Bond Girl (27 page)

There was one thing I needed to know, or else I was destined to beat piñatas with baseball bats for the rest of my life. “I asked you at Nobu why you never answered my calls, and you gave me some bullshit excuse about not liking the phone. I asked you why you were never around on the weekends, and you didn't tell me the truth. You had an out, right then, and you didn't take it. You're so interested in being friends now, why not just do the right thing then, instead of backpedaling and trying to make yourself feel better by telling me that you didn't want a serious girlfriend? No shit you didn't want a serious girlfriend. You already had one!”

“I was confused. She lived in Boston. I never saw her during the week. I'd see you during the day, and we'd hang out and I found myself liking you, too, and I didn't want that to end. I like you, Alex. I know I hurt you and I know you hate me, and if I could go back and do things differently, I would. But this hasn't been easy for me, either.”

Well, now that was probably the one version of the answer I wasn't expecting.

“Why not break up with her then?” Tears welled in my eyes, despite my best efforts to stop them. I had promised myself I was done crying over him. I had lied to me.

“That night at Nobu, I didn't know which one of you . . .”

“Which one of us what?”

He cringed, knowing his answer was going to hurt. “Which one of you I wanted to be with. And I was drunk. So were you!”

“Don't you dare put this on me,” I said. Wasn't that just like a man. It's your fault, even when it's not. I'm joining a convent.

He looked disheveled. In the last ten minutes on this sidewalk, he'd completely lost his composure. Now he knew how I felt. “Listen, there's something else I want to tell you.”

“What? You're registered at Crate&Barrel? Don't expect me to send you a set of stemware.”

“Just listen to me.”

I shrugged.

“I'm miserable,” he admitted. “I wish I could go back and do things differently. I don't want to go through with the wedding. I don't know what I was thinking. I want . . . I want for us . . .”

If he was going where I thought he was going, I didn't want to hear the rest of it. I was so done with this situation it was funny. Except it wasn't. Not even a little.

I snapped.

“No one forced you to propose. What the hell possessed you to ask her to marry you if you didn't want to marry her?”

“It's complicated.”

“Is she pregnant?”

“No.”

“Does she need a green card?”

“No.”

“Then I really don't see how it could be complicated.”

“Her father is the CFO of a major firm in Boston. The amount of money I could make off him is staggering.”

You've. Got. To. Be. Kidding. Me.

“You can't be serious. You asked her to marry you
for her father's money
?”

He didn't answer.

“Wow. I guess women aren't the only ones who can sleep their way to the top, huh? You two deserve each other. You certainly don't deserve me. Fuck off.”

The conversation, like our relationship, like our friendship, was over. And it hurt.

I hailed a cab and left him standing alone on the sidewalk.

J
une 2008 was a disaster. It was getting to the point where I was afraid to tell people what I did for a living. Where I had once felt pride I now felt fear. Phones rang nonstop, the group unable to keep up with the endless demand for information. Clients wanted to know what was going on: Would things rebound? Should they be selling as the market traded down, or buying in the hopes that it would rebound? Where did we think unemployment would end up? Did we think it could hit 10 percent? The one thing all the clients had in common was that they were panicked. The traders were frazzled, cursing, breaking things, unable to clot their bleeding P&Ls.

One Monday morning there was an unexpected lull in the incessant ringing phones. I took a few minutes to collect myself and take stock of the situation. As soon as I looked up, I could sense that something was very wrong. No one was hungry, and that was never a good sign.

Drew read the news headlines scrolling across his computer. He raised his eyebrows at me as I rolled my chair over toward him.

“What's going on? Something's wrong,” I said.

Drew looked over conspiratorially and said in a low voice, “A lot of meetings going on with senior management. Too many people behind closed doors, a lot of whispering in the hallways. No one has seen Chick yet. It isn't good.”

“Maybe he's in a meeting?” I asked, panicked.

“Maybe
he's
the reason for the meeting.”

Oh shit.

This was bad. A new desk head meant you had to interview for your own job, and if the new boss didn't like you, for whatever reason, you'd be fired and replaced by one of his friends. You had to be very careful not to make any enemies on the Street, because there was a good chance you would end up working with everyone again somewhere along the way. (Apparently Cruella missed that memo.)

“You think Chick is leaving? Who's going to run the group? Where's he going? Does he have an offer somewhere else?”

“Do I look like a Magic Eight Ball? I don't think it's his choice to leave, if that's what's even happening.”

“What are we supposed to do?”

“Wait.”

We didn't have to wait long.

Reese stood up five minutes later and announced that we were wanted in the conference room. We looked at one another and hesitantly followed him. No one spoke. I took a seat in one of the chairs against the wall. The rules of hierarchy weren't suspended just because you were in a conference room; if you weren't at least a vice president, you had better not even think of sitting at the table.

Not long after we all were seated, Darth Vader entered the room.

Darth sat at the head of the table. Chick's chair. I held my breath, waiting for Chick to walk in, kick Darth out of his seat, fold his hands behind his head, and throw his Gucci loafers on the table.

Any minute now.

“As of this morning, Ed Ciccone is no longer with the firm,” Darth said matter-of-factly. He was unemotional, apathetic, uninterested. He was the anti-Chick.

Oh shit.

“I know this is a shock for all of you, but we're trying to make this transition as smooth as possible. I'll be running the group going forward.”

Oh shit.

“I just want to make one thing clear up front. I don't run things the way Chick did. I'll be making some changes.”

Oh shit.

“One thing you can count on is that this place will look very different a few months from now. Does anyone have any questions?”

No one raised a hand. Everyone was too busy thinking:
Oh shit.

“One more thing. I think you all know my assistant, Hannah. She's joining the group as well. I trust you'll make her feel welcome.”

Just when you thought things couldn't get any worse, we get Baby Gap, too.

“That's it. Everyone back to work.”

I was about to leave the room when Darth called out to me.

“Alex, hang back a second. I need to talk to you.”

Was he going to fire me right now? On his first day?

“Yes, Keith?”

“I called the focus clients this morning to let them know that Chick wasn't running the group anymore, and I spoke with Rick Kieriakis at AKS.”

Oh God, please don't say what I think you're going to say.

“He had some very positive things to say about you. I have to admit, I was surprised to discover that such a big client would have such a strong view on a junior salesperson. You've made quite an impression on him. He asked that you cover him going forward. I wasn't particularly thrilled with the idea since there are far more experienced salespeople who should be in charge of that account, but he was adamant in his request. As of today, you're responsible for AKS.”

No
.
AKS was Chick's account.

I wanted to tell him that I couldn't cover the account. But AKS could make a salesperson's career. Of course, they could also break a career if they wanted, and I now had no choice but to put up with the inappropriate notes, messages, and comments. If I didn't, Rick wouldn't have any problem telling Darth that I sucked as a salesperson. Not only would I lose a thirty-million-dollar account, but I'd also lose my job. Getting on the
Titanic
originally sounded like a really good thing, too, and look how that turned out.

I panicked, adrenaline flooding my central nervous system, causing my entire body to quake.
Run,
every fiber in my body instructed.
Run and don't look back.

I couldn't. What if I could win him over? What if I could make it work? Then the more likely possibility: What if he never stopped harassing me, and instead, was simply given carte blanche to do it?

Oh shit.

Run,
my body pleaded with my brain.
Run!

“Thanks, Keith. I appreciate the opportunity. I won't let you down.” My mother was right. Pride was going to be my undoing.

“We'll see about that. Get back to work.”

It was official: redheads were ruining my life.

P
lease don't tell me you got canned the first five minutes he's been in charge,” Drew said when I got back to my desk.

“No, Drew. Although that might have been better.”

“What happened?”

“He wants me to cover Rick. This is either the worst or the best day of my life. I'm not sure which yet.”

“Oh shit,” he said. “Well, if you can make this work, you can write your ticket anywhere you want on the Street. People will be throwing money at you. It's a really phenomenal opportunity.”

“And the downside? What about that?”

“I don't know what to tell you there, Girlie. You have to run with it, and do the best you can. That's your only option. Make lemonade out of lemons, if you will.”

“That lemonade better be spiked. I need a drink. I'm dreading this phone call.”

“Just suck it up and get it over with. The longer you wait, the worse it will be. He's expecting to hear from you.”

I hit the light. Rick answered on the first ring.

“Well, well. Alex Garrett calling
me
. It must be my lucky day.”

“Hey, Rick. I guess you know the reason I'm calling. I spoke to Keith. Thanks for the recommendation.”

“What did I tell you, Alex? Back on the roof, remember? I told you that one day you'd end up covering me. I'd imagine there are more than a few guys on your desk seething with jealousy. You just leapfrogged over at least half a dozen guys in line for this account. You can thank me later. I'm sure I'll come up with something. From now on, I expect you to be all over me. I want you on me like a hungry dog on a bone.” Then he growled—actually
growled—
which I guess he thought sounded sexy. FYI: It didn't.

“Do you have a few minutes to review your strategy and some of the positions you currently have on?” I asked as I nervously twisted my phone cord.

“At the moment, I don't. You can understand, of course, with the markets being the way they are. I don't really have the time to get you up to speed. Why don't you meet me tonight after work and we'll talk? Say, six o'clock at the Tribeca Grand Hotel?”

Shocker, a hotel bar.

“Sure, that works. I'll see you there.”

“I'm looking forward to it. The conversation might take a while. Why don't we plan on getting dinner, too?”

Joy.

I headed toward the coffee stand and passed Baby Gap as she unpacked her things and placed them on her new desk. As I barreled by she stopped me. Her striped button-down shirt gaped so massively between the buttons on her chest I couldn't believe they didn't pop off from the strain.

“Hey, Alex?” she asked with her usual vocal inflection, the kind that ends every sentence on an up note as if her life was filled with only questions. Which it was. “What's the name of the country next to Spain? You know, the one where they speak Portuguese?”

“Germany,” I replied. In that instant, a button exploded from her shirt, and ricocheted like a pinball off her computer monitor before disappearing beneath a desk.

“Alex, helllllllp,” she shrieked, as she grabbed her shirt placket and attempted to stretch the fabric over her silicone mammaries.

“Go find a safety pin!” I yelled as Hannah proceeded to run off the floor in search of a makeshift fastener. As she made her way to the ladies' room, half the men on our trading desk gave her a standing ovation. I looked back at Drew, shocked.

Drew rocked in his chair and laughed hysterically. “Shit, you just can't make this stuff up.”

“Drew! I'm lucky I didn't just lose an eye! Honestly, how hard is it to buy clothes that fit?”

“I don't know, but I hope she never figures it out. I still have fond memories of last Tuesday, when she wore those sweet white pants with the hot pink thong. You should see the pictures I got of her ass with my phone.”

“You guys are all hopeless, you know that?”

“Hey, don't fault me for having perfect vision.”

When I arrived at the coffee stand, I found Reese and Marchetti getting lattes. Marchetti put me in a headlock and mussed my hair.

“So you got Rick, Girlie?”

“Yeah, it's great,” I lied. “I'm a little nervous though. I hope I don't screw up.”
Understatement of the century.

“You won't screw up. Just don't execute any trades at four if the market's at ten,” Marchetti said without missing a beat, once again reminding me that mistakes on this floor were never forgotten.