The Assistants(40)

But before work on Monday morning, some of the anxiety was already creeping its way back in. To combat it, I bought Robert a honey-glazed doughnut from the Peter Pan bakery and placed it on his desk. Robert loved Peter Pan doughnuts. How in the world did Robert Barlow ever eat a hand-rolled doughnut from a tiny Polish bakery in Greenpoint, Brooklyn? you might ask? Because I was stupid enough to bring him one once. I should have known such a mindless act of kindness would lead to weekly text messages at six a.m. and my having to leave my apartment a half hour early to get to Greenpoint before work in order to deliver him this one random doughnut.

Emily once told me a story about how she knew a guy had cheated on her when he surprised her with a pink-frosted cupcake from Crumbs. The Cupcake of Guilt, she called it. I figured now the least I could do was bring my victim a Doughnut of Guilt.

But Robert was having a good day. Something in the islands had gone well, giving him an extra jump to his step, and a political scandal involving a sext had broken overnight, which brought him great joy. This was how I liked Robert best, winning and un-scary, jetting around the office with the energy of a man half his age. (Faster than a scalded cat. Busy as a hound in flea season.) Just watching him work, you knew this was a man doing exactly what he was born to do. Robert loved the game. He loved the fight.

His wife called around noon, and even though he was in with Glen Wiles, I knew to interrupt him. The one piece of advice I’d received from Robert’s previous assistant, a waif of a woman named Jeannie who lasted only three weeks, was: “Be really nice to Avery and, no matter what, always put her calls through.”

Jeannie apparently had not.

“He’s in a meeting with Glen, but I’ll get him out for you,” I told Avery Barlow. “I’m sure he’d rather be talking to you.”

She chuckled.

“I heard he took you in three straight sets last time you played,” I added.

She chuckled again. “He hasn’t stopped bragging about that all week. I’ll tell you it was worth it, losing to him so badly, just to have him in such a good mood for a change.”

“Hear hear,” I said. “Hang on just a moment, I’ll get him.”

Some days I was so damn good at being an assistant.

Around a quarter to six, I disappeared to the fitness-center bathroom on the fourteenth floor to make the most of the free amenities: toothbrushes, toothpaste, dental floss, mouthwash—basically it was an oral hygienist’s dream bathroom. There I encountered Hannah Paley, one of Titan’s news desk assistants. We exchanged a nod, then an eye roll when the two women behind the stalls, both producers, began conversing about their fabulous weekends.

“Were you in the Hamptons?” one of them asked the other.

“No, we have a house in Cape Cod.”

“Really? I prefer Cape May.”

“Oh? Do you have a house there?”

“My parents do. But we have our own summer rental in Amagansett.”

Flush.

Flush.

Hannah Paley pretended to gag herself with her complimentary toothbrush.

What sweet validation.

At one time I would have rushed out of the bathroom before those two emerged, to avoid the inevitable questions about my weekend. And if they caught me before I could escape, I would have put on mock airs, claiming that I needed this weekend to “just relax and do nothing for a change.” Like nothing was the new something. Or I would just make up something vague, like “I’m going to this great farmer’s market in Williamsburg.” There’s always a great farmer’s market in Williamsburg to fall back on.

What was that about, anyway? Was I lying to allay their guilt? To make them not feel bad about the fact that I couldn’t go away every summer Friday, that I could barely afford my Netflix subscription? Or was it to trick them into believing that I was someone better than I was, someone more like them?

“They don’t have a f*cking clue,” Hannah Paley said under her breath. Then she scooped up all the remaining boxes of sample-size Crest Whitestrips from the counter and dumped them into her bag.

It was a good day.

So I was caught completely off guard when I returned to my desk to find Robert waiting for me, skulking around my files.

“Do you need something, Robert?” I asked.

“Sit down,” he said.

I sat.

He brought one of his brogues up on top of my drawer stand and leaned in. This gesture made all the men in the office extremely uncomfortable since it effectively brought his ball sac in line with his subject’s chin, but as a woman I was accustomed to this compromising position.

“You know how I feel about you, don’t you, Tina?”

“I think so.”

“I’ve always felt comfortable with you. Since the first time you walked through that door, I felt I could trust you. That’s why I hired you.”

I heard myself gulp.

“Now, let me ask you something. Are you familiar with Margie Fischer from Accounting?”

I hesitated.

“Big lady,” he said. “Talks too loud.”

“Yes,” I said. “I know who you mean.”

“Has she been bullying you in any way?”

“Bullying me?” I swallowed down the acid making its way up my throat. “No.”

“No?”