Single Sashimi

by Camy Tang

  “And that’s only conditional on if I like Drake’s terms,” Venus continued.

  Grandma went back to preparing her breakfast. “I’m sure you’ll find it to be more than acceptable.”

  Working for Drake. Venus suppressed a shudder. He was ruthless—she could even say he was more ruthless than Grandma. Venus had never submitted to him and he’d hated her for it. His about-face surprised her and yet didn’t—if he knew Venus was the only one who would get the job done, he’d put aside personal preference and hire her, especially if it was only for a few months.

  Plus, maybe he’d changed. She’d heard about his unexpected heart attack last year—he was still young, only about forty—and while he’d recovered well and could have worked for a few more years, he’d retired when he sold the company. The Drake she remembered wouldn’t have given up his high-powered lifestyle to go into early retirement. He thrived on the frantic, busy pace of a startup company. Yet he’d announced it—and this coming out of retirement was for a family member, not for himself, so it wasn’t really getting back in the full swing of things.

  So really, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to work for him. She wouldn’t have to see him that much, right? She rarely saw her CEO except at meetings.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?”

  “Huh?”

  Grandma made a shooing motion. “Go get dressed. Go talk to Drake. Put on something nice.”

  “What do you mean?” Venus opened innocent eyes. She spread out her arms and looked down at her jeans and T-shirt. “I can’t interview for Chief Technology Officer in this?”

  Grandma folded her arms and glared. Really, sometimes Grandma needed to lighten up.

  “I will invite you to the bank’s Christmas party if you’ll change into something expensive and feminine before you go to see him.”

  Grandma was still bargaining? “Fine.”

  Her sudden smile shot a crossbow bolt into Venus’s gut. “Good. None of those manly business suits.”

  Oooh, she’d been suckered. That’s what Grandma had been after. “Expensive and feminine.” She eyed her grandmother with ire. “That was low, Grandma.”

  The smile widened, as if to say, Be careful if you want to play with the big dogs. “I’ll be happy to buy you something for the Christmas party. It’s more posh than some of the ones you’re used to.”

  “I can buy something myself, thanks.” No way would she let Grandma dress her up like a Barbie doll.

  “Well, I need to eat breakfast, and you need to go home to change.” Grandma plugged in her egg cooker. “Remember…expensive and feminine.” She eyed Venus with a look as sharp as a ninja star. “Don’t disappoint me.”

  EIGHT

  Bananaville was a complete circus.

  Venus entered the front door to the office building leased by Drake’s sister for her company, Bananaville, and was smacked hard by the sheer volume. It sounded like she’d walked into a zoo where the animals had all escaped and were having shouting matches.

  She draped her trench coat over her arm and approached the receptionist’s desk, a little dizzied by the red, fuchsia, and yellow stripes. She peered over the high counter to catch the receptionist’s eye.

  The girl in her early twenties glanced up at her, then continued chattering on the cell phone glued to her ear. She focused on her computer screen and clicked here and there.

  Venus stood there, listening to her chatter. Something about the mall and some cat named Lisa who was trying to be all that but who totally didn’t have “it,” whatever “it” was. Venus felt about a hundred years old.

  The clicks started to fall into a pattern. Reminded her of…a game controller. Was the girl playing a game?

  Venus grabbed the edge of the counter and leaned way forward to see the computer screen. Despite her height, she almost had to hop up and plant her ribcage on the high counter in order to catch a glimpse.

  She moved too fast for the receptionist to hide her screen. She saw some space game before the screen went dark.

  Rather than straightening, Venus leaned further over the counter until she was almost nose to nose with the girl. “Please get off the phone.”

  The smoke-and-silver smeared eyelids blinked, and her mouth stopped in surprise.

  “Darla?” The tinny voice sounded from the phone.

  “Don’t make me repeat myself, Darla.” Venus speared her straight in the eyes, and fear pooled in the girl’s green gaze.

  “Call ya back.” The girl closed the phone and shrank in her chair, still staring at Venus.

  Venus backed off. No need to completely unglue the girl—she’d gotten her point across. The noises coming from the back rooms of the building had increased, if possible. “Tell Drake that Venus Chau is here to see him.” She discreetly pulled at her frilly silk blouse to straighten it from its trip over the counter. The lace at the collar and cuffs had been her only concession to Grandma’s admonition to be feminine. She’d needed this pantsuit to face Drake—she wasn’t about to appear in a skirt. She didn’t think she even had a skirt suit.

  Darla picked up the phone and dialed. “Drake, uh …” She cupped the mouthpiece. “I’m so, so sorry, w-what was your name again?”

  “Venus Chau.” She flexed a muscle in her jaw.

  “Venus Chau is here to see you…Yes, sir.” She hung up. “He said to head back to his office. Did you, uh …” She bit her quivering lip. “Did you want me to escort you?” Her wide eyes pleaded, Please say no, please say no …

  “What’s his office number?”

  Darla gave a rather loud sigh of relief. “112.”

  Venus skirted the receptionist’s desk and plunged into the madhouse behind.

  Once she turned the corner, the noise reached deafening levels. It sounded like a few parakeets screeching at a dozen monkeys, who were screaming back. She headed down the long hallway, lined with open doorways.

  “Excuse me, who are you?”

  The peevish voice sounded behind her. She turned to see an Asian woman’s head popping out of a doorway.

  She must be Drake’s sister. She had his wide, square jaw and small mouth, his prominent nose—larger than the average Asian button nose—and long eyes that slanted up at the corners like a paintbrush tip. Right now, the eyes were narrowed and the mouth turned down.

  “I’m Venus Chau. Drake called me.” She approached with her hand held out.

  The woman ignored it. “Drake’s girlfriends all know not to bother him at work.” The acid in her tone burned the air between them.

  Venus bit her tongue and drew blood. She withdrew her hand and focused on drawing a thin breath through her pinched nostrils. “I’m here to discuss the position of CTO.”

  The woman started, but recovered quickly and sniffed. “Now I remember.” She flicked her eyes dismissively over Venus’s person. “You’re too young. CTO is a big position.” As if Venus were six years old. Why was she so antagonistic?

  Venus drew herself up to her full height—aided by her Sergio Rossi stiletto heels—but stopped short of clamping her hand on her hip. This was the founder, after all. “Why don’t you escort me to his office so we can discuss this?” Her words came out more clipped than she wanted them to—she hated showing her temper.

  The woman gave a short exhale. “Fine.” She pushed past Venus and headed down the hallway, oblivious to the chattering, cackling, screaming, and yelping coming from the other rooms. Drake’s sister’s lack of concern made a knot of worry kink at the base of Venus’s neck. This kind of noise was normal?

  As they approached the center of the hallway, Venus realized the noise came from one room—the break room, stuffed to capacity with all women. One of them, a blonde in pink, turned and saw Venus’s escort. “Oh, Gerry, you have to do something!”

  Nice to finally know her name.

  The woman became a porcupine, exploding with spikes. “About what?”

  Her wary tone didn’t dissuade the pink lady. “Angeline’s boyfriend jus
t broke up with her over the phone. She’s going hysterical.”

  Gerry closed her eyes. “Oh, for goodness’ sake.”

  Venus strained her ears and heard one particular screech louder and longer than the others. The rest of the chorus seemed to be either consoling in loud voices or shouting suggestions about what the unfortunate girl should do.

  Venus could honestly say she’d never seen anything like this before. For one, they were all women. For another, they were all talking. Her first reaction was complete and utter speechlessness.

  Her second was a raging headache from standing outside the doorway listening to so many high-pitched voices. The pain seemed to leech from her ears to her eye sockets.

  A good, sharp whistle would quiet a room of arguing men (not that she’d had to do that, except for one time when her programmers had gotten into an argument over who had nabbed the last Dr. Pepper without replacing the case). A piercing sound would be drowned out by this crowd, or failing that, might cause more hysterics.

  Gerry seemed torn between marching Venus to her brother or quieting this fiasco in her break room. She didn’t look like she particularly relished pushing her way in there, although they might part the waters for her, being the founder and all.

  Venus took a deep breath. Then she took a deeper one, because suddenly it seemed like there wasn’t enough air in the building. She turned to Gerry. “Mind if I handle this?”

  Gerry shrugged. “I don’t know what you think you could do.”

  She shoved her trench coat and purse at Gerry, then plunged in.

  Her toes got smashed by a few heels, but she also stabbed a few herself as she struggled to inject herself into the throng. Muscles honed at the gym pressed aside tall bodies, short bodies, skinny bodies, fat bodies. All female bodies, all talking, either to the unfortunate Angeline or each other. What was this, break time for the entire company?

  She reached the small circle gathered around the girl, who sat at the break room table crying her mascara off. A mound of gray-smeared tissues listed beside her elbow. For such a little thing, her wail carried sharper than a fireman’s siren.

  “Whaaaaat am I going to doooooooo withoooooooouuuut hiiiiiiiim?”

  Venus elbowed around an elderly woman patting Angeline’s shoulder, placing herself almost in front of the girl. She panted a little, partly from the trek this deep into the room, and partly from the unnerving press of bodies around her. She jabbed out her elbows to make the women around her back up a step.

  Grabbing Angeline’s shoulders, Venus shook her hard. Hard enough that the girl’s head flung around wildly, threatening to snap off. She didn’t shake her long, but it was enough to make her stop shrieking.

  “Knock it off!”

  It was like a gunshot. The women close enough to see gasped, but were silent. The women farther out noticed the sudden hush and shut up themselves.

  Angeline stared at her with eyes the size of eggs and a mouth open so wide Venus could see her silver fillings. Taking advantage of her shock, Venus pulled her from the chair. Angeline responded like a rag doll.

  She was surprised when the crowd parted and let her walk Ange-line out the break room door. In the empty hallway, she marched past a wide-eyed Gerry, then herded Angeline into an empty office and slammed the door. She dumped the girl into a chair, then leaned forward, resting her hands on the chair arms and getting into the girl’s face.

  “ Work. Is for. Work.” Angeline’s eyes started to mist over, so Venus grabbed her jaw and shook it a little. “No, you are going to stay with me. Work is for work. You do not bring your home life to work.”

  Angeline opened her mouth and loosed the beginnings of a wail.

  She never got more than a fraction of a second into it, because Venus, still clenching her jaw, ruthlessly shut her mouth. A faint click sounded in the office. Venus could hear a murmur outside the closed door, but no one dared to knock at it. Angeline’s eyes darted toward the doorway—freedom from this madwoman!—but Venus pulled her face back toward herself.

  “You do your work at work.” She impaled Angeline with a look sharper than an acupuncture needle. “Even if your personal life is screwed up. Do you understand me?”

  Angeline’s lower lip quivered, but she gave a half-hearted effort at a nod.

  “And if you absolutely can’t work, you go home. You do not disrupt the entire company to deal with your home problems. We do not pay you to have group therapy sessions in the break room.”

  Angeline relaxed a fraction. “Go home?”

  Venus didn’t know if she was a slacker or not, but she wasn’t about to create a habitual truant. “And if you don’t do your work, you stay as late as you need to the next day to finish it.” Venus’s glare promised retribution if she didn’t get the job done.

  Angeline blinked, and her mouth turned down. “Oh.”

  Venus straightened, partly to ease her lower back, which had started to ache from the bent over position, and partly to give herself some air from Angeline’s sickly sweet perfume. “Now, go to your office—”

  “I only have a cubicle.” The girl stuck out her bottom lip. “And they promised me—”

  No griping, not on her watch. “Go to your cubicle, hang your jacket over the opening, and fix your makeup.”

  The reminder that she looked less than lovely—looked pretty hideous, truth be told—awakened Angeline’s strength. She exerted herself to straighten her back, wipe her cheeks, compose her expression. She smoothed her hair, which had turned into Medusa’s snakes from the wild trip through the break room.

  Venus covered Angeline with a kind look. “I know this is hard. Take some time to calm down. Arrange to go out to lunch today with some friends.” She opened the office door. “Go.”

  The girl bolted like a mouse scurrying out of a cage.

  As Angeline’s figure sped past Gerry, still standing in the hallway and still holding Venus’s trench coat and purse, Venus noticed the relatively empty break room. “Where did everyone go?”

  “Back to their desks.” Gerry’s low growl made Venus suspect the woman had something to do with how fast that occurred. Her glance at Venus seemed to accuse her of causing the ruckus.

  The nerve of the woman. What was her problem? Venus retrieved her coat and purse from her. “Does this happen often?” She kept her voice overly mild.

  Gerry’s face colored a shade a little lighter than her plum lipstick. “No.”

  Liar. “It must take you from your other work to deal with things like this.”

  Gerry’s lips disappeared in a taut line. Her gaze flickered to the open office door with a brief flash of guilt, possibly for not taking charge. “Drake’s office is just around the corner.” She walked past Venus down the hallway.

  Venus didn’t mind not being thanked for stepping in—she suspected Gerry rarely thanked anyone—but the fact that things like this were probably too frequent caused her some concern. Gerry seemed a capable woman—why wasn’t she handling these employees? Well, technically it wasn’t her job—she was the founder, not the company policeman.

  That would be Venus’s job, if she took it. And she’d just proven she could do the job well.

  So why was Gerry so peeved about it? Shouldn’t she be pleased Venus had shown her abilities?

  Venus kept her head high as she followed Gerry, ignoring the looks from the women in the offices they passed—some frightened, some angry, some cautious, some speculative. She’d never dealt with women well, and this entire situation had burned a hole in the pit of her stomach.

  She noticed that although the din of the break room had dissipated, there were still two clamoring voices. Female. They rose in volume as she and Gerry turned the corner of the hallway.

  They were coming from behind a closed office door. Number 112.

  Oh, brother.

  “She’s always taking lunch early—”

  “She’s always leaving work early—”

  “How can you expect me to get my wor
k done when she’s never around—”

  “I’ve stayed so late to make up for things she leaves unfinished.”

  Gerry’s stride checked as they approached. Her mouth pulled down further (if that were possible) and she hesitated before knocking.

  “Come in.”

  She reached toward the doorknob slowly, touching it as if it were a slimy toad. The door swung open.

  Two agitated women stood at the two far corners of his desk, as far away from each other as they could, and as close to Drake as they dared. He was leaning away from both of them.

  He turned to her. As soon as Venus saw him, she forgot about them, forgot about Gerry’s disapproving presence beside her.

  His gaze was like a splash of ice water over her entire torso. Her first breath was a soft gasp, cold going through her throat, as if she were standing on a glacier. His eyes, lighter brown than most Asians, still penetrated her like a winter wind, but it no longer held that knife edge it used to have. Pockets dug under his eyes, and lines had appeared around his firm mouth—Venus couldn’t be sure if they were normal or caused by the two harpies haranguing him.

  And then those eyes lightened—brightened, she almost believed—and his lips parted. “Venus.”

  That husky growl resonated in the depths of her stomach. His words broke the paralysis that had seized her. “Drake.”

  The two women looked like they wanted to snap at her to wait her turn, but the sight of Gerry stopped them from doing anything more than fire sizzling darts at her from their heavily made-up eyes. They could be Snow White and Rose Red—similar in face, opposite in coloring. The first thing Venus noted was that their skirts were way too skimpy for the workplace. It made Venus feel overdressed in her black pantsuit.

  Drake turned back to the girls. “Ellen, Annie—”

  “What do you intend to do about the unfinished code?”

  “I’m not letting her pin that on me—”

  “Hey!” The exclamation burst from Venus like a whip. “Let him finish speaking.” She couldn’t believe they’d interrupt their CEO that way. Even in the smaller companies she’d worked for, she had never let her programmers be so disrespectful of upper management.