Queenie(53)
“Happy New Year to you too.” I shot her a fake smile.
“Queenie, this isn’t a joke. You aren’t walking into the office in those.” Gina’s tone got very serious. “Are you a fifty-year-old woman who has been wearing heels every day since the age of eighteen whose ankles need some respite? Or is it some sort of fashion statement?”
“No, but new year, new me—are you allowed to talk to me like that? This isn’t Mad Men,” I huffed.
“Do not try to suggest that I am sexist, Queenie. You’re a good-looking girl, don’t let your personal standards slip.”
Gina powered ahead in her five-inch stilettos as I leaned against a wall and changed into my black pumps without stepping on the ground in my tights. I got into the office and flew straight over to Darcy’s desk, swooping her up in a crushing hug. Darcy squealed loudly as Jean walked past, narrowing her eyes at both of us.
“Guess what?” Darcy said, pulling me toward the kitchen. “We’re both invited to James and Fran’s engagement party! The horror.”
“I don’t understand this, it’s like everything is on fast-forward! What is the rush?” I snapped, probably jealously. “You have your whole life to spend with this person, why do you need to lock it down ASAP, and do this big performance? Recipe for disaster,” I preached, spilling the milk across the kitchen counter.
“Are you all right? You seem very cross.” Darcy put a hand on my shoulder. I wasn’t being very optimistic, was I?
“I’m just tired, that’s all.” I took Darcy into a quiet room and read her all of my New Year’s resolutions, ignoring 3d (“Work harder, which should result in promotion: less chatting with Darcy”). I started work at around lunchtime and realized that I hadn’t heard from Ted. But this was a good thing, surely, because Tom had finally replied! And with an X!
On Wednesday, 2nd January, Jenkins, Queenie <[email protected]> wrote at 12:04:
You’re quiet. . . .
I waited, expecting Ted’s silence to be explained with an out-of-office. Nothing. After lunch, I checked my e-mail. Nothing.
I don’t want to be this girl. Something must really be up with my head if I was turning into this girl.
At about 4 p.m., a meeting invite from Gina popped into my inbox.
On Wednesday, 2nd January, Jenkins, Queenie <[email protected]> wrote at 16:03:
Gina wants to meet at 5 in her office. No explanation, no anything. I’m going to be fired, this is it, it’s over! I knew there was a reason she was ignoring all of the pitches I’ve been sending her. Why is she doing it now, why wouldn’t she just do it before Christmas? Maybe she thought that it would ruin my Christmas. It would be too cruel to fire me before Christmas. Oh God. Will you still love me if we don’t see each other every day? Will you remember me?
On Wednesday, 2nd January, Betts, Darcy <[email protected]> wrote at 16:05:
You literally just read me your resolutions. Number 9: Be less of a catastrophist.
Gina must know about me and Ted. I knew this would happen, I’ve been such a stupid, na?ve little idiot girl. Maybe that’s why he isn’t replying, because he’s been asked to leave too, and they didn’t want us leaving together and drawing further attention to ourselves.
Maybe he confessed because he was feeling so guilty, or maybe the cameras filmed us going on all of our walks together, and security picked up on it? I wonder if it’s too late to pretend that we both went into the disabled loo because one of us wasn’t feeling very well?
I’ll have to e-mail him to get our story straight, but he’s not checking those—oh God, of course, they can read our e-mails, and I don’t have his number.
* * *
By the time 5 p.m. came around, I was almost catatonic with fear as adrenaline propelled me to Gina’s office. I knocked on the door with a trembling fist.
“Come in,” Gina barked. As I entered, she spun around in her chair like a film villain. “Okay, so let’s talk about your career.” I stopped breathing.
“Queenie, sit down.” My legs just about carried the rest of me to the seat in front of Gina’s desk. “So, the issue you filed after Christmas?”
“The one I had to fix?”
“Mmm, yes. You didn’t quite fix it enough, and I had to send it out to a freelancer.”
“Shit. Sorry. And sorry for swearing. Sorry.”
“And that plus everything else means, and I’m sorry to do this, but I’m giving you an official warning.”
“Me? But I was fixing Chuck’s mistakes!”
“Don’t worry, Chuck’s been warned too.”
“It won’t matter to him, though, this isn’t his job.” I threw myself back into my chair.
“But—you’ve been with us for how long now?” Gina asked, looking at a piece of paper on her desk.
“Three, I think, three years. Maybe a little more?” I answered, fear stripping my voice of any real volume. What did this warning mean?
“We don’t want to lose you,” Gina said, and my heart climbed down from where it had nestled in my throat. “You’re a bright girl,” she continued. “You really are, and, yes, you’ve been distracted the last six months, so I’m hoping that, by giving you specific career goals, I can bring you back from the brink. Okay?”