I Was Told It Would Get Easier(4)

“I’m not upset, John, I’m furious.”

“Well, you look upset.” He got up to go back to his chair. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? We’ll be telling Valentina and Janet the news later, and I know it would be hard for you to be here.”

I swear to you I felt my tears getting sucked back into my tear ducts. “You’re telling them last thing on a Friday? That’s kind of a dick move.”

He shrugged. “It’s just business, Jess.”

“No, John, it’s blatant sexism and total bullshit.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion.”

I stood up. “It’s more than an opinion, it’s the truth. You had Jackson working here for months after rumors started, and it was only when there were male witnesses that you started paying attention. Now you’re literally not promoting someone because of their gender, which is illegal.” I could feel my heart pounding.

John laughed, “What, you’re going to sue me now? You’re a partner, too, Jessica, you have a responsibility to the firm. And to yourself—your share of the corporate profits this year will pay for several years of college.” He smiled at me and said, “Aren’t you going on a college tour with Emma next week? Just wait till those tuition bills start rolling in, you’ll soon stop worrying about anyone else’s salary.”

I stared at him, and while I hate to use a cliché, the blood was literally rushing in my ears. Tears were pricking my eyes again—traitors—but I knew what I wanted to say.

“John, it’s not about salary. It’s about equity.”

“Jessica, their time will come. I promise.”

“Their time is now, John, or I walk.”

He shook his head at me. “Don’t be silly, Jessica. Don’t let your emotions get the better of you, you’re too good for that.”

“Are you going to make them partners?”

“No.”

“Then I quit.” I turned and walked to the door.

“Jessica, don’t be so childish.”

I paused and turned on my heel like a boss. “Why don’t you go and say that to the board, John, then give me a call. I’m out next week, as you say, and I won’t announce my resignation until I’m back. Fix it, John.”

I opened the door. “And by the way, my daughter’s name is Emily, not Emma.” I walked out, closing the door behind me.

Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. Now what was I going to do?



* * *



? ? ?

I got into my car and did what women have done since the dawn of time: I called another woman. Presumably, an ancient woman had to actually run over to her friend’s cave, but thanks to technology, our best friends are now carried around in our pockets, conveniently nestled close at hand.

Frances and I became friends when our kids were toddlers, meeting at a “mommy and me” music class that made overenthusiastic use of the cowbell. I’d been dutifully chiming along to “Baby Beluga” for the eighteenth time when I happened to catch Frances’s eye across the circle, whereupon she’d swiftly mimed cutting her own throat, and the rest is history.

The phone rang a couple of times, and then she picked up. “Frances’s Home for Unloved Mothers. We appreciate you when no one else does.”

“I just threatened to quit my job.”

“Empty threat or actual plan?” This is one of Frances’s greatest strengths: She always hits the ground running. She could open her front door to find the entire neighborhood on fire and she’d simply turn around and fetch a bucket of water. She’s got the filthiest mouth of anyone I’ve ever met, but she’s rock solid.

“Unclear.”

She sighed. “Tell me.”

“John . . .”

“Your dickish boss John, or the John who works at the dry cleaner’s?”

“My boss. Why would I have threatened the dry cleaner that I was going to quit?”

“Good point.”

“Besides, the dry cleaner guy isn’t John.”

“He is.”

“He’s not. He’s Johnson.”

“He introduced himself to me as John.”

“Probably because his parents named him after a slang term for ‘penis,’ but I know the truth.”

“You’re drifting, get back to the story.”

“So, John wasn’t going to promote Val and another woman to partner because of the scandal.”

“The coke-for-tits scandal?”

I frowned. “Yes, has there been another scandal I missed?”

“I don’t fucking know, I don’t work there, do I?” There was a scuffling sound in the background. “Hang on, Jess, the puppy is stuck in the duvet cover.” She put the phone down on something, and I could hear her untangling the dog. “I’m back.”

“Yes, the coke-for-tits guy. How did the puppy get in the duvet?”

“Accidentally, obviously. You think he was helping me fold the laundry?”

“No, although that would be helpful.”

“Right? Fuck catching Frisbees, folding sheets is definitely Best in Show.”

“Anyway, John said the board didn’t want to seem to be appeasing the ‘#MeToo-ers’ . . . ”