt exhausted. It was close to midnight and all the shenanigans of the past few days had drained me.

  Gautam saw me flounder and said, ‘Is the big banker tired?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said with a wan smile. ‘Totally shattered and tomorrow is the big day.’

  ‘Oooh, offer day! I remember that one. You better conserve your energy, you’re going to be out celebrating tomorrow night.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ I said glumly.

  We left the bar a few minutes later and hailed a cab. I rested my head on his shoulder on the way back home. In my illusory investment-banking paradise I had come across angels and demons. The angels had lifted me up when I was down and out, and the demons had made the journey hell. Gautam was an angel, Sean was an angel, Sachin had been an angel before he grew horns. Sally had been the devil, and Kurls her little black dog. Gautam was such a wonderful guy, if only I could find someone like him, I thought to myself as I faded away into a gentle sleep. He woke me when we reached my building. He kissed me on the cheek and told me that he would call me tomorrow to hear the good news.

  I climbed the stairs to my apartment, feeling lighter after the conversation with Gautam. Worst-case scenario, I would find another job. After all, though it was difficult for me to imagine, there were people out there, a whole lot of people, who weren’t bankers and were happy, maybe even successful. Life would go on, with or without Goldstein Smith. As I lay in bed I thought of Jonathan. I felt that uncomfortable pang of longing I always felt when I thought of him and I wondered if I would ever see him again. Maybe it was a good thing that I had said my final goodbye to him. Maybe, just like the job, he was just a hollow dream that I had created. It was ironic that the two things that I wanted most this summer were the things that had inflicted the most pain. I shut my eyes and thought of Gautam. His words resounded in my head as I fell asleep. It’s your life, not theirs, you have to live it.