Bond Girl (9 page)

The small Japanese lady working the counter looked at me with pity as I entered and proceeded to stomp the snow off my feet and chip away the icicles that had formed on my earrings.

“Hello, I'm picking up an order for Ciccone, please?” I said.

She nodded and produced four large plastic bags from the floor behind her. “Very bad weather today, yes?”

“Yeah. It's cold outside.”

She glanced at my feet. “Not good day for no socks. You get sick like that!”

I didn't feel like getting into a conversation with her about the pain we women must endure for beauty, or the fact that I was dressed like a moron, so I smiled in polite disinterest.

“I know, believe me. How much do I owe you?”

“That cost $196.00. You pay cash or charge?”

I pulled the twenty-dollar bills from my purse, paid the bill, and pocketed Chick's change. I had to lean my full weight on the restaurant's glass door to open it against the wind.

Back in the Cromwell Pierce lobby, elaborately wrapped and beribboned stacks of fake presents were arranged meticulously beneath the equally elaborately decorated tree, which loomed large in the high-ceilinged lobby. The carpet absorbed water and kept people from slipping, which was good as there are few surfaces I can think of more dangerous than a wet marble floor. Too bad I was rushing to get back upstairs to remove my water-marked shoes and deliver $200 worth of sushi. In retrospect, I should have walked the full length of the carpet, but you know what they say about hindsight.

I was no more than five feet inside the building when I decided to step off the carpet to circumvent the crowd that was slowing to gaze up at the tree. That was not one of my better ideas. (That hindsight thing again.) One minute I was walking tall in my nice shoes and fancy scarf, and a split second later I was water-skiing across the lobby. There was nothing for me to grab on to for balance. Nothing, that is, except for the enormous fir tree with its hundreds of glass ornaments. In a panic I dropped the sushi bags, reached out, and clutched one of the large branches, but it wasn't strong enough to keep me upright. I felt myself begin to fall, but I didn't let go of that freaking tree. Instead, I held on to the branch, causing the entire tree to bend over like a slingshot. When I finally did let go, it snapped back to its upright position, the sudden jolt causing dozens of ornaments to fall to the marble below, sending colorful glass shards flying in every direction. The next thing I knew I was sprawled out on the floor, facedown in the pile of fake presents under the tree. Fabulous.

Somehow, the sushi bags were standing upright, intact. The last thing I wanted was to have to explain to Chick what had happened; a semiprivate humiliation in the lobby among strangers was way better than a very public one among coworkers. I pushed myself up to a sitting position as a bunch of men came running over to help, and I felt my face burning with embarrassment. I held up one of my hands and shouted, “I'm fine. Completely fine, it's nothing. Really.” They ignored me, intent in their quest to help the damsel in distress.

Two men in their midfifties bent down and grabbed my upper arms, pulling me up off the floor. “Are you okay, miss? Did you hurt yourself?” they asked.

“No, I'm fine. Nothing a few decades in therapy won't fix.” One of the men brushed needles off my upper thigh, straddling the line between helpful and perverted, while the other retrieved a wayward Manolo. I picked up the bags of food, waved to everyone in the lobby, and, on a lark, curtsied. As the bystanders broke into whistles and applause, I laughed in spite of myself. I took some comfort in the fact that no one I knew had witnessed my cartoon-style fall. If I didn't say anything to anyone when I got back to my desk, then it would be like nothing had ever happened, right?

I put the bags down on Chick's desk and slithered back to my chair.
Deep breaths,
I told myself.
No one knows. It could have been much worse.
Had I sprained my ankle I would've had to resign from the humiliation. My breathing was starting to return to normal when an e-mail popped up in my in-box.

MSG FROM PATRICK, WILLIAM:

A—

Nice wipeout. I would give it a solid 8. You lost points with the Russian judge for not sticking the landing. On the other hand, thank you for providing me with one of the funniest visuals ever. I will replay that moment over and over in my head for years to come.

P.S. Congratulations on salvaging the food. I'm impressed.

So much for no one seeing me. It's official: God hates me.

MSG FROM GARRETT, ALEX:

W—

I never liked Communists so you can tell the Russian judge what to do with his scorecard. Quick question: if you saw me fall, how come you didn't help me? Please advise.

You had to admit, I had a point. Cinderella would never put up with that shit.

MSG FROM PATRICK, WILLIAM:

A—

What did you want me to do, throw you over my shoulder Tarzan-style and carry you back upstairs? You're a big girl and you clearly were fine. Besides, somehow I don't think you would have taken my help if I had offered it. True or false?

P.S. You're cute when you are mortified.

I am?

MSG FROM GARRETT, ALEX:

W—

Well, I guess now we'll never know, will we? I assume I'll see you at the party tonight?

I never heard back.

Of all the holiday parties, the one that everyone looked forward to the most was the one the head of all fixed income at Cromwell threw for everyone in the division at a dive bar in Midtown. I'd heard it was a great time and I was excited to see for myself.

When the clock finally struck 5:30, the floor started emptying out as everyone headed outside to a long line of black cars that would take us all uptown. When the car dropped us off on the corner of Ninth Avenue and Fifty-First Street, I understood why everyone looked forward to this party. You could hear the band playing from the sidewalk. Men stood outside in their plaid Christmas pants and reindeer ties, smoking cigarettes and talking. As I approached the door, Drew and Marchetti appeared from across the street, eating slices of pizza.

“Hey, Alex,” Drew said as he held out his hand to smack me five, a big smile on his face.

“Merry Christmas!” I said. “I thought they had food at this thing. Should I have eaten before we came?” There was no way I was going to hang out all night with nothing to eat. Not that I couldn't survive off the fat that had recently accumulated on my thighs, but that wasn't the point.

“No, don't worry, they have plenty of food inside. Marchetti just wanted to get a good base going before we started hitting the tequila.”

Drew grabbed my hand and pulled me inside and directly up to the bar. Everyone was laughing, smiling, and grabbing free beers from the waitresses' trays. Every time I finished a beer, another one would appear as if by magic. The dance floor was packed with people jumping around like they were reliving their proms.

“Hey, hey, Girlie!” Reese and Marchetti joined Drew and me at the bar, and we clinked our beers together in holiday spirit.

“Hey, Reese!” I answered cheerily. “What's shaking?”

“Not a lot, Girlie, not a lot.” Drew handed us all shots of Jack Daniel's.

We clinked glasses again and I downed the burning liquid with the guys, because I knew if I didn't, they'd never invite me to drink with them again.

They ordered another round and downed them. I politely asked if I could sit this round out, and they were nice enough to spare me.

Chick caught my eye from the corner of the room. He waved me over, so I left the guys behind to discuss what kind of wine they were having with Christmas dinner.

“Hi, boss, what's up?” I quickly became nervous, figuring the only reason he would want to talk to me at this moment would be if I'd done something wrong. I really didn't feel like being bitched out at the holiday party.

“I know this time of year all conversations revolve around bonuses, so I wanted to discuss your situation,” he said.

“Oh,” I said, relieved and more than a little surprised. “I know I'm not eligible for one since I haven't been at the firm for a full year.”

“Technically, that's true. The
firm
won't pay you for a few months of work, but that doesn't mean that
we
can't.” He pulled a white envelope from his inside jacket pocket. “Merry Christmas.”

I opened it and for a second I thought my eyeballs were going to explode from their sockets. “Oh my God,” I said.

“There's ten grand in there; I'll save you from getting paper cuts trying to count it all. The group took up a collection for you. Since it's cash, you don't have to worry about paying taxes, so in theory it's twenty grand.”

“Oh my God,” I repeated. Ten thousand dollars. Cash. “Chick, I don't know what to say. This is really incredible.”

“Well, then this is going to really knock your socks off.” He handed me a check for another ten thousand dollars. “This is from me. You passed all your exams and, so far, you've impressed me with your ability to adapt to life on the trading floor. Keep up the good work, Alex, and I have no doubt you have a bright future at the firm. Good job, kid.”

“Is this for real? Twenty thousand dollars?”

“If only all my employees were as easy to please. Don't mention it to anyone. I don't want word getting out that I'm turning into a softie in my old age. Actually, give me the cash back. I'll hold it for you. A girl shouldn't be walking around Manhattan with that many bills on her.” He chuckled as he beamed with an almost fatherly pride.

“I won't tell anyone, I promise!” I clutched the envelope to my chest. I had an irresistible urge to hug him, but somehow I didn't think he'd appreciate it. “I honestly don't know what to say. I have the greatest job on earth.”

“One of them, no doubt. It probably ranks below professional athlete and rock star, but I think the Street has third place locked up.” He squeezed my shoulder as he walked away.

I caught sight of Will on the far side of the dance floor, laughing and talking to some of his friends. I pretended not to notice him while checking myself in the mirror behind the bar to make sure that my hair was in place and that my eyeliner wasn't smudged. Will didn't so much as look in my direction. He was staring off in the distance behind me. I checked the mirror again and noticed a redheaded girl wearing a black dress leaning against the far wall by the dance floor, chatting with some guys from the high-yield desk. Odd, I didn't remember ever seeing her on the floor and, since there were only a handful of women in the office, I should have run into her in the ladies' room or something.

“Hey, Girlie, grab me three Buds, would ya?” I heard Reese call from behind me.

I nodded and flagged down a waitress. When I delivered the beers to Reese, he said, “I saw you talking to Chick. Did he give you your Christmas present?”

“Yes! I don't know how to thank you guys.”

“You deserve it, Girlie. Don't spend it all in one place.”

“I don't think I could if I tried.”

“Give it a few more years and that twenty grand will look like chump change.”

“No way, that'll never happen,” I said, secretly hoping he was right. “Hey, who's that girl over there by the dance floor? I don't recognize her.”

He took a long swig of beer as he spun on his heels to check her out. “Oh, that girl. Yeah, I don't know her name. She works in the Boston office. Comes down for the Christmas parties and other random events. Why?”

“No reason. Just wondering,” I lied.

I looked back toward Will who was still watching the redhead.
Grow up, Alex,
I told myself when I began to feel jealous. I couldn't stand there and stare at him, and I was afraid of rejoining the guys and being forced to consume yet another shot of Jack Daniel's. Instead, I weaved my way through the crowds of intoxicated men and went to look for a ladies' room.

There were three guys in line in front of me when I reached the solitary (unisex) bathroom. Ten minutes later we hadn't moved forward, and eight or nine guys had joined the line behind me. I was about two minutes away from going across the street and using the bathroom at the pizza place when suddenly the door opened and the redheaded girl from Boston emerged. Ten seconds later, a guy I had seen on the floor followed her. As she passed the men waiting on line, she received catcalls, snickers, and one very clear invitation to return in ten minutes. The guy got high fives and slaps on the back. I stared, openmouthed, in obvious shock, and in violation of one of the cardinal rules of being a woman on a trading floor: never lose your poker face.

“Uh-oh, I think Alex is mad!” a trader yelled from the end of the line. “Get off your high horse, Girlie. Last time I checked we were all adults here. Get over it.” He laughed as he glanced at his buddies for approval.

In a tone that was completely disrespectful to someone senior to me, I replied, “What
you
are is completely disgusting.” Tears were starting to well in my eyes for reasons I didn't really understand.

“What are you, Alex, jealous? Other girls are getting all the attention and you aren't? Don't get me wrong, little girl, you're hot and all, but there are some races you just can't run. At least not yet. Ask me again after a few more beers.” The man heckling me appeared to be in his early forties. The skin on his neck was a shade pinker than his face, like he was about to drop dead from a massive coronary. I wouldn't mind if he did.

I snapped.

“Maybe so. But let me tell you something, if she and I ever ran a race, you wouldn't be worthy of standing on the sidelines to watch, you fat fuck.” The second the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them.

Someone from the end of line yelled, “Holy shit, T.C., you just got your balls cut off by a skirt!” The entire line erupted into laughter. The fat man was not amused. I stormed out of the line, grabbed my coat from the chair, and headed for the front door. Drew was calling after me to stop, but I was pretty sure I was about to start crying and I wasn't about to make this night any worse by further humiliating myself in front of everyone. I ran around the corner, trying in vain to hail a cab. If you've ever tried to hail a cab in Midtown Manhattan in December, you know that I had a better shot of being beamed up by a spaceship. When Drew caught up to me, he found me leaning against a parked car wiping tears from my already frozen cheeks.