weekend. And he’s taking Katherine. His new one.’
Claire forced herself to take the last bite of her egg salad sandwich, wiped her mouth with a paper napkin and put it and the other trash in her lunch bag. ‘I have to run out to Duane Reade,’ she said. ‘Does anybody need anything?’ Nobody did, but Joan was quick to remind her she only had twenty minutes until she was due back in the department. Claire nodded, and freed herself.
She didn’t need to shop. She just needed some air. She walked up to City Hall and paced the small park in front of it. What was she doing? Why did she spend her days in a windowless room, and her nights at home alone reading? She had sequestered herself from life; she may as well have been cloistered. But the fact was she knew she was nothing like a nun. She wanted to travel. She wanted an exciting job. She wanted to do new things and meet new people. She just didn’t know how. She sat, for a moment, on a bench. It had turned cold, but in the sun, with her coat wrapped tightly around her, she managed not to shiver. The thought of going back to Crayden Smithers and Joan made her shudder. Even out here, wind from the harbor on her face, she felt as if she were jailed.
Manhattan was clearly the answer but it intimidated her. How could she manage to afford it and would she find a roommate? Other people did it, she reminded herself, but she didn’t feel like other people. In fact, she’d always felt different from everyone she had known. Worse yet, as best she could objectively see, everyone else agreed with her. No wonder she felt so lonely.
I could sign up for a trip, some kind of tour group she told herself. I could go to Europe, if I had a guide. Then the idea of traveling with a bunch of strangers, winding up with Marie One and Michelle – or their equivalent – traipsing through Paris seemed ridiculous.
Perhaps, she told herself, there might be an Abigail Samuels or even a well-read man. She had read all of The Human Comedy, and Jean Rhys and Collette. She felt as if she had already been to France and couldn’t bear to go for real as a stupid tourist, unable to speak the language, wearing the wrong clothes and going to the wrong places.
The fact was, she was not only a coward but she was also a snob. A secret snob, the worst kind. She sat at lunch and felt superior to and amused by everyone. But who was she to feel that way? At least Michelle and Tina and the Maries – and even Joan – went places and did things and slept with men. She would have to change, she decided, and stood up. She would have to change because not doing so, living as she was living, had become impossible.
Claire looked at her watch. She would be late getting back to work and Joan would punish her by giving her the most onerous jobs for the rest of the afternoon. She wouldn’t mind because she had decided something important. She wasn’t sure if she could transform into a butterfly, but she’d transform herself into something. She had a new resolve: despite the obstacles, she was going to change.
The problem was she didn’t know what she was going to change into.
The next day the women were sitting, as usual, at lunch and gossiping the usual gossip – the television of the night before, or the latest movie – when Tina came charging into the room all excited. ‘You’re not going to believe what just happened!’ She looked around the table to make sure she had everyone’s attention. ‘A minute ago, Katherine walks right past me into his office. I mean, I try to stop her but it’s like I’m totally invisible. He’s on the phone, but when he sees her, he’s like “gotta go”. Once he hangs up she says, “I don’t know who you think you are but I’m sure as hell not who you think I am!”’
‘She goes!’ said Marie One.
Tina nodded. ‘She goes, but she ain’t goin’.’
‘Goin’ where?’ Michelle asked.
‘To London. She blew the trip.’
‘No shit,’ Marie Two said. Then she paused. ‘Did she tell him to stuff the trip up his ass or did he tell her that?’
‘No ass-stuffing was involved,’ Tina sniffed. ‘They didn’t swear once. She called him “a narcissistic self-parody” and he …’ she narrowed her eyes as if trying to remember Mr Not-So-Wonderful’s exact phraseology. ‘I think he asked her to keep her psychological profiles to herself until he requested one. Then Michael came out to me and ordered me to hold the second airline ticket.’
Then without a beat, Tina moved on to drop a new conversational grenade about a confrontation – almost a scene – in the outer office, between two of the other traders.
‘Well, I think a “go fuck yourself” wouldn’t have been inappropriate,’ Michelle said. Just then Abigail Samuels walked in, in time to hear the vulgarity. Claire hung her head. She was in the company of these people and surely perceived as one of them by everyone but herself. Still, she wished she hadn’t been there when the remote, educated Abigail – who was probably a virgin – heard the conversation.
Abigail, however, moved serenely by them to the refrigerator, took out a yogurt and turned to go. At the door, as a kind of after-thought, she turned back to the now-silent group. ‘Claire,’ she said. ‘Would you be free to photocopy some important documents for me?’
Every eye at the table turned from Abigail Samuels to Claire. Claire looked first to Abigail, then to Joan. Joan shrugged and nodded. ‘She can do it,’ Joan said.
‘We know she can,’ Abigail Samuels said, and Claire, most probably, was the only one who realized Joan’s grammar was being corrected. ‘The question I asked was if she was available.’
‘She’s available,’ Joan said after a moment’s pause. Claire stood up and wordlessly followed Abigail out of the lunch room.
They were along the row of executive offices, almost to Michael Wainwright’s, when Abigail turned to Claire. ‘You seem like a girl who keeps herself to herself,’ she said. ‘This is a job that I want to be kept exactly where it belongs.’
Claire nodded, and Abigail seemed to feel that was enough. They reached her office outside of Mr Crayden’s. ‘You’ll use the photocopier in the executive supply room.’ She lifted a pile of documents and handed them to Claire. ‘I’d prefer you don’t read them, but I don’t insist.’
Claire was shown through a door she had never noticed. The room was small but paneled, and leather-jacketed pads of paper, engraved personal letterhead and all manner of high-end office supplies were carefully placed on shelves behind glass cabinet doors. A photocopier, a shredder and a fax were built into mahogany cabinetry as well.
‘Do you know how the machine works?’ Abigail asked. Claire nodded. ‘It doesn’t have a collator and I’ll need two copies of everything. Can you keep them in order?’
‘Yes,’ Claire managed.
‘I thought you could.’ Abigail smiled. ‘If you have any questions, just call.’
Claire began the work. It was dull, but it made a break in her usual day. Anything that kept her away from Joan was a good thing, but she had a feeling that, just like in high school, there would be a price to pay for being singled out.
Feeding the first page in, she only glanced at the contents to make sure she wasn’t going to be a participant in grand larceny or fraud. Crayden Smithers was one of the
