I Was Told It Would Get Easier(34)
“Don’t forget to tag us when you post,” called Cassidy. As if realizing it was unlikely any of us would be giving her free publicity and admitting we were on a college tour, she then gathered us at the back for a group shot and tagged it herself. The parents have all been posting up a storm, of course. At one point the previous day we’d all compared embarrassing “Can you believe s/he’s looking at colleges?/tearful emoji” posts, to which all their friends added shocked faces and commented on the passage of time, yawn. Some of them went for the comparison post (Here’s a picture of little Wanda in her Dorothy costume at four, here she is at sixteen; Oh my god I feel so old because this rite of passage is about me, not the one actually passaging), while others went for the sarcastic shot of their kid on their phone with a caption about looking forward to the future. They love to criticize us for being on our phones, despite the fact that their generation created the phones, marketed the phones, and are profiting from the phones. They’re drug pushers making fun of the junkies, which, if you think about it, is lame AF. Besides, any day now those same junkies are taking over the street corner, so they should try being nice. I’m not actually sure what I mean by that; don’t judge. And why do they all have phone cases that open like little books and make it difficult to take photos in the first place? They created the monster and don’t even know how to use it properly.
Anyway, after the posed shot, we all ended up sitting in the back of the bus together, which was good, because the enthusiastic parental questioning after each university is exhausting all of us. Will sat next to me but spent the whole trip talking to Casper, so that was confusing. I would have joined in but they were talking about Zelda, about which I know nothing. I know I’m supposed to be into video games, but I’m not. Only Minecraft, which I still enjoy from time to time, no shame. The kids kept giving me dollar bills to fold. It was fun. Even Alice gave me one, although of course she gave me a twenty. I folded her a pig, which may be the smallest act of rebellion ever recorded.
JESSICA
I’d never been to Baltimore before; it turns out it’s really pretty. Ostergren’s offices were near the harbor, and his windows were filled with the masts of yachts and flags. It resembled a highly festive forest. He was less festive.
“I don’t like it, Ms. Burnstein, I don’t like it at all.” He was one of those old men who thinks he’s still good looking; he wore a handsome tie and matching pocket square, and his shoes were handmade and polished by someone whose only job it was to polish his shoes. “I realize I am only a relatively small account for your firm, but when Mr. Jackson left the firm—after apparently wasting my fees on drugs and loose women—no one really stepped up to fill his spot. I have only associates on my account.” He shot his cuffs, presumably so I could see his fancy cuff links. “If the acquisition I’m planning goes ahead, our annual revenues will more than double.”
I smiled at him and felt relieved I had worn appropriately professional clothing to the tour that morning. I’d debated jeans, then decided I lacked the confidence to be casual, if you know what I mean, and had stuck with slacks and cashmere. I was even wearing pearls; thank god for fashion insecurity.
“Firstly, let me reassure you that Mr. Jackson didn’t spend any of your money, only his own. There was certainly bad behavior on his part, but no hint of financial impropriety.”
“Humph,” said Ostergren.
“Secondly, the lawyers on your account are highly capable, and all accounts have access to a partner whenever it’s called for.” I leaned forward. “Having said that, have you come across a lawyer called Valentina Guerrera?”
He nodded. “I think she was on a call once, advising about a specific tax issue.”
I nodded back at him (mirroring body language, very important). “Valentina is about to be made a partner and is extremely capable. Brilliant, in fact. You should request her. I happen to know she’d love to run an account as interesting as yours.”
“Really?”
“Yes. The intricacies of international shipping are like catnip to her.”
“Really?”
“Yes, only the other day she was talking about the Abandoned Shipwreck Act of 1987 with a great deal of enthusiasm.”
He frowned and for a moment I panicked. I’d literally googled “important maritime laws” in the elevator, and that was the only one I could remember.
He relaxed. “It is incredibly fascinating.”
Oh, thank goodness.
“Guerrera, you said?”
I nodded. “You’ll love her.”
“And she’s a partner?”
“About to be. You should definitely call John today.”
* * *
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Once I was in the car on the way to Philadelphia, I called John and prepared to press my advantage. I’d learned early on in my career that the simplest way to succeed at work was to talk like a man, which means removing all warmth, doubt, and softness from every sentence. Try it; it’s surprisingly difficult.
“Hi, I calmed Ostergren down, but he insists on Valentina being put on his account. He wants a partner.”
John’s frown could be heard in his voice. “Valentina isn’t a partner.”
“Well, I told him she was going to be. Now he wants her.” I looked out the window at the world sliding by. “You told me to smooth his feathers, John, so I smoothed them.”