Authors: Theresa Alan
Getting Married (25 page)
W
oodruff Pharmaceuticals officially buys Ridan Technologies in early February. Kyle Woodruff fires Michael Evans shortly after the purchase, saying he doesn’t want anyone who’s “not on board with a forward-thinking agenda” which is CEO-speak for “I only want to be surrounded by people who’ll do my bidding and kiss my ass.”
As I suspected, Kyle asks me to sign another contract for the rollout of their new product. I tell him my fears regarding timelines. He’s not amenable to me bringing in another consultant, and though he says we can work out timelines we both agree on, I don’t believe him. I tell him I’ll think about it.
Before I have to get back to him with my response, I check my email, and in it there is a Request for a Proposal (RFP) from a woman who owns her own business in Montreal. She found me through my website after doing a search online. I so rarely use my website I forgot I even had one. My site has my bio and highlights some of my successes as a consultant on it. The woman, whose name is Maggie, tells me that she started her own jewelry-making business a year ago, and ever since some of her work was featured in
Vogue
, she hasn’t been able to keep up with demand for her designs. She wants help figuring out how she can grow her business. She has questions about hiring additional staff and how she would work the finances to pay their salaries and health insurance and so on. She has questions about the whole gamut of small-business ownership, and this kind of thing is right up my alley.
One thing about being a consultant is that you’re always having to sell yourself to get the next project. It’s like endlessly having to go on job interviews. It’s hard for someone like me to brag about all of my accomplishments when my natural tendency is to focus on all of my faults, but I’m intrigued by Maggie’s business and am interested in securing the project. So I write up my proposal, including examples of how I’ve helped small businesses like hers in the past.
SUCCESSES:
Company:
An importer/manufacturer of furniture was suffering from poor budget controls and weak sales.Major Initiatives:
- Installed budget controls
- Arranged several refinancings of eight-figure debt
- Brought in venture capital investors
Outcome:
Sales rose from $5M to $70M during this period.
Company:
$8M, seventy+ person designer, manufacturer, and wholesaler of women’s shoes, with sales sagging and an inability to ship orders on schedule.Major Initiatives:
- Introduced lean manufacturing, Six Sigma, and total quality management concepts, techniques, and tools
- Advised the owner on financial and strategic options and communicated plan to key internal and external stakeholders and investors
Outcome:
Increased sales by 36 percent, gross margins by 5 percent and net income by 110 percent within seven months
Company:
A national film production firm was running at a loss due to several bad investments, causing a severe cash shortage that negatively impacted operations creating vendor dissatisfaction. Shipments were late and quality was poor. The sales department was fragmented.Major Initiatives:
- Consolidated the sales organization
- Hired a VP of Sales and Marketing
- Consolidated and renegotiated raw material purchases
- Developed operating budget with corrective action programs
Outcome:
The company increased sales by 25 percent in four months. Costs of materials were reduced by 20 percent.
As I review my successes, I remember what it is I like about my job. Thinking back to when I helped the furniture company, I remember what a great high it was when, within a few months of implementing my management changes, sales and profits turned around dramatically. The owner of the company actually cried, he was so thankful for my help. I smile at the memory and email Maggie a PDF of my proposal.
Moments after I get the proposal off, I get a phone call from Kyle Woodruff.
“Kyle, hi, what’s up?” I say. I look at my ring finger of my left hand. It looks strange without the ring there. Without that ring, no one knows my story. I could be single or in a serious relationship, strangers would have no way of knowing. I can’t decide if I like my personal life to be secret or not. When weird-looking guys hit on you, engagement rings can come in pretty handy.
“Eva, I need you to get started on the first phase of the branding project right away. I want focus groups. I want logos. I want taglines. I want…”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Kyle, I haven’t agreed to go forward on the next stage of this project. In fact, I think it might be better if we parted ways.”
“What? But you agreed to do this.”
“No, I never agreed. I said I’d think about it. I’ve thought about it, and my answer is no.”
“But why?”
“Kyle, I spoke to you earlier about your expectations regarding deadlines. They are simply too—” I pause for a minute, straining to think of an appropriate euphemism—“ambitious.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have hired a woman. Women always lose their edge. They always end up on the Mommy Track.”
“The Mommy Track?”
“You lose your career ambition and focus all your time and energy on your kids.”
“But I don’t even have kids.”
“But you will.”
“I’m not planning to, but even if I did…” I don’t even know what to say. I’m so mad right now, it’s a damn good thing that Kyle is twenty miles away and not in the same room as me, because if he was standing in front of me, I would do my best to gouge his eyeballs out.
I never should have hired a woman. Mommy Track. Lose their edge
. On behalf of myself and women everywhere, I want to cause Kyle Woodruff grievous bodily harm. Whether I had children or not, I hate that Kyle assumes that if work isn’t the entire focus on my existence, that means I’m not a good employee.
“Kyle, what you just said to me is so offensive, I don’t even know where to start. Maybe I could start by telling you that that kind of statement is the kind of sexist crap that could get a lawsuit slapped on you so hard and so fast your head would spin. Or maybe I could start by telling you that what we need in this country is not a Mommy Track, but a Personal Life Track, where whether you are a parent or not, your boss respects that you have a life outside of work. You, Kyle, do not respect that I have a life outside of making Woodruff Pharmaceuticals a success, and that’s why I’m turning down additional projects with WP. I wish you the very best of luck running this company, Kyle. Good-bye.”
I hang up the phone. My entire body is shaking. I will never be a fan of confrontation even if I go to therapy for the rest of my life, so that is part of the reason I’m upset by what just happened. But I’m also shaking because I don’t have another job lined up. How could I turn down work no matter how awful, without another job to go to?
Even as I tremble with the panicky feeling of
Oh God! What have I done?
I smile, thinking about how I didn’t run away from conflict. I told Kyle his comment was inappropriate. I stood up for myself and my needs. It’s a baby step, certainly, but I’m damn proud of myself anyway.
That night when I tell Will what happened, he congratulates me for turning Kyle down and telling Kyle off.
“But I don’t have any other work lined up. What am I going to do for money?” I say.
“Eva, I make enough money that I can take care of the household expenses until you get more work.”
“Will, I know we aren’t about to go to the poorhouse, but money is power. I’ve been making my own money for a long time now. I don’t want to rely on you for money.”
“I don’t see what other choice you have.”
He’s right, and the idea terrifies me. But this is what partnership is, right? If Will lost his job, I’d take care of him. That’s love. I can do this…
For the next few days I start trolling for leads on projects in case this Montreal thing doesn’t go through. I keep busy, but not crazily so. It’s strange to realize that if I want to make the time to go to a yoga class, I can. So I do. And I absolutely love it. It’s so relaxing to breathe and stretch and get my atrophied muscles moving. My arm and leg muscles are sore after the first several workouts. Somehow I never realized yoga was a real, actual workout.
G
abrielle wants to talk to Will and his friends about online gaming for her dissertation, so on Friday night, Will and I pick up Gabrielle and we drive down to Mickie’s Pub together. I introduce her to Richard, Abby, and Jerry who are already there with beers in hand.
“This is Gabrielle Leveska. She’s working on her dissertation in sociology. I met her when we were in grad school together,” I say.
“What’s your dissertation on?” Richard asks.
“It’s about representation of self and social interaction via online gaming.”
“Are you much of a gamer?” he asks.
She nods. “I was an Everquest junkie for awhile.”
“Me, too!”
And they’re off, talking about the games they like and the weird world of Internet gaming: Sharing their stories about people who got so addicted that they lost their jobs and their families and were unable to relate to humans anymore; and of other people for whom gaming broadened their circle of friends, because they took the people they met online and extended that relationship into the real world.
Gabrielle and Richard talk so feverishly, nobody else can get a word in. Abby, Jerry, Will, and I start a conversation of our own. Our conversation goes from everything from religion, to politics, to healthcare, to reality TV shows, and upcoming movies. When we talk about politics or religion, I can slip in historical trivia, and I feel, in those moments, that my degree in history was good for something. This is the knowledge I bring to our little group. As for the guys, they are all capable of quoting lines from “The Simpsons” episodes and a wide array of B-movies that I’ve never heard of, and no matter how many times they repeat these lines, they never stop busting a gut with laughter. I don’t know if this is common to all men or just all men who work with computers for a living. Is there a secret geek test all these guys have to pass before they’re allowed to create Web applications and software programs? I don’t know, but I suspect there might be.
When I’ve finished my second beer, I excuse myself to use the bathroom.
I go to the bathroom and choose the stall that doesn’t have the
You are not the first
…graffiti. It has graffiti of its own, however. It reads,
For a good time, fuck patriarchy
.
A smile spreads across my entire face.
O
n Valentine’s Day, Will takes me to a fancy restaurant. As we share a plate of exotic cheeses and sip our rich Merlot, I tell him about how I landed a new consulting project. “I’ll need to go to Montreal to meet with her. She’s bilingual, obviously, since I don’t speak a word of French. Anyway, I thought maybe you could take a few days off of work and we could make a long weekend of it.”
“Sure. That sounds fun.”
“Great. I’ll get the plane tickets and let you know what days you should tell your boss you need off.”
I notice a man at the table next to us getting up from his table and getting down on one knee. Will notices too, and after the woman accepts the ring and marriage proposal, the restaurant erupts into cheers and applause.
The rest of the evening is awkward for Will and me. We go home and we don’t make love.
T
hings are still awkward between Will and me the next morning. We kiss each other good-bye and tell each other to have a good day at work, but it feels like we’re not ourselves, like we’re auditioning for parts in play or something.
I work for a little while and then I call Gabrielle and ask her what she thought of Richard.
“He’s a total babe. I can’t believe he’s still single. What does he think of me?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. But I can shoot him an email and we can see if he’d be up for going on a double date. Are you free tomorrow night?”
“For him, absolutely.”
As soon as I get off the phone with Gabrielle, I email Richard and ask him what he thought of Gabrielle.
A few minutes later, I hear back from him.
From: [email protected]
She’s very cute. And so bright. There’s nothing sexier than a smart woman. She’s not single, is she?
From: [email protected]
She is. She thinks you’re really cute, too. Would you be up for a double date tomorrow night? I thought we could get some dinner and then see a show at The
Bovine Metropolis Theater.
I feel gleeful as I write him back that I’ll buy the tickets and set everything up. When I call Gabrielle, she makes me repeat four times what he said about her being cute and bright. She practically squeals with delight.
When Will gets home, I tell him about my triumphant scheming to get Richard and Gabrielle together.
“That’s great, hon. I hope it works out for them.”
I’ve tried matchmaking a few other times and the results have always been disastrous. Even so, I’m delirious with excitement over the potential for Gabrielle and Richard. Despite everything, I will always believe in love.
T
he double date starts off well. At first, the four of us sit down together at the upscale restaurant and look over our menus in silence. Once we order, we all spend a few moments looking at each other and smiling stupidly.
“Um, so, Gabrielle did her undergraduate degree in film,” I say as a not-so-subtle icebreaker to Richard.
“Really?”
Gabrielle nods.
It appears for a moment as if the conversational thread has died. I try valiantly to resurrect it. “So have either of you seen any good movies lately?”
“I just rented
Leprechaun 6: Back 2 tha Hood,
” Richard says.
“I haven’t seen that one yet!” Gabrielle says.
“I’m sorry, but what the hell are you talking about?” I say.
“The Leprechaun series. Number five was called
Leprechaun: In the Hood.
Number six is
Back 2 tha Hood,
” Richard explains carefully.
“Leprechaun? You’re watching movies about leprechauns?” I ask.
“He’s a murderous leprechaun in search of his gold,” Gabrielle explains. “Didn’t you love it when, God, which one was it,
Leprechaun in Space
maybe—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” I say. “Why are you watching movies about murderous leprechauns in space?”
“Because it’s hilarious!” they say in unison.
“And there were six of these movies made?” I ask, incredulous.
They try to explain the entertainment value to me, talking about their favorite moments in murderous leprechaun history. Here they are, a woman who is earning a doctorate and a man with a master’s degree in computer science, talking about the merits of a leprechaun on a rampage. Just when you think you know someone, it turns out you know nothing.
After dinner, we go to a show at the Bovine Metropolis Theater. Rattlebrain does sketch comedy shows and is Denver’s answer to Second City. As always, the show is hilarious, and all of us have a great time. When we leave into the cold winter air, Gabrielle says, “I’m having so much fun! Let’s go get drinks somewhere.”
I take a quick look at my watch. It’s after eleven. Way, way past my bedtime. But I want Richard and Gabrielle to get together, so, in the name of love, I agree.
We go to Mickie’s and, as usual for a Saturday night, a band is playing. Gabrielle and Richard go off to get us drinks, and it’s not until they’ve left that I realize they didn’t ask what we want. When they return, they have Irish Car Bombs for everyone.
“Car Bombs?” I say. “This could be dangerous.”
As it turns out, they are dangerous. Gabrielle and Richard order another round of Irish Car Bombs about ten minutes after we’ve had our first, and by the time Richard suggests yet another round, I’m so buzzed this seems like a very reasonable and in fact good idea.
We’re standing at the edge of the dance floor, not really dancing but sort of bopping to the music. The band is good but the beat is really too slow to dance to. An older woman wearing a very slutty outfit that she’s falling out of chooses to stand right in front of us. She has a good body, but she looks like a sixties groupie, aged beyond her years from decades of too much drinking and drugging and tanning her skin into a leathery crisp. Still, when there is someone standing in front of you who is half naked, it’s hard not to watch out of morbid curiosity if nothing else. She desperately wants to dance, but it’s just not dancing music. She’s all hussied up with no place to go.
The strap on her cropped tank top (excuse me, but it’s the middle of winter—I mean really) keeps falling off her shoulder and she looks drunk enough that I don’t think she’d noticed if it came off completely.
“She’s wearing so few clothes you’d think she could at least keep the clothes she has on,” I say to Will.
Richard may or may not have gotten us another round of drinks. By this point, facts are blurred, details are trivial.
The groupie chick decides she needs to get to the bar to get another drink and she stumbles, and she really does almost come out of her blouse completely.
“She’s wearing so few clothes you’d think she could at least keep the clothes she has on,” I say.
“You just said that,” Will says.
“I did?” I wave my hand dismissively. “But that’s the great thing about drinking. You can have the same conversations over and over again and it’s like new every time.”
I don’t know how many beers later it is when we leave, but when I wake up, I realize I’m asleep on Richard’s living room floor desperately hung over and being assaulted by the putrid stench of Richard’s dog Bear sniffing at my face. I don’t recommend mixing acrid dog breath with a hangover if at all possible. Just a little tip from me to you.
I lift my head. The side of my face is covered with carpet lint. Through mostly closed eyes I see Will asleep on the couch. I get up and go over to him.
“Hmm?” he says, waking.
“Hi. What happened last night? Why was I sleeping on Richard’s floor?”
“We decided to come to his place because we were all too drunk to drive and he was the only one with a place within walking distance. You volunteered to sleep on the floor.”
“I did? Why would I do such a thing?”
“You just kind of flopped down and were asleep in about eight seconds. You don’t mind that I took the couch, do you?”
“No.”
I get up and go to Richard’s bathroom. I suck down three Advil and a vitamin and return to the living room. I return to my spot on the living room floor and get another hour or two of sleep before Richard and Gabrielle wake up.
We go to a diner and order huge breakfasts. In my opinion, there is nothing like heavily salted home fries to assist in getting over a hangover. I watch as more than once Richard lightly touches Gabrielle’s back or she briefly lays her fingers on his arm. Things are looking good.
After breakfast, I say I need to use the bathroom. “Gabrielle, do you want to join me?”
“No. I don’t need to go.”
I glare at her.
“I mean, sure,” she says.
In the bathroom, I attack. “So? Did anything happen?”
“We kissed. That was all.”
“Was it good? Do you like him?”
She smiles. “It was great. I like him a lot.”
“He seems to like you. Do you think the height thing is going to be an issue?”
“He did have to do a deep plié to kiss me, but it’s not an issue for me. He’s got my number and he already asked me out for dinner for tomorrow night.”
“Awesome!”