I swallowed hard. My cell phone kept vibrating inside my bag. I could only imagine all the WTFs Emily had written.
Margie’s thick gray hair was pulled back in a low ponytail that was so tight, the skin of her face was pulled back with it. The way she was hovering over me now I couldn’t help but think of a sumo wrestler. A smiling Jewish sumo wrestler in high-waisted pleated khakis.
“Lunch?” I asked.
“Yeah, lunch. Unless you’d rather I speak to Robert directly about his T & E reports.”
Still smiling.
“Tina!” Robert called to me from his office. He held up his empty glass and shook it back and forth.
I swiftly rose from my chair. “Emily and I will see you there at one.”
—
“KEEP IT TOGETHER, FONTANA,” Emily said. “We have to stick together; we have to deny everything.” We were marching down Sixth Avenue on our way to meet Margie for lunch. Emily was in a pink Stella McCartney dress and matching heels and I was in my usual pants from the Gap and a V-neck sweater over a button-down. I guess I shouldn’t hold it against anyone who mistakes me for a lesbian, or an adolescent boy wearing a Catholic-school uniform.
“You could have at least changed into something less designer,” I said to Emily. “Didn’t you have anything from the Gap or Old Navy in your office closet?”
“I’m wearing a pair of your underwear that I’m pretty sure are Hanes Her Way,” Emily said. “Does that count?”
When we arrived, the avian-looking hostess eyed me up and down and I could tell she was trying to figure out if I was someone famous. Only a very famous person would show up at Michael’s in clothing so carelessly uncurated. I spotted Margie across a sea of power lunches, already working on some appetizers. She wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin and waved us over.
“Betty and Veronica,” she called out. “Over here.”
We walked toward her with our heads down, sat, and waited.
“Glad you could make it.” Margie gestured to the appetizer plate in front of her. “Oysters and littleneck clams on the half shell. Help yourself.”
A waiter wearing a black tuxedo jacket approached us and leaned in closer to me than any waiter I’d ever known. He had obviously been given instructions by the hostess to figure out if I was anyone worth sneaking a photo of. Emily and I each ordered a glass of wine and a house salad without looking at our menus.
Margie laughed and leaned back in her chair. “Would you believe I’ve eaten here only once before? Fancy place like this. Can’t afford it. But today’s a special occasion because I figure you’ll be expensing this meal. Both of you.”
There it was. She knew everything.
Her eyes bounced back and forth between Emily and me, eager for a reaction.
I didn’t know what to say. But Emily as self-righteous WASP would not go down without a cornea-scratching, ponytail-pulling fight like those witnessed on field-hockey grounds across New England.
“I’m not sure what you mean, Margie,” she said. “Do you care to tell us what this is all about?”
“You’re not sure what I mean.” Margie cocked one eyebrow up and looked at me. “She’s not sure what I mean. Ha.” She slammed one massive hand down on the table, causing all the glassware to rattle. “I mean you girls are stupid! How stupid can you be? And you just kept going.”
“We were about to stop,” I blurted out.
Emily shot me a look that promised she would murder me in my sleep later that night.
“We were just trying to pay off our student-loan debt,” I said. “That’s all.”
“That’s all?” Margie tilted her head.
The waiter appeared with our wine and some more appetizers. Grilled asparagus and an avocado salad.
Margie pulled both plates closer and dug in. “It’s partly the generation you were born into, I don’t envy you that. But you don’t expect me to just turn my head and pretend I don’t know what I know, do you?”
Emily uncrossed and recrossed her legs. “Okay, Margie, fine. What do you want then? You must want something or you wouldn’t have brought us here.”
“Do you even know what I do for the company?” Margie asked, ignoring Emily and pointing at me with her fork. “Aside from the general accounting. Aside from keeping the books clean and making sure nobody’s stealing.”
For a moment I thought Margie might spontaneously stab me in the face with her fork, and I was totally okay with it. I wanted her to, to take me out of this misery. What other way out was there?
“I also oversee all of Titan’s charitable donations,” she said, and then paused to slurp an oyster. “For tax breaks, that kind of thing. I used to be a grant writer, back when I thought all it took to change the world was to get enough good people to do something good. My parents instilled that in me; they were career activists, so it goes without saying they retired frustrated and penniless.”