Harper's Rules (24 page)

“Because it is against the law! How could you not know that?”

Sabia said this was the real world and he wasn't interested in legalese or games.

“Games?” Wallace said incredulously. “Let me tell you what you've just exposed us to. If we now hire your candidate, based on what you just asked, Ms. Matthews could sue us for age discrimination, depose all of us to prove what you said, and sue for all the money she would have made from us plus punitive emotional damages. A good lawyer would ask for somewhere around 50 million dollars as a starting point.”

I couldn't help but think that suddenly the other candidate seemed like a great choice. But I decided to take the high road and secure my standing with Wallace and the others.

“Mr. Sabia,” I began, “my résumé gives you the date I graduated college, and you can see I have had twelve years of work experience, so why would you ask a question you already know the answer to?”

He glared. “Straight up? Here it is. Without a strong sales force, this venture goes nowhere. This is mission-critical. You're of a certain age, and lady, I don't need you walking in here after you get the job and telling me you're pregnant and you quit.”

Vivek covered his face with his hands. Harley apparently knew Wallace well, because he half rose out of his seat to see if he would have to restrain him. But Wallace didn't move; he just went cold—icy.

“That's enough. You've just broken another law,” he said, his lips barely moving. “You and I are done. I can get funding without having to put up with your puerile nonsense. Casey, I'm sorry. This simply should not have happened.”

It's not the first time pregnancy had come up during one of my job searches. I suppose I can take solace in the fact that, given my pending birthday, it might be the last. It was eight years ago, during my first big move with Harper after my rookie success. I had sailed through the interview process, was scheduled to go in for a “rubber stamp” meeting with my boss's boss, and while dressing to meet Donald's parents for dinner, I realized my breasts were sensitive to the touch of my bra, and they looked a little swollen to me. At dinner with Donald's parents, it suddenly hit me that I had not had my period in some time, though I couldn't say for sure how late it was. I barely got home without a full-out meltdown. If I was pregnant, was it going to cost me the job? Would they rescind the offer? Will they assume I will take maternity leave and not come back? Maybe I shouldn't tell them. Was that an awful thing to do? I sent Harper an email
that said I was having an argument with a friend who might be pregnant, and I wanted him to settle it and tell us what legal responsibility she had to tell the company.

It took me half an hour to find the home pregnancy test under the sink amid the extra toilet paper and unused cleaning supplies. In the meantime, Harper called me back.

“Casey, were you asked on the interview if you were pregnant?”

“Could you at least have gone along with my pathetic story for a minute or two?”

“That is outrageous and against the law. I will call the CEO right now. The Pregnancy Act of 1978 is very clear. They can't ask you, and you don't have to tell. You can choose to tell them if you'd like, but you are under no obligation.”

“No one asked me, Harper. That's not why I wanted to know.”

“Oh . . . Got it.”

“I'm not pregnant, as it turns out, which is an utter relief. I just didn't want to screw up my offer, and I sent you the email before I took the test and—”

“Casey, you okay?”

“Actually, why don't you go ahead and be sorry for me? Just in case?”

“You know,” Harper attempted, “kids fully suck. Mine is on eBay as we speak.”

“Save it, Harper . . .”

Wallace and the boys were waiting on me. Was I going to show outrage and leave to call my lawyer? Would I try to exploit the situation? What did Casey really want?— a question that has lingered for too long.

“Wallace, I appreciate your umbrage, which is called for, to be sure, but can I say a few words?”

They were in no position to be anything but a respectful audience.

“First of all, I don't want to sue for millions. I don't want to make money through lawyers because of some infantile behavior; I want to earn millions by doing what I do. So everyone can relax.”

I moved over to Sabia and addressed him directly. I made eye contact and didn't relinquish it.

“Mr. Sabia, you and I will get along fine. You need someone who is not afraid to say something besides ‘yes' to you, and you need someone who will occasionally call you on your nonsense, which I will do cheerfully. But that's not why I should be hired. You need me because I will obsess, I will drive revenue, and in so doing I will inspire a sales force and get you your investment back. You simply need to signify you understand that I am right by getting that smug look off your face and telling me you are sorry.”

“Turns out I am,” he said. “I was out of line.”

“Forget it. You'll find I truly let things go. Know many women like that?”

A few minutes later Wallace escorted me to the lobby. He said he would never forget how I handled Sabia's ignorance and latent misogyny. He promised he would have an answer within a day or two, and he made it clear he wanted me to be his VP of sales.

“Sabia is going to fight you on this, isn't he?”

“The other guy did a similar venture for Jigsaw; he has some serious credentials. In a perfect world, Sabia would want you to work for the guy—as a way to get grounded.”

“You mean a proving ground? Sorry, Wallace, I won't do that.”

“So you said. Let me do my thing. Whatever happens, I think you're an extraordinary young woman.”

“I appreciate that, Wallace, but that sounds very much like a consolation prize.”

Wallace bit his lower lip and took a moment. I couldn't imagine what he was like at my age—insufferable, probably, in some sort of glorious way. Just my type.

“I'm seventy-one years old, Casey. I don't sell myself to anyone anymore, but for you, I'll say this: the next time I don't get what I want in a business deal will be the first time.”

When Harper first placed me at Siebel Systems, along with the great training, the awesome branding, and the visionary management, I got to share a cubicle space with Drake. He looked a little like Gene Hackman, (think
French Connection
, not
Royal Tenenbaums
), and management was smart enough to realize his real value was passing on wisdom to aggressive young sales reps who saw the world in absolute terms. One day I asked him what was the biggest mistake he saw among rookies like me.

“You haven't committed yet to your career. Down deep you are waiting for a sign, for enough good things to happen to you to justify making a commitment. But it doesn't work that way. You have to commit first, and then,
because
you have committed, good things come to you.”

I thought of him now. I decided to commit, in my mind and actions, to Wallace. He said he was going to get this done, and
because
I chose to believe him, good things would come.

The first proof of this epiphany would be the feedback I would get from Harper, and the sooner I heard from Harper the better my chances. I left him a text message saying I was anxious for his feedback and that I wanted to tell him about the craziness with Sabia.

I didn't hear back from Harper that evening and when I woke up, I reached over the alarm clock to my charging Blackberry and checked my messages. One was from Peter saying he hoped the interview went well and that at some point he would like to
talk. I also had a Facebook invite from Jamie Post, who had now officially tried every form of communication. This one laid the guilt on thick. “Just do me a favor and let me know you're okay. I
get
that we're not going to date.” I didn't want to call him back, but something was telling me not to let go.

By noon, I had left messages for Harper on his office voice mail, on email, and on his cell. At 1
P.M.
I texted him to let him know that I assumed no news was bad news and that I was a big girl and could take it. At 2
P.M.
, starting to wonder if Donald's old scrip of Xanax might still be packed away somewhere, I went to the Jigsaw website, read the management profiles, and checked out my competition, a guy named Cameron. His education was better, he had been through startups, he had published several
New York Times
articles on the social networking phenomenon, and while it was never mentioned, let's face it, he was sporting a penis. That's unfair, I told myself. Wallace has hired many women executives.

The bell of my Blackberry rescued me from this self-absorbed rant. An email from Harper. “Casey: I got your multi-media barrage. You can stop now.” This was a bad sign: bad news is easier to deliver in email. But I read on.

HARPER'S RULE
Waiting for the Offer

Waiting for an offer is the hardest part of the process. It makes candidates doubt their intentions. They begin to rethink. Their minds go to crazy places. This is very human and very
dangerous
!

The offer is the most important thing in your world. It is just
one
thing a corporation has to do. So you need to take a breath. There is no hidden meaning in the delay. I have made it perfectly clear to Wallace that every hour that goes by the more variables they are risking, like offers from other companies. I am exerting leverage. You have to trust me.

Right, trust again. The more people tell me I have to trust them the less I do. If someone were trustworthy, would they really have to tell me to trust them? Harper ended the email vaguely. “I won't be able to talk live, and I won't be able to check in via cell or text for a while. Not to be cryptic, but I have an issue I have to deal with. Wallace knows how to reach me when they have a decision, and I will check my email when I can. I'm on this. Try not to stress.”

Now that I am officially thirty-five, I told myself, I needed to not overreact. It has been one day since my interview. It is a high-impact position with a startup company in a volatile market sector; there is nothing unusual going on here. And so what that Harper will be out of touch? He has a life beyond me, and I've known obliquely for some time there were issues he was dealing with, but I am sure he will still tend to
InterAnnex like the consummate pro he is. I am not going to freak. I decided this was all a test of my ability to commit first and ask questions later.

I made a decision. I am a good decision maker. I don't mean I make good decisions—I often don't—but I am good at making decisions.

I decided I could wait all day and die a slow death, or I could use the time to expand the notion of “commit first; good things come as a result” to all areas of my life.

I never even got into the gym to tell Peter that if I had two lives, I'd be happy to risk one on him; that I loved that he was kind; that I got it that he only wanted to take care of me and be happy and safe; and that I wanted to want that too. But that I didn't. At least, not with him.

Nope. So many times we stress over things, and we never even have to face them. Or if we do, they are never as hard as we imagined they would be. As it turned out, the parking lot was packed, I had to park in the last row, and as soon as I got out of the car I saw them. They weren't kissing; they weren't even standing that close to each other. But a woman knows. They laughed. They lingered. And they looked amazing together. She had something I lacked. She turned her head to the side and I could see it: she wasn't angry—about anything. I not only wasn't jealous, I felt bad about holding them back.

I owed it to Peter to wait for her to leave. He was such a good man. I knew there would be days, years from now, when I was angry at my spouse for dealing me some injustice, when I would wonder why I let such a kind soul go without a fight. And as I approached him I remembered what Harper told me when I left my first company. I had just landed a big deal; I had a huge commission check coming my way. If I quit now, I'd forfeit it. I wanted the new job, I told him, but should I really leave the money behind?

Harper's Rule: All candidates of quality leave behind something in the job that is good and worthy; otherwise, they'd never move forward.

Peter dutifully asked me about my interview, and I withheld. It no longer mattered.

“Good, it was good. Thanks.”

Peter took a breath, just like he does before he begins a set of shoulder presses. Gathering his strength. That is what I have been to this guy, resistance training. “So I know you're stressed about the job and the timing is not great, but like I said in my message, I think we should talk.”

I slowly shook my head. “What I think works best is if I join another gym. Which means I probably won't join another gym, and then we don't feel awkward on a daily basis, and I get the bonus of blaming you when my butt gets squishy.”

“I wish you liked me more, Casey.”

“I like you plenty. That's not what this is about.”

He was too sweaty to hug, but how do you not hug at a time like that? Besides, showering gave me something to do when I got home while waiting for Harper to call. Why do they call it “killing time?” Time was killing me.

When I checked in with Harper by email the next morning, I got an auto reply message for the first time in the near decade I've known him. It said he was unavailable, and if it was an emergency to call Leena. Now I was truly scared, but now for Harper more than me. For Harper, an auto reply message is like waving a white flag.

I grabbed my cell to call Leena but decided it was too early and called Jill instead. When I get stressed, I ask if I can play Rock Star Auntie and take Sheila off her hands for a few hours. Jill said there was a rock climbing party at the YMCA, and it would be great if I would take her.