I can’t believe this. I’ve been dropped into the bleachers of a pep rally. I have to speak up. “Let’s talk about why it’s so difficult to attract female college recruits,” I blurt out, shutting down the women trying to outpraise one another, women bowing to the purveyor of their golden ticket.
Blythe is ready. “We’ve been looking into this and think that our policy of a two-year program for investment banking is too short. When we have great prospects we’ll keep them on longer and not force them to leave to get an MBA.”
“So you think they don’t take these jobs because our program is only two years long? All top investment banks offer only a two-year training program to an undergraduate, but many of ours don’t even make it through the two years. They feel abused here. They don’t see any women on the executive board so they don’t see much future here for themselves.”
“Nonsense.” Gruss looks up from the cigar. With that single dismissive word he gets up and uses a phone on the sideboard to connect with someone presumably more interesting than us. The table conversation continues while I listen to him on the telephone, marveling at his rudeness. He seems to be trying to land some deal.
“Sweeten the bid by five hundred thousand,” he says.
“Huh?” he retorts, looking like he’s going to crush the cigar.
“Okay, okay, seven hundred thousand it is or they can shop their shitty deal downtown.” He slams down the phone and turns back to the table.
“Where were we?” he interjects. “Someone has raised the issue of the ‘girls down in the front of the building.’ The women hired from the modeling agency to act as escorts. That’s old news and that was a mistake according to some,” he says. “Next.”
Weird. None of us raised any issue about the downstairs girls. I wonder if he had to rehearse his answers before this and lost track of the questions in real life.
“Maybe we could form some version of a guidance team to help new women recruits find their way around here?” I suggest weakly.
“This is a meritocracy, as you’ve just heard,” he storms. “You didn’t have a pen pal when you came here and you survived.”
“Yes, but women can be a little sensitive to the mosh pit downstairs,” I say. “They get repulsed by the behavior around them. What if someone was to mentor her, tell her she could sue the firm if a guy told her to put Band-Aids on her breasts when she gets cold so he doesn’t have to look at her nipples? Maybe then women would stick around longer if they felt they had support. Instead they quit and feel as though they did something wrong.”
I’m trying to shock him. He must know how lucky Feagin is to not have our own class action suit to contend with. I’m threatening him in a subliminal way and he doesn’t like it.
“But women like you don’t quit,” Gruss guffaws. “That’s the sort of girl McPherson and I like around here. That’s the sort of person we need. Let the quitters go home.”
Someone comes to my rescue. It’s Kathryn. The world’s most perfect bond trader climbs out on this limb with me. “I’m uncomfortable having a partner who will only entertain our mutual clients at titty bars,” she says quickly. Titty bar is not terminology I’d expect from Kathryn’s mouth.
“Why does that make you uncomfortable?” Gruss asks.
“Because I don’t want to go to topless bars, even though the partner on my accounts does. It’s just more teamlike to entertain together. We should only entertain in ways suitable to a professional business.”
I see a vein rising in her neck though she doesn’t redden. Not one bit. I hadn’t known she was assigned a partner. I wonder why she didn’t tell me, until I remember that she doesn’t tell anybody anything.
“That sounds to me like this is your issue,” Gruss says. “Why are you uncomfortable? Whatever the client wants to do, that’s what you should be doing. Yes, that’s definitely your own problem.”
A tiny grimace, like she’s just tasted something surprising, creeps across the legal lady’s face. Her ironed-on smile has an involuntary twitch to it.
“Maybe Feagin could at least take the higher road, and not reimburse expense accounts for entertaining at strip clubs?” I suggest, in a professional voice.