1
The word nemesis gets thrown around a lot.
And yet, on Tuesday morning, when the company-wide email with the merger announcement gets sent out and then we’re all shuffled into the conference room so we can meet the “new” Senior Vice President of North American Sales, sometimes nemesis is the only word that fits.
Because standing there in a pearly grey suit, pink shirt, and a smirk that would curdle milk, is Jake Kenyon.
Better known as Jake the Jerk.
Except no one knows that but me. Because no one else had ten years of their life made a waking nightmare by the new SVP NAS except for me. He’s introduced by Lachlan, our Regional VP, who seems awed to be in Jake’s presence.
“I know it’s been a different kind of morning,” Lachlan says. “But I promise you your jobs are all safe and the company is heading in a very exciting direction.”
I tune out. He’s basically reciting what was in the email word for word. Strategic growth. New opportunity. Blah, blah, blah. When I read the memo—okay, I skimmed most of it—the only thing I checked closely was the revised org chart. I interviewed two and a half weeks ago for the VP of New Account Acquisition position, and I was terrified that the merger meant the job was gone.
It was. My name drew a straight line to Lachlan’s, and then right above him was Jake the Jerk’s.
Except, at the time, all I thought was “Huh. I used to know a Jake Kenyon. Isn’t that weird?” Because what were the odds that the bully who lived down the street from me as a kid and spent every hour he could trying to steal my bike, throw rocks at me through the fence, run me down with his car once he got his learner’s permit, and basically torment me in any way imaginable, would now be my boss’s boss? He’d moved away while we were still in high school. Somewhere across the country, and I never heard from him again.
Speaking of hearing, the boardroom has gone quiet. I blink back to reality and everyone is staring at me.
“Excuse me, what?” I say, because clearly I’ve been asked a question or something. Several guys around the table are shifting nervously, and Jake’s eyeing me, so I sit up straighter in my chair. I’ve got my phone in my lap, and a message pops up on the screen.
Stand up, say who you are, what your position is, and stop making me look like an asshole.
It’s from Lachlan, who is glaring daggers at his laptop.
I push up to my feet. The twenty faces in the room are all watching me. I’m watching Jake the Jerk as I very clearly say, “Bailey Baldwin, Regional Associate VP of Sales.”
And so I see—also very clearly—the moment recognition hits. The smirk turns predatory. Women and children flee in front of it . . . if there were any women or children present today, but no, the sales department at the Toronto office of Blaumann, Glick, Schuler & Maxwell International is a sausage fest.
“Nice to meet you,” Jake says.
“I’m also Salesperson of the Year for the last three years running, and I designed our Smart Challenge sales process, which saw our closure rate increase by fifteen percent last year.”
Jake’s eyes narrow, and that little addition was a mistake. He knows he’s caught me off guard and I’m trying to build up fortifications when the army’s already at the gate.
The rest of the meeting is . . . I don’t know. I’m sure they talk about KPIs and compensation packages. Lachlan says something about an upcoming retreat for everyone at the Ass VP (that’s what I like to call myself) level and up to discuss future planning. A few people are even smiling as we file out again.
All I can think is that I’m so relieved that it doesn’t sound as if Jake is going be around much. BGS&M has offices all over the country and North America. He’s responsible for sales and marketing for all of them, but it sounds like he’s working out of what is now the head office.
As I go back to my cubicle, I pull out my phone and bring up Gordo’s number. He’s at home today—he’s at home most days—and he needs to know I’ll be coming in hot after work.
Big shake up at the office. Get snacks. And tequila.
Two cupcake emojis come back in reply. I don’t know if that means he’s going to bake cupcakes. I was thinking more like cannabis brownies, but whatever floats his boat. Gordo is a born and bred mother hen. He bakes his own sourdough, mills his own soap, and fosters reptiles that people get as pets and then realize aren’t nearly as fun as a golden retriever. Last summer we had a fourteen-foot python at our condo, but surprisingly, the demand for pythons is high, and Piña Colada was only with us for a week before she went to her forever home.
“Bailey.” My name on the air has all the warmth of a snake’s hiss in January. I glance over my shoulder and Jake the Jerk is there.
“Oh. Hey,” I say, like I’ve just run into him in the aisles at Wal-Mart. Although, judging from the way his suit fits him as he pulls off his jacket, he hasn’t been inside a Wal-Mart in the last decade.
I’m also pleased his growth spurt never fully kicked in after he left town. I’m on the small side of five nine, but Jake probably tells people he’s five eight when we both know he’s five six and a half tops.
His eyes narrow. “It’s good to see you.”
Piña Colada could give him some tips on putting out friendly vibes.
I say, “Yeah, you too.”
He says, “It’s so funny. When I saw your name on the org chart, I thought it couldn’t possibly be you, but here you are.”
I laugh. “And here you are!”
He moves into my space, which forces me to take a step back, retreating into my cubicle. I set my laptop down on its stand so it looks like that’s what I meant to do all along.
“I hope there won’t be any . . .” He bites the inside of his cheek.
“Any what?” I say sweetly.
“Hard feelings. You know. From when we were kids.”
“You mean when you outed me to my entire family?”
He shrugs. “I thought they knew. You spent all your time hanging around with me.”
Two clarifications here:
1. I did not spend all my time “hanging around” with him. I spent all my time trying to get away from him as he tormented me and harassed me, but my parents took a “boys will be boys” view of it and assumed we were friends.
2. Jake’s as gay as I am, but that doesn’t mean anything, either about him or me. I know the obvious assumption here is that he was even more closeted than I was in his teenage years and that he worked out his internalized homophobia on me, because those are the bully stories we hear, but no. Jake was out by the time he grew his first chin hair. By age sixteen, he was taking guys like Ethan Whittier to the homecoming dance. And somewhere along the way, he took a picture of me kissing Billy Marsh in the back alley behind our house and left it in our mailbox for my parents to find, then sashayed on home to draw hearts around JK & EW 4Ever. Not every bully has a tragic Lifetime movie back story. Sometimes a bully is simply a bully.
But . . . boys will be boys, right?
My lip curls. I can’t help it. The shocked look on my dad’s face when he pulled the picture out of the mail—seriously, how could he not have seen me coming? I knew all the words to every musical number on Glee, and I was in the process of mastering the choreography when Jake dropped off his love note—was the beginning of years of awkwardness between us that we are only getting over lately, and it’s all Jake’s fault. I would have come out to them eventually, but in my own time and my own way.