by Lynn Costa
We dawdled walking over to the French Bakery so I could tell Kensie the whole story before we got in line and wound up near other MetroGen employees and consultants; you know, exactly the people I didn’t want to either overhear my naughty narrative or to hear me mention Zack by name. Then for the five minutes or so that we were in line waiting to order I switched to a travelogue of my New York trip, of course leaving out anything related to business. I hadn’t had a chance to talk to Kensington since getting back so I told her about the hotel, the clubs near SoHo that I hadn’t had the chance to check out; that sort of thing. You never know, after we were done with MetroGen there was always the chance that the next assignment for one or both of us would be with an entertainment industry client in New York City, and I couldn’t help but think how great it would be to spend a couple months there with Kensington and Courtney and hit great clubs night after night. Business travel can be a totally draining experience, as we were all finding out, but every so often you get lucky and get an out-of-town assignment in a place like Manhattan where you can have a lot of fun, especially if you’re there with people like Kensie.
We finally placed our orders and walked away with the table number for them to deliver our baguettes to the table we chose, in the shade just out of the direct sunshine that was feeling a little bit intense shortly after noon. We sat down, sipped our iced teas, and that’s when I switched gears back to the Zack-and-Dustin story; at least the Zack part. I told her about Zack’s news this morning of having to go to San Francisco to fill in for his friend, and how disappointing that was especially when we were just getting started. I was just about to tell her Part II of the who-is-where news when she looked directly at me, squinting a little bit because she was facing the sun which was still extra-bright even though we were slightly under shade, and asked:
“So have you decided how you’re going to tell Dustin?”
“Funny you should ask that,” I said, pursing my lips, and then told her about Dustin’s text I had just seen a little while ago. As far as Kensie knew from me texting her yesterday afternoon as I was getting ready for my date with Zack, Dustin was going to be stuck in Chicago for this coming weekend, so this change in plans was news to her as well.
“Well, that’s perfect,” she said, nodding a little bit as she spoke. “He’ll be right here so you can give him the news in person rather than having to do it over the phone.”
I cocked my head; that non-verbal signal that I didn’t fully follow what she was saying to me.
“I’m not so sure that I’m ready to...” My voice trailed off.
Her eyebrows shot upwards in surprise.
“You’re not thinking about not breaking up with him, are you?”
Even with the double-negative I followed what Kensie was saying.
“Well...”
“Come on, Lindsey!” she said sharply. “You not only went out to dinner with Zack, you slept with him... what, three times including this morning?”
“In one night...” I lamely retorted, as if that made any difference.
“Come on, Lindsey!” Kensie repeated, and she was actually getting a little bit angry. “Things with Dustin are over! Even if things with Zack don’t go anywhere, you’ll never be the same with Dustin again.”
She reminded me that Sunday, only four days ago, we had a similar discussion over brunch and even then, before I slept with Zack, she had told me that I should just end things with Dustin right there.
“So before you had sex with Zack, I guess maybe keeping Dustin in the background as your backup plan might have made sense, even though I told you that if I were you I wouldn’t do that. But now?”
She shook her head just as the waitress spied our order number sticking up on the spindle resting in the middle of our table, and headed our way with our lunches.
Kensie couldn’t resist hissing one final, lowered-volume “Come on, Lindsey!” at me just before the waitress came within earshot of our table, and now I was getting pissed. We stopped talking while the waitress figured out which baguette was for which one of us, and I could feel that proverbial blood-starting-to-boil sensation. I waited until the waitress had asked us if there was anything else we needed and she was barely three feet away from our table when I leaned forward, looked directly at Kensington, and said in crisp, borderline-angry tones:
“You know, all I want is some support. Maybe you would do this differently, and maybe I’m making a big mistake by hesitating. And maybe when Dustin shows up Friday night the first thing I will say to him is ‘Dustin, we have to talk’ and it will be all over.”
I had to take a deep breath; I felt like I was getting close to hyperventilating or maybe to screaming; one or the other, and neither one was good, right?
I told her about the little scenario in my mind where Dustin was tucked away safely in Chicago for a couple more weeks while I figured out if breaking up with him and starting things up with Zack was the right thing to do. Kensie, to her credit, listened patiently even though the disapproval radiated from her face as I spoke.
“That’s nothing but a fantasy,” she finally interrupted. “I don’t care if it turns out that Zack is the biggest jerk in the world, and by next week or the week after you’ve decided that the thought of being in a relationship with him makes you want to puke. You’re done with Dustin, no matter what.”
“Come on, Kensie!” I retorted. “Girls and guys both do it all the time; you know, have a fling with somebody else even though they’re in a relationship, but it, you know, just vanishes and the relationship goes on.”
“This is different,” Kensington replied flatly. “Let’s say that last Thursday you got totally drunk at Cerise and then went home with Zack and did him, but that was it; well maybe then I would agree with you that your relationship with Dustin might – and I emphasize might – survive you cheating, especially if you never told him.”
She paused to take a sip of her tea. So far neither one of us had touched our baguettes because of the touchy intensity of what we were talking about.
“But you flirted for a couple hours with Zack then you exchanged numbers and made arrangements for a date two nights later, and then you did all the ‘I’ve got a hot date!’ stuff last Friday night. And then after that great date and your love scene kiss out there on Wilshire, you make plans to go out to dinner again and this time you have sex. I mean, you didn’t just meet somebody and then get totally drunk and do him a couple times one night while your boyfriend is out of town. For an entire week you’ve been consumed by this new guy and haven’t given much of a thought to Dustin being stuck out in Chicago. And in fact, you yourself said that having him out there has been absolutely perfect.”
She abruptly stopped talking, shook her head a couple times – I couldn’t tell if the headshakes were indicative of sadness or disgust, or maybe a little bit of both – and finally took a bite of her baguette.
“Sorry Lindsey; you and Dustin are done. And if I were you, I would consider him suddenly coming back here this weekend when he wasn’t supposed to as the perfect opportunity to do what you need to do. And even better, Zack is out of town so you can break up with Dustin Friday night, cry your eyes out Saturday and Sunday, and then on Monday when Zack gets back you have a clean slate with no baggage.”
She took another bite.
“I swear,” she appeared to be reflecting as she continued, “even as I’m saying that to you it’s as if God or fate or whatever is trying to make the whole breaking-up thing easier for you to do. I mean, don’t blow it.”
“I guess you’re right,” I said in a shaky, very somber voice after about fifteen seconds of silence. I felt so much like crying right there, and wondered what people would think if they walked by our table and saw me doing just that.
* * *
Kensie and I got back to our floor at MetroGen in time for a 1:30 meeting that was scheduled to go until 2:30. I was supposed to have an open half hour between 2:30 and my next meeting at 3:00, and then th
e rest of my afternoon was booked. I had planned on finding a quiet cubicle somewhere at 2:30 and spend a half hour thinking through what I was going to tell Zack after work when we met at Cerise: about Dustin coming home this weekend and my intention to break up with him, and all that.
Shit! Why did this have to happen! Why couldn’t Dustin have had to stay in Chicago all weekend like he was supposed to and like he had told me only yesterday? Things would be so much easier; I could put off this breakup scene at least a couple more weeks until I was absolutely sure about Zack. Shit!
But when I looked at my e-mail on my phone I saw that a calendar notice had come in for a brand new meeting between 2:30 and 3:30, meaning that between 3:00 and 3:30 I was now double-booked. So not only did I now have no time to “rehearse” my conversation with Zack, I also now had to deal with this double-booking problem. I looked at the sender and it was somebody from our client whom I had never heard of, and apparently didn’t much care that my calendar already showed me booked for half the time of this meeting.
So right before our meeting got started I – gulp – texted Dave Evers and mentioned the double-booking, and asked him how he wanted me to handle the double-booking. I could either go to the new one at 2:30 and leave halfway through, or I could stay for the entire hour of this new meeting and then arrive half an hour into my next meeting that would have already been underway. I suppose I could have made the decision on my own but I figured that since Dave was in charge of the project he should at least be aware that I had gotten double-booked by our client. If he came back to me and said “you choose” or something like that, then I would.
Instead, here’s what he texted back to me:
You need to do a better job managing your calendar - looks bad to client when you are double-booked. Contact meeting organizers for overlapping meetings and ask them what to do. Don’t let it happen again
I repeat, from many times so far this week: what an absolute total asshole!
* * *
When the dust had settled, the whole thing was no big deal. Not only was it not my fault that I got double-booked since I didn’t set up either meeting, each of the MetroGen meeting organizers told me that it was okay if I attended only a half hour of his meeting. So not only was Dave Evers totally out of line with his “you need to manage your calendar better” reprimand – gutlessly delivered by text – our clients were pretty understanding that in a company such as theirs where anybody’s workday is pretty much end to end meetings, overlaps were going to happen and they were no big deal.
I spent the better part of my back-to-back-to-back afternoon meetings thinking of creative ways to get back at Dave Evers, but in the end I decided that he was such a pathetic loser he wasn’t worth it. Even though I had only been with our firm for a year I had a pretty good idea of its culture and who got ahead and who got shoved aside, and I could see no way in the world that Dave Evers would make partner next month. And our firm’s all-but-official policy was that anyone at Dave’s level who got passed over for partner was “packaged out” – consulting world-speak for “let go with enough of a severance package not to make a stink about being fired.”
I couldn’t wait.
Anyway, speaking of overlaps (as in my meetings), along with plotting clever ways to help along the demise of one David “Dickhead” Evers – sort of like in that old movie 9 to 5 that they later made into a Broadway musical I had seen with Mom and Dad a couple years ago, come to think of it – I tried to spend a few minutes here and there thinking about the other overlap situation facing me right now with Dustin and Zack, and what the right words were to tell Zack. But nothing would come to me!
5:30 arrived, my final meeting broke up, and you should have seen me sneak out of MetroGen like someone in a spy movie. I had made arrangements to meet Zack at Cerise; of course we didn’t want to head over there together from MetroGen and most likely be seen together, though there was always the possibility that someone from our firm or MetroGen or another consulting company doing work here would see us together over there. If so, then oh well; guys talk to girls at happy hours, right?
But before then I wanted to make sure there was no chance of Dave Evers intercepting me and handing me that stack of papers I had worried about earlier in the day, or giving me some assignment that had to be done by tomorrow morning, or anything along those lines. I not only had the ringer off on my phone, I shut off the vibrate until I was outside. I didn’t check my e-mail or anything like that. Basically, I was in escape mode, and as soon as I stepped onto North Beverly Drive and after a half block turned onto Wilshire Boulevard, now only steps away from Cerise, I breathed a sigh of relief that yes indeed, I had made a successful escape!
Also, as I was zigging and zagging off of our floor at MetroGen and down the elevator and out the lobby, I had a sudden thought for how I might handle this weekend with Dustin coming home: get Dave Evers to assign me to some short-term project out of town for the weekend that was in trouble and could use my help (and billable hours) over the weekend to help out; sort of like with Dustin’s project out in Chicago the past couple of weekends. I could suck up to Dave Evers (oooh, gross images!) and make up some bullshit story about wanting to help out as much as I could and all that. Honestly, I was certain he would buy it. It was worth a thought...
Anyway, I slipped into Cerise and instantly spotted Zack.
* * *
“Wow!” was Zack’s one-word reply when I finished the abbreviated version of what was going on with Dave Evers, with the epicenter being his off-the-wall text message.
“You’re probably right,” he continued. “People like him hate when someone intelligent is around when they do something really stupid like that New York trip. It’s like he wants to get rid of the witnesses, you know? Especially with his partnership being considered in less than two months, what he did is almost a kiss of death. So even if he’s not doing it consciously, he is subconsciously trying to discredit and diminish you.”
Zack went on for another minute or so, philosophizing over what he thought was going on inside Dave’s head, and again I found myself impressed by what he knew and what he said. I could easily see him on the fast track at our firm, or any of the other big consulting firms that recruited at ASU, one of the first in his year group to make partner. He wasn’t only “L.A. sexy” but unless I was totally naïve, he wasn’t a world-class bullshitter and scammer; he was the real thing. I didn’t know that much about him yet, but I was pretty sure he wasn’t some 29-year old billionaire or multi-millionaire. I had been to his apartment and while it was nice, it was still the typical L.A. older building apartment. Expensive – pretty much everything in L.A. is – but if he had a gazillion dollars, I would have expected a house in Bel Air or Malibu; something like that.
But he did have his successful one-person firm with a waiting list of clients, and even more important, he seemed to be the master of his own destiny, at least professionally. He was in a position where if someone like Dave Evers crossed his path, Zack could just walk away and move on; he didn’t need to put up with unfounded, off-the-wall texts like the one I got from Dave this afternoon.
Plus Zack was very insightful and knowledgeable about the politics inside consulting firms such as mine, which I found surprising considering that he told me his experience in a larger firm constituted exactly one year. Still, I could already tell that he was the kind of guy whom I could go to with problems such as this one with Dave Evers and he could not only get to the heart of the problem, he would also give me sound advice on what to do.
And in this particular case:
“Lindsey, just ride it out,” he said as he finished one of the same orangey beers he had been drinking when I met him for the first time right in this very place... one week ago almost to the minute, I realized as I listened to him. “Even with what looks like the start of a smear campaign against you, I think this New York deal doomed him for partner, if he wasn’t already out of contention.”
The w
aitress came to take our refill orders – another beer for Zack, another fresh raspberry martini for me – and when she left, he looked at me.
“I don’t mean to put you on the spot, but in your opinion what is the biggest mistake he made with this New York thing?”
I didn’t even hesitate.
“What we found out this morning, about Margie not approving any hours at all before he sent four of us off to SoHo and we each lost three billable days.”
Zack smiled.
“You got it,” he said. “The whole thing was stupid but as soon as word gets back to your partner that he didn’t first clear the hours with MetroGen, he’s a dead man walking.”
“I’ll take Consulting Stupidity for $200, please,” I laughed. After such a shitty day – at least from the time I showed up at MetroGen – I was suddenly in a much better mood. The waitress returned with our drinks, and after she left I looked at Zack and said:
“Is it bad karma to toast to someone else’s bad fortunes? You know, like Evers getting passed over for partner and then packaged out?”
He answered quickly.
“Actually, I think it is; sorry,” he said.
“But I have an idea,” he added as he raised his glass, with mine following his.
“To the return of peace and contentment to you during your workday, however that may occur,” Zack proposed, his words dripping with undertones.
I couldn’t help my sort-of-mean-spirited smirk as I chimed in with “hear hear!”
Silence followed for about thirty seconds as we both sensed a shift away from me bitching about my job, but then I peered at Zack with a serious look on my face and said:
