The Assistants(44)

This bullshit seminar was turning into real entertainment. A woman near me in the back row, who was wearing too-big glasses, shouted out, “My boss lies down on his office floor and has me walk on his back before he leaves to play tennis.”

Then the woman sitting next to her, who was wearing even bigger too-big glasses, chimed in, “My boss makes me taste his sandwiches for him to make sure there are no hidden onions inside.”

“Okay, okay.” Carolyn waved her skinny arms behind her lectern. “Some of these may or may not qualify as workplace harassment, but it sounds more to me like—”

“You said we could air our grievances.” Ginger stood up in her Kelly-green skirt suit and with one swift motion tore off her silk neck scarf and used it to tie back her fiery red hair. “These are our grievances.”

This from the woman who had to deal with Glen Wiles day in and day out.

A few people began to applaud for Ginger.

“You know what? Let’s take a break.” Carolyn looked at her watch. “We weren’t supposed to break until the end of the first hour, but let’s do it now. There’s coffee and refreshments in the lobby.”

I was the first one to the snack table thanks to my strategic seat location. I had a steaming, eco-friendly paper cup of coffee in hand before anyone else had even made it to the samovar.

Suckers, I thought—but as I turned around, I found myself surrounded.

There were three of them: two blondes, one brunette, all dressed like they’d just raided the sale rack at Zara.

“I heard about your nonprofit,” the brunette said.

“When’s it going to launch?” one of the blondes asked.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod, Tina.” A woman whose name I could never remember, who always wore monochromatic outfits with one brightly colored accent accessory, bulldozed through the Zara girls. “I need to get in on this website of yours. How do I get my loans paid off?”

“What’s it called anyway?” the other blond Zara girl asked from behind Accent Accessory. “And can I give you my name now so I can be at the top of the list?”

They were a fierce bunch. I may not have known their names, but I recognized them from around the Titan building, lugging bags that weren’t their own, lunches not for them, hauling their bosses’ crap up the escalator wearing six-inch heels, sweating through a dry-clean-only dress. I never imagined any of them having student-loan debt because they were all so well put together, so much better put together than me anyway.

But now that I was really looking at them, I could see how beneath all the lacquer these girls were hungry, like they ate Top Ramen for dinner every night, and I’d bet at least one of them had at one time or another considered selling her eggs to make rent.

“When’s the site going to launch?” one of the blondes asked again.

It was clear to me all of a sudden how many of us had taken to heart the dicey, New Yorkian advice to “fake it till you make it.” The worst part was that we were the ones who had already made it, over a number of astounding hurdles. And look at us. Look at them—circling me like overdressed vultures.

That was when it occurred to me, what I had to do.

“Soon,” I said. “The site will launch very soon.”

I would launch it. Make it real, legitimate.

“Where are you getting your funding?” someone called out.

I swallowed hard. “Well . . .”

“It’s going to be crowdfunded,” a brusque voice that wasn’t mine replied. Wendi stepped through the group and positioned herself at my side. “When the site launches, anyone will be able to make donations.”

“You’re involved in this?” brunette Zara asked.

“I’m only assisting with the technical aspects,” Wendi said, and then stared the girl to silence.

“But I am.” Emily came up behind me. “I’m totally involved in this. I’m Tina’s business partner.”

Ginger appeared on the other side of Emily, smiling for a camera that wasn’t there. “So am I,” she said. “And we’re having a huge launch party. Right, Tina?”

I had no words.

Wendi’s jumping in I could understand—she was a veritable genius and quick to catch on to things. Not to mention, this was what she’d wanted all along, for her site to grow and expand. But Emily and Ginger were simply so swept away by their desire for attention that they just gave themselves up as part of this. Or whatever this was becoming.

Accent Accessory tugged excitedly at her chunky neon-yellow necklace. “When’s the party going to be?”

“TBA,” Emily said.

“It’s a fund-raiser,” Ginger added. “There will be an announcement when tickets go on sale.”

“So wait,” brunette Zara chimed back in. “What’s the site called?”

Emily and Ginger turned to me with vacant faces.

Right. It needed a name.

I ran circles around my brain, trying to think of something amazing on the spot, like Peggy Olson would have done in a Mad Men pitch meeting, but I was coming up blank.

“It’s called,” I mumbled, “it’s called . . . the Assistants?”

“What?” brunette Zara asked.

“The Assistance,” Accent Accessory said.