Peter met my gaze with a half smile and nodded a few times, slowly at first and then faster. “Fair enough,” he said. Then we both froze as we heard a mechanical click from somewhere in my desk, a slight rustling, and the undeniable shift of the energy in the air. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
“I’m still on the line,” Carmen said, her voice coming from the black grid, and then we heard the click as she hung up.
I dropped my head into my hands. “Shit.”
“Was that—” Peter began.
“Please,” I said, without looking up.
I heard him shut my door as I said “Shit” over and over to myself, head still in my hands. I finally swallowed down the bile that had made its way to the back of my throat, sat up, and dialed Carmen’s extension. I heard her pick up the receiver, but the line went immediately dead. I tried again. Same thing.
Three more times. The same result. She had to be so disgusted with me—thinking this was how I’d gotten an edge over her in M&A.
“Fuck!” I yelled into the ether. Within thirty seconds, Anna poked her head in.
“Not now,” I snapped at her. She darted back out and closed the door quickly, leaving me alone in a space that seemed to be closing in on me as my thoughts of shame ballooned out.
When I arrived at the bar, I was surprised to see Kevin sitting next to Jordan at a high-top table, two empty beers in front of them. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other,” I said in between hungry sips of my drink, eager to wash away the day I just had.
“Jealous?” Kevin said with a wink. I rolled my eyes and ordered a round of tequila shots. I barely paid attention to what they were saying as I focused on drinking enough to dull my racing thoughts and emotions. I replayed the conversation with Peter that Carmen had overheard over and over in my mind as Kevin and Jordan laughed about some story they heard from the Litigation team. I ordered another round of shots, ignoring Kevin’s curious glance, and watched as the bartender slowly poured our shots and the waitress took an eternity to bring them over. I threw mine back before the guys did, without a “Cheers.”
“Another!” I demanded, slamming my shot glass down.
Jordan shook his head and laughed. “I think you’ve had quite enough, Skip.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” I said, and sneered. “I’m not some, like, little woman.” I couldn’t come up with a better word.
Jordan held up his hands. “Fine, fine—have as much as you want.”
As much as I hated to admit Jordan was right, I was drunk. Really drunk. I hadn’t eaten a substantial meal in days, and between the shots and the drinks, I was four or five deep. And for the first time in my life, I was an angry drunk.
“Cigarette?” Jordan cocked his head to the side.
“I don’t smoke. It’s disgusting.”
“Then just stand outside with me,” he said curtly, pulling me by the arm. I ripped it out of his grip and spun around with my finger pointed at him, but I saw so much concern and kindness in his expression that I dropped my arm back to my side and turned toward the door. “We’ll be back in two minutes,” I heard him say to Kevin.
The fresh spring air forced my pores open, sobering me up for a moment. “I’ll have one too,” I said, as though I was doing him a favor.
Jordan shook his head. “I quit months ago. I don’t have any on me.” He folded his arms over his chest and stared at me. “What the fuck is going on with you, Skip?”
As I shook my head, the tears came almost immediately. “I feel like I’m coming apart,” I coughed out, gasping for air.
“Shit,” Jordan said. He took a step toward me and then retreated, not knowing how close to get. I thought for a moment of telling Jordan about Gary assaulting me, about my relationship with Peter, about Carmen finding out—maybe he’d be the one who could help me out of the mess I had made. But if somebody else knew everything that had happened, it would suddenly become real.
“How could you sleep with Carmen?” I said instead. “I won’t cover for you the way I did with Nancy, you know.”
His jaw dropped open. “Huh?”
“I know you guys are having a thing.”
“You’ve lost your mind, Skip. Seriously, you’re insane. I’ve never laid a finger on Carmen.” He spoke slowly, as though I were holding hostages. “That’s Peter’s job,” he said.
Everything stopped.
“Who?” My knees grew weak, and I bent slightly to rest my hands on my thighs.
“Peter! Shit!” Jordan said.
“Peter Peter? Peter Dunn?” I asked. I leaned backward against the wall, no longer trusting my legs. Carmen knows I slept with Peter, I thought. And Peter’s the guy Carmen has been seeing? This was not good. Not good.
“Yes, Peter Dunn! How did you not know that? Everybody knows. Carmen is pretty obvious about it,” he said with a smirk.
“Oh my god. This day is actually so much worse than I thought it was. And it was really fucking bad to begin with. My life is completely going to shit!” I yelled, stomping my foot in frustration.
“That’s a bit dramatic, Skip. But yeah, he’s fucking Carmen. And Peggy in recruiting. And Sarah in accounting. I mean, the man can’t keep it in his pants.”
I struggled to take a deep breath, with only minimal success.
“Did you really not know this?” Jordan said. “I actually feel like we’ve spoken about it.” I shook my head, and my heart banged against my ribs. “Shit. Skip? Are you okay?” Jordan’s hand was on my back. “You’re freaking out. I mean, this doesn’t even really involve you. You need to chill.” As he spoke, he dug into his breast pocket, and I heard the rattling maraca of pills.
I watched his lips moving, and in a crystal-clear moment, I saw it: my cheating with a serial adulterer, my assault by a rich scumbag, my entire existence in corporate America, was just so . . . typical. I realized what I had always feared to be true, since the moment my world records were shattered. I wasn’t special at all, I was just like every other pathetic person I knew. I bent down and puked between my shoes.
* * *
I stared at my bite marks in the pizza crust, taking one last small nibble at the corner, as we sat on a bench. I wiped the grease from my chin with the back of my hand and threw the rest of my slice into the trash, then leaned my head on Jordan’s shoulder, which felt solid and warm against my cheek.
“I can’t do this job anymore,” I muttered into the foggy air.
“You’re really fucking stressed. And you don’t sleep. And you drank too much tonight. You can do this. You’re so talented,” he said calmly.
Images flew through my mind—Carmen’s sideways glances during that presentation, the ones I’d thought were directed at Jordan; the locked restoration room door; her questions about where I was going with Peter; and finally, the conversation she’d overheard—until, like a gift, the Xanax Jordan had given me kicked in.
“Kevin. We left Kevin,” I realized aloud.
“Kevin is fine. Let’s get you home, Skip. It’s Sam’s turn to deal with you,” he said, laughing. I burst into tears again at the mention of Sam’s name, but allowed him to hail me a cab to take me home.