He leaves and assumes I’ll follow. I do, Brent’s gaze boring into my back as I fantasize about reaching behind and giving him the finger. Todd waits until I enter his office and then closes the door. I curse myself for leaving my phone at my desk.
“Bit of a frumpy look for you,” he observes. “I liked you better in the black dress with that red lipstick you used to wear. It was hot.”
“Ha, thanks.” My own response makes me sick. I’m an independent adult woman. I should tell him where to go and I can’t. I just…can’t. My need for this job is a noose around my neck, a gag in my mouth.
“You’d be quite an attractive girl if you smiled more,” he says, sitting on the edge of the desk and adjusting his belt. “I think we could have some good times.”
I think of Sam and find a bit of the courage I had last night. “I don’t think so.” My voice comes out like I’ve swallowed it.
“No?” He sounds sharp.
I shake my head.
“Too bad. Gracie, we’re terminating you as of today.”
“What?”
He slaps a printout down on the desk. “You called in sick yesterday. Does this look like a girl who’s ill?”
It’s the same paparazzi photo Fangli had shown me. I try to brazen it out because I can’t lose my job.
“That’s Wei Fangli. The photo says so.”
“Why is Wei Fangli holding the purse that’s beside your desk right now?” he asks. It’s like listening to a snake speak. “Even under that hat I can tell it’s Gracie Reed. Admit it and I’ll be easy on you.”
Then he licks his lips again, and although my gut clenches so hard I have to stop myself from doubling over, I keep my voice level and stare at a spot between his eyes. “It’s not me.”
“Human Resources agrees you are no longer an asset to this department,” he says. “This is the final nail in your coffin. Unless you want to reconsider?” His eyes shift down and my skin creeps.
I know what he’s saying. Not out loud, he’s too smart to give me any ammo, but the implication is clear. So is the fact that if I challenge him on this, I’ll be told that I should get over myself. This appalling realization crashes down on me, and whatever he sees in my face makes his harden. He shoves a paper toward me. “Your termination agreement. Sign it before the end of the week. Security will see you out.”
That’s it. He goes back behind his desk, ignoring me. I’m too shocked to react, and when the door opens and two security guards come in, I can only follow them. Luckily, most of my coworkers are out at meetings and I don’t see anyone but Brent, grinning openly at my flanking guards, and Kathy, the admin assistant, who hands me my purse and says she’ll set up a time for me to come clear my desk. She doesn’t look me in the face.
Then I’m out and jobless. My phone beeps to remind me of a meeting in fifteen minutes, and when I delete it, I look at my work task list.
I delete that, too.
Then I go home.
Four
The first day after I get fired, I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling.
The second day after I get fired, I brush my teeth and very carefully, without looking at it, tuck the termination letter facedown under a pile of laundry. Then I call a bomb threat in to Todd’s office.
I wish. Instead I go back to bed, pull the covers up, and watch Netflix until my eyes burn. I don’t remember which shows.
The third day after I get fired, I text my friend Anjali and ask her to come over. I don’t have a lot of friends, probably because I never manage to put in the time and effort necessary to maintain them. Anjali has always been different. I can drift in and out of her life, and each time we start talking, it’s as if we never left off. She says she’s too busy at work to deal with high-maintenance friends and I know I never have to worry about her yelling that she loves me when we say goodbye, forcing me to say it back. But I depend on her, or at least I depend on knowing she’ll be there.
When she gets to my place, she has a bag of chips, two bottles of wine, and an acid expression. “That asshole,” she says as she brushes by me. “Did you talk to a lawyer?”
“Before I got fired.”
“Did you sign the letter yet?” She kicks her sandals off at the door without me asking. Both of us find wearing outdoor shoes in the house disgusting. “Hold up, did you say before you got fired? Did you see this coming?”
I take the wine from her and stay silent.
“Don’t sign until you give it to the lawyer to look at,” she advises. “You can probably get more severance out of them.”
“Enough to cover the lawyer’s fees?”
She shrugs and heads to the kitchen. “Five bucks ahead is still ahead,” she calls over her shoulder. “Plus it shows Garnet you’re no pushover.”
That’s an Anjali thing to say because her zodiac sign is Leo and her Chinese zodiac is monkey, meaning she’s smart and tricky and belligerent. I’m an Aries and a monkey and I’m supposed to be those things, too, instead of a Pisces rabbit: ducking confrontation and never pushing back.
Anjali doesn’t know the whole of the Todd story. I only told her that he’s a terrible boss. I couldn’t tell her about the way he made me feel because it’s too humiliating to admit I didn’t stop him when I know I should have. I should have reported him to Human Resources. I should have kneed him in the balls. I should have said screw my job and stood up for myself. I should have… I shouldn’t have…
She hands me a glass of wine and pours the chips into one of my mixing bowls. “Sit, eat, and drink,” she says. “How are you feeling?”
“Numb?”
Anjali swirls the wine. “To be expected. Would you like some advice or to figure it out yourself?”
She’s being good, asking before piling in, and it’s not her usual approach. I laugh and my throat feels rusty. “How hard was that to do?”
“So fucking hard.” She grins. “I’m getting better. The life coach is helping me be more intentional and think before I act because apparently not everyone wants me butting into their business.”
I don’t want Anjali to help me with a list—I’d prefer to talk—but helping makes her happy so I push over my sheet. “This is what I have so far.”
She pulls her black hair behind her shoulders. “You have two things on this list.”
“Yep.”
“Brush teeth,” she reads. “Find job.”
“I can check off the first one.” I brushed my teeth before she came over, and now the wine tastes terrible. “I should change the second to ‘find money.’ I could win the lottery.”
“Not a viable option.” She sighs. “Let’s talk for a bit before we tackle your nonlist.”
“Fine.”
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
I don’t have the energy to keep it secret anymore and tell her the story. Anjali’s eyes narrow until they almost close. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”
“What do you mean?” I’d glossed over the grosser stuff, unwilling to linger on it long enough to even say the words or to bother her with the details.
“You said he was a bad boss,” she says gently. “This is far beyond some insecure micromanager, Gracie.”
“I know.”
She frowns and moves her glass from hand to hand. “Again, why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“You would have told me to quit.”
“Right, and?”
“I need that job. Needed. I’ve been looking for months and there’s nothing out there. You would have kept asking me about my job search.”
“I’m not that bad,” says Anjali. She grimaces at the look I shoot her. “Sorry, maybe I am. But I’m upset you didn’t want to talk about it with me.”
“I didn’t want to talk to anyone about it. Ever. At all.”
“Problems don’t go away because you ignore them. We could have thought of a plan together.”
“Like what, a sting?” It’s easier to turn this into a joke.
“We’d mic you up in the bathroom before sending you into the boardroom.” She cranes her head left to pretend-whisper into the fake mic in her lapel. “We have eyes on Walrus.”
“Subtle.”
“Thanks.” She sips her wine. “Seriously, tell me next time. It’s better to talk it out.”
“Next time I get sexually harassed by my boss and fired? Definitely I will call you.”
“Good.” Anjali nods, satisfied, but then her expression changes. “That’s not what I meant.”