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Authors: J.J. Murray
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her voice mail. I hang up before leaving a message. She told me not to call her unless there was a crisis. This ... this is a crisis. This is important.
I call Delmonico’s and have her paged. “She must have just left,” they tell me. Heifer! She ate a lobster in less than half an hour? So that means ... she’s on her way home—or on her way to the airport. Is she leaving for Australia already? I’m sure she has to go home to change and pack fifty suitcases. I don’t have time to check flights to the Great Barrier Reef. I wonder if her plane could land on the reef. Nah. Sharks would spit her up, and there would be a nasty international incident.
So if her phone’s off and she’s en route somewhere, and I’m the only one who can do this ...
I have no choice, right? Corrine is obviously gone, not that she’s ever truly here when she is here.
I have to be her now.
Eww. Rephrase.
I have to be her position now. I have to represent her as her.
I stand, willing my legs to stop shaking.
We can do this. Right foot, you lead, and the left one will follow.
I grab my jacket and put it on, looking out the window. Yo, Brooklyn, I’m about to do something as crazy as you are. What would Walt Whitman think? He said that freedom was to “walk free and own no superior.” He also said that the “future is no more uncertain than the present.” If Walt were still in Brooklyn today, he’d be asking, “So, whatchagonnado, Shari?”
I am oh so tired of sleepwalking through this job. I’ve already logged ten thousand miles walking to and from this place. I’ve taken enough steps. I’ve walked enough miles.
“Keep your face always toward the sunshine,” Walt said, “and shadows will fall behind you.”
Let’s do this, and let the shadows fall where they may.
Chapter 8
I walk somewhat steadily to Tia, waiting till Candi, a new administrative assistant with big teeth, clogs, and a green denim dress, rushes away, clogs clomping on the carpet. And that already has her MBA.
“Corrine-cula is going on vacation,” I whisper to Tia.
“Why are we whispering?” Tia whispers back. She nods her head at the scurrying MultiCorp robots. “We are not like them. We talk to each other.”
“This time we’re whispering, okay?”
She nods. “But this is cause for celebration. Lady Di is gone for a while.”
“Tia, um, a client wants to meet with Corrine at the Millennium Hotel right now,” I whisper, “and I can’t get her on the phone. She expressly told me not to call her for any reason.” Well, except for a crisis, but I’m handling it. “I, um, already answered the phone as her.”
Tia’s eyes bulge. “As her.”
“Yes,” I whisper. “I told you that I’ve done it before, but never like this.”
“It sounds dangerous,” she whispers.
“Yeah. I’m, um, I want this, Tia. I want to get this client all by myself to prove to the upty-ups that you don’t need an MBA to do this job right.”
Tia smiles. “And this is your chance.”
“Yeah. They won’t let me into the JAE program, and I’m ten times more qualified than the Ivy League garbage they’re bringing in. Can you help a sister out?”
She nods. “Miss Ross, we must do something about your outfit for this important meeting.” She pulls out a drawer and holds up a handful of colorful scarves, putting several up to my sweater. “What kind of man is the client?”
“He’s country. He’s from Georgia.”
She looks at my boots. “The boots are okay then. Do you plan on wearing that raincoat?”
“It’s not a raincoat, Tia. It’s a North Face jacket.”
“It is a raincoat to me.” She takes her coat from her chair. “Use my jacket.”
“Why?” That jacket is as old as I am.
“It has fur on it, and it will make you look older. And you must switch shoes with me.”
“I am not wearing your shoes.” I’ll wear the coat. I will not wear another person’s shoes. I pose. “How do I look?”
She sighs. “You look
I call Delmonico’s and have her paged. “She must have just left,” they tell me. Heifer! She ate a lobster in less than half an hour? So that means ... she’s on her way home—or on her way to the airport. Is she leaving for Australia already? I’m sure she has to go home to change and pack fifty suitcases. I don’t have time to check flights to the Great Barrier Reef. I wonder if her plane could land on the reef. Nah. Sharks would spit her up, and there would be a nasty international incident.
So if her phone’s off and she’s en route somewhere, and I’m the only one who can do this ...
I have no choice, right? Corrine is obviously gone, not that she’s ever truly here when she is here.
I have to be her now.
Eww. Rephrase.
I have to be her position now. I have to represent her as her.
I stand, willing my legs to stop shaking.
We can do this. Right foot, you lead, and the left one will follow.
I grab my jacket and put it on, looking out the window. Yo, Brooklyn, I’m about to do something as crazy as you are. What would Walt Whitman think? He said that freedom was to “walk free and own no superior.” He also said that the “future is no more uncertain than the present.” If Walt were still in Brooklyn today, he’d be asking, “So, whatchagonnado, Shari?”
I am oh so tired of sleepwalking through this job. I’ve already logged ten thousand miles walking to and from this place. I’ve taken enough steps. I’ve walked enough miles.
“Keep your face always toward the sunshine,” Walt said, “and shadows will fall behind you.”
Let’s do this, and let the shadows fall where they may.
Chapter 8
I walk somewhat steadily to Tia, waiting till Candi, a new administrative assistant with big teeth, clogs, and a green denim dress, rushes away, clogs clomping on the carpet. And that already has her MBA.
“Corrine-cula is going on vacation,” I whisper to Tia.
“Why are we whispering?” Tia whispers back. She nods her head at the scurrying MultiCorp robots. “We are not like them. We talk to each other.”
“This time we’re whispering, okay?”
She nods. “But this is cause for celebration. Lady Di is gone for a while.”
“Tia, um, a client wants to meet with Corrine at the Millennium Hotel right now,” I whisper, “and I can’t get her on the phone. She expressly told me not to call her for any reason.” Well, except for a crisis, but I’m handling it. “I, um, already answered the phone as her.”
Tia’s eyes bulge. “As her.”
“Yes,” I whisper. “I told you that I’ve done it before, but never like this.”
“It sounds dangerous,” she whispers.
“Yeah. I’m, um, I want this, Tia. I want to get this client all by myself to prove to the upty-ups that you don’t need an MBA to do this job right.”
Tia smiles. “And this is your chance.”
“Yeah. They won’t let me into the JAE program, and I’m ten times more qualified than the Ivy League garbage they’re bringing in. Can you help a sister out?”
She nods. “Miss Ross, we must do something about your outfit for this important meeting.” She pulls out a drawer and holds up a handful of colorful scarves, putting several up to my sweater. “What kind of man is the client?”
“He’s country. He’s from Georgia.”
She looks at my boots. “The boots are okay then. Do you plan on wearing that raincoat?”
“It’s not a raincoat, Tia. It’s a North Face jacket.”
“It is a raincoat to me.” She takes her coat from her chair. “Use my jacket.”
“Why?” That jacket is as old as I am.
“It has fur on it, and it will make you look older. And you must switch shoes with me.”
“I am not wearing your shoes.” I’ll wear the coat. I will not wear another person’s shoes. I pose. “How do I look?”
She sighs. “You look
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