Page 27 of A Certain Appeal
“I don’t know what that is, but I’m sure the barman does.”
As Wickham places the order, I question the wisdom of letting Jane’s drug-addled moment of clarity inform my decision-making. What happened in LA was supposed to stay there; even thinking about it resurrects a lot of grief. But Wickham’s assumption that I was an admin there felt like an erasure of a major part of my life,however painful that time ended up being.
At Work It, I’ve thrown myself into my commitment to competence. If I’m going to be an admin, I’m going to be indispensable. Ifthe ongoing bafflement with the espresso machine is any indication, I’ll maintain that label indefinitely. The same goes for kittening. If I’m going to do it, I’m going to be the best at it. While it’s usually a stepping stone to performing, I’m happy participating in the show the way I do.
I’m proud of the work I do at Work It.I’m proud of what I’ve turned my gig at Meryton into. I’m also proud of what I accomplished before New York. Maybe—I stir my drink. Maybe I shouldn’t let the bad tarnish the good.
The bartender pushes two snifters of clear liquid across the bar.
Wickham raises one. “Cheers.”
“Don’t shoot it,” I warn. “It’s not espresso. Sip it.”
He does, and nods. “Ooh, I like it. What is this stuff?”
“A tequila. My cousin’s fiancé is a chef. He introduced me to it when I was in LA.”
Wickham takes another sip of the liquor. “About that time...” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry.”
“No, it’s fine. It’s just a shitty, embarrassing situation.”
I take a bracing pull of the reposado, the smoky burn a pleasant contrast to the slushy’s sweetness. “I went to the Art Institute in Denver. When I won the internship, it was a big deal. I was competing with students from programs across the country. It was me, from the blip of a school in Colorado, who won, which was huge for my program—”
And I failed them.
“How was it? In LA?” Wickham asks.
The question rouses a hint of the same rush I felt the first few weeks at the firm, the combination of excitement and possibility and pride that my work had proved me worthy of the experience. “It waslike grad school, where everyone has a common passion, similar knowledge. Seeing what they were working on wasinspiring. So much renovation to downtown. There’s great design down there, and even being adjacent to the efforts to restore it was...” I shake my head, at a loss for words.
“Exciting?” Wickham supplies.
“Incredible. I was brought onto a team of the younger folks on staff. The lead was newish, too. Super encouraging. He was a real champion for me, and when he was given a restaurant project, I was his right hand. We worked round the clock, lots of nights.
“When it came time to present, Roger said it was a one-on-one meeting with the client.” I swirl the straw in my drink, mixing the liquid in with slush in the middle of the glass. This is the part I don’t even let myself think about. But I’ve gotten this far in the story, which is something, even if it feels like my chest is caving in.
“Have you ever fallen?” I ask. “From somewhere high enough to actually hurt?”
Wickham’s brows crease as he cocks a smile. “Can’t say I’ve had the misfortune.”
“I have. I rock climb, and in high school, I was bouldering, which is without ropes. It’s about traversing along the wall, not going up. But I went for a route higher up than I should have, and a hold gave.”
Wickham cringes.
“The sandstone crumbled. It came loose from the wall and broke into pieces as I held it. I even have a scar.” I turn up my left palm to show the faint white line bisecting it. “I’d clung to the rubble so hard the doctor had to dig it out with tweezers.”
Wickham nods, but his brows are low enough that I know my aside isn’t explaining itself.
“Feeling that rock give way...” I search for the words. “I knew I was screwed. And that’s almost the worst part. The anticipation. When Roger said he had to present alone, the rock broke away all over again. It was the same sensation. Something that had been secure fell apart in my hand. Pain was coming, and I’d have to wait for it.”
“What happened?”
“For one, he’d been telling our coworkers I’d tried to sleep with him—”
“What?” Wickham leans away, eyes wide. “Why would he do that?”
“Paper trail. He’d started circulating the rumor pretty early. Got it on record with HR. He timed it so that while I was having a sit-down about my ‘impropriety’ during those late nights at the office, he was presenting my work to the client as his,” I force out. “He’d repackaged it to resemble an evolution of his design scheme.”
“Damn.”
