The Herd(19)
“I’m just wondering how you deal with that. I got a tiny slice of it for, like, twenty-four hours the two times I wrote editorials. But you must deal with it nonstop, right?”
She nodded, looked away. “It’s hard because there’s no model out there for what to do. It’s this incredibly psychologically damaging thing, and yet we’re not supposed to talk about it because that might lead to more trolling, so most people have no idea.”
“It’s like when guys are so bewildered when you tell them you feel afraid walking alone at night.”
“Exactly.” She sighed. “It’s hard. You do get a thicker skin over time, and I know some other female CEOs who can commiserate—we have a WhatsApp group. But mostly you just do your best to ignore it. Sometimes I fantasize about throwing a spotlight on it, though. Posting all the awful stuff I get. Or even having this big event where we try to show men what it’s like, the lived experience—” Her phone jolted on the bar and she glanced at it.
“Sorry. Daniel’s on his way.”
“Yes! I’m excited to see him.” I tried to steer the bus back around. “An event to show men what it’s really like—that’s a wild idea.”
“I know. Except I think it’d end in bloodshed.” She smirked. “If guys had to deal with the shit we put up with every day—”
“Excuse me, I’m sorry to bother you.” Two women stood before us shyly, both with blond highlights as evenly spaced as rows of wheat. The taller one giggled self-consciously. “Are you…you aren’t Eleanor Walsh, are you?”
Eleanor smiled magnificently, magnanimously, all her Teleanor charm aimed like a tractor beam at these strangers. “I am! It’s nice to meet you!”
“Jocelyn. And this is Nicole.” They shook Eleanor’s hand gleefully. “We’re visiting from Missouri, and we were having an argument over there about whether or not it was actually you! We’re both big fans of Gleam.”
“How sweet of you to say hi! And this is Katie Bradley, she’s an incredibly talented journalist and soon-to-be author.” I kept a grin plastered on my face, ready for this diversion to end so we could return to real life. Did this happen often?
“This is our first time in New York,” Jocelyn went on. “We’ve been on the lookout for celebrities.”
“I saw you on the Today show,” the other said. Nicole. “Talking about your women’s club? You were great.”
“Thank you so much! Hey, if you’re still in town this weekend, you should definitely stop by the Herd and see what it’s all about. Here’s my card—just give the front desk a call and let them know I sent you.”
They squealed and squawked and asked me to take a photo of them, Eleanor, as always, looking luminous and superhuman among the mortals. They thanked her and scurried off, eyes shining.
“That was so nice of you!” I said, my voice somewhere between impressed and alarmed.
She drained her Prosecco. “There are rumbles that the Herd is too elitist—snob vibes. These damn thinkpieces keep coming out about how we’re a ‘flash point for debates over feminism and power.’?” She gave it air quotes, rolled her eyes. “I want it to be approachable. They seemed harmless, and now they’ll go back and tell everyone in the South how great it is.”
“The Midwest.”
“Right.” She frowned, then shrugged. “But it’s a fine line. Obviously I don’t want strangers coming in and sneaking photos of our high-profile clients. Hey speaking of, I wanted to ask you—”
A man swooped in from behind me and bent close, got in her face. I jumped but then she smiled and kissed him back: Daniel. I felt an unexpected clap of jealousy toward him, that he had Eleanor’s attention, her love. He was a hospital administrator—I wasn’t sure what that entailed because my brain checked out, spread out a beach towel and sipped a pi?a colada every time he tried to tell me—and they’d met at a party the year before I’d moved to Kalamazoo. He was handsome enough, and friendly, though nowhere near Eleanor’s stratosphere, from what I could tell. When she’d texted to tell me she was engaged, it’d felt like fake news, a dispatch from another reality: I was hunting for paper towels to clean vomit from the bathroom floor, where Mom hadn’t made it in time. Eleanor had invited me to the engagement party, but I didn’t want to leave Mom alone (Hana accused me of being a martyr), and then I’d been in the thick of book reporting during the actual wedding a few months later. (Leave it to Eleanor to throw together a beautiful wedding in six months flat—one documented in People, naturally.)
He turned to me and smiled. Cuter than I remembered—better dressed, like maybe Eleanor’s taste had rubbed off on him. He was tall with sharp cheekbones and a thick swoop of black hair.
“Daniel, you remember—” Eleanor began, but Daniel had already stuck out his hand to introduce himself. “You know Katie!” she scolded, and he lost at least half my goodwill on the spot.
“I’m Hana’s little sister, we met right when you two started dating, no, no, it’s fine!” I kept a big smile on my face as he blushed and shifted the handshake into a sterile hug.
“I’m sorry, Eleanor told me Hana’s sister was moving back, but I didn’t—you guys don’t look alike at all!” Eleanor grabbed his bicep; she looked mortified.