3. Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Caroline
“ P ink? Really Caroline?”
I look down at the dress I’ve chosen for today’s meeting and shrug. “It stands out.”
“More than stands out,” Gram mutters. “It screams.”
I take a seat next to my grandmother, trying to let her comment roll off my back. She’s been critical of my brother and me our entire lives, however, being a girl, I get all the physical critiques.
“Now, I want you to take the lead today,” Gram says, pushing her leather portfolio over to me.
I look at it with big eyes. “Really?”
“Mhm. I want to see what this business degree has taught you so far.”
I’ve only been in classes for two weeks, so I doubt I’m going to make any earth-shattering progress in this meeting with a potential new client, but what Gram says, goes. The great thing about the Trilby MBA is that it’s hybridized; two weeks of classes, two weeks of real world experience and so on, which means I don’t have to spend all my time in Charleston, thank God .
However, it’s not much respite to return to Savannah when the first thing I have to do is go into a meeting.
I open the portfolio and start to page through it. “Okay, nationwide fast-food chain, wants new napkin supplier. Got it.”
“Wow, you can read. They must be teaching you a lot there.”
I look at Gram. “If you don’t think I have the know-how to do this, then you should lead the meeting.”
My elderly grandmother leans back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’d like to enjoy some of the time I have before I’m dead. Time is ticking, Caroline.”
I roll my eyes. Gram is in her late seventies. Yes, she should have been retired eons ago, but ever since our grandfather died, she’s been insistent on staying in charge of the family business. It’s a miracle she’s even finally training me to take over for her.
There’s a soft knock on the door. Gram’s assistant, Charlie, pokes his head in. “Mrs. Gladstone, Hank Beeler and Terrance Brown here to see you.”
“Send them in,” Gram says. “Showtime, Caroline.”
My heart pounds. This is for all the marbles, Caroline. Let’s do it.
“Our product is fully compostable,” I explain to Beeler and Brown. “Both our napkins as well as our paper towels.”
Beeler chuckles, leaning back in his seat. I hear it creak under him. “Ah, you’re already working the upsell, are you?”
I try not to blush. Of course, I’m working the upsell. He’s a businessman, I’m a businesswoman. That’s the difference between us though. If I were a man (or Gram), I’m doubtful he’d have the courage to call me out like that. “Well, it doesn’t hurt to increase brand loyalty,” I say. “You understand.”
“Let’s consider this Hank,” Brown says, his nasal voice pitching upward. He sounds like a conniving cartoon villain. “If we bundle our products with Gladstone, perhaps we can get an even better deal here.”
Beeler nods. “I like how you think, Brown.”
They both turn to look at me, owl-like in the way they stare at me.
“That’s something we could discuss, of course,” I say.
Everyone’s eyes are on me. Beeler, Brown, Gram. And everyone is waiting for me to fuck up. It’s the pink dress, isn’t it? Dammit, I should have chosen a more sensible color.
But then that wouldn’t have been me. It’s not fair that I have to tone myself down to be taken seriously. I have the intellect, despite what the blonde hair tells people. I have the know-how, though my choice in clothing might suggest otherwise.
I’m just a woman who wants to look the way that I want. Why is that a crime?
My mind flips ever so briefly to Jake Simmons. He just wanted to wear what he wanted to wear too and I made a snap judgment about him.
Focus, Caroline .
“I’m not sure how I feel about compostable though,” Brown says to Beeler.
“You’re right, a lot of people don’t like compostable. No structural integrity.”
I feel Gram grab my leg under the table and squeeze it. What are you waiting for? Say something . “I can assure you –”
“Although, with the way things are going and how people are pointing the finger at corporate greed…” Beeler goes on. Then Beeler and Brown laugh.
“Compostable is definitely the way of the future,” I say with a broad smile.
They ignore me. “The left will like it.”
“The right will hate it.”
“Perhaps we just don’t advertise it.”
“Yes, can we just not advertise it?”
They are like a fucking sketch from a children’s television show, going back and forth and back and forth and never getting anything done. “I’d love to show you the science behind our product, if you’ll just let me…”
They are so in their own world, they can’t even hear me. I look over at Gram sheepishly. Her pursed lips tell me everything I need to know. Disappointment.
How can I salvage this? What would Fig say?
Fig is the mentor I never knew I needed. She is bold and brash and doesn’t apologize for anything.
So that’s the way I’ll go.
“Gentlemen,” I say and firmly drop my portfolio on the table in front of them. “I’d love to explain to you the scientific properties of our patented, compostable napkins.” I get to my feet and turn to the green tab, pointing to the paper. “If I can draw your attention to figure one…”
I start to explain all the ins and outs of our product design. It’s going well. They’re not interrupting, I’m remembering all my facts and figures, remembering to smile, making eye conta…
I can’t make eye contact. Because their eyes aren’t meeting mine. They’re not even on the paper in front of me.
Both men are firmly, unapologetically looking at my cleavage.
Part of me burns with anger. Sexism is alive and well in the world, but it thrives in a business setting. I want to smack them both across their faces, call their wives on them, tell the world they’re creeps.
But they’re listening, aren’t they? At least my cleavage has gotten them to shut up.
Fine. Just this once .
“Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Beeler,” I say, shaking his hand.
“Please, call me Hank,” he says, letting the handshake linger far too long.
I smack his arm. “You’re a charmer.”
“Not like you. I’d say you take after your grandmother, but she’s never been the friendly type,” he says.
“I heard that!” Gram calls out from her place at the table.
“And you know we love that about you, Mrs. Gladstone,” Terrance says, although his nervousness is palpable.
I walk the two men out of the conference room. “So, as discussed, the first shipment will go out six weeks from today. We’ll start just with your Texas locations and then discuss how we feel after that.”
“Yes, another meeting will probably be good after our first trial run, wouldn’t you say, Beeler?” Brown asks his partner, eyes skittering briefly once again to the bodice of my dress.
“Certainly, certainly.”
I swallow but force a smile. “Y’all can schedule a follow-up meeting with Charlie on your way out. Let’s say twelve weeks from now?”
Both gentlemen agree and sing my praises as they walk down the hall to the reception area. I take a deep breath and place my hand against my chest. My poor cleavage feels battered and bruised from their ogling. However, it doesn’t matter. I got the job done. And Gram didn’t have to intercede. Not even for a second.
I reenter the conference room and hold my palms out. “Well, what do you think?”
Gram looks at me. Then my dress. Then my cleavage. “Please don’t wear pink next time, Caroline.”
My heart sinks. “I think it went well. We got the deal, didn’t we?”
“At the cost of your integrity. My God, the way you had them ready to suckle at your teat.”
I flinch. “That could be a good thing, right?”
Gram sighs. “Not when it’s literally , Caroline.”
I feel like a scarecrow. Standing out in the middle of a field. Unprotected. Hanging off a fucking stick like I’m just bunches of hay stuffed into some clothes.
“Yes, no pink next time. And probably a turtleneck while you’re at it,” Gram says, pushing herself up to standing.
I bite my tongue. There are so many things I’d like to say to my grandmother, but if I were to utter just one word, I know I’d be facing her scolding. The matriarch of the Gladstone family is no slouch. She’s a strong and uncompromising leader. But sometimes, that comes at the expense of the feelings of her very own family.
I mean, take a look at my brother. He faked an engagement with my best friend just to ensure his inheritance because of Gram’s ridiculous stipulation that he be married by a certain date. Sure, they ended up falling madly in love (and they are way too stinking cute), but that’s what Gram does. She puts pressure on us, assuring us that it’s necessary for us to turn into diamonds.
Her pressure doesn’t make me feel like I’m turning into a diamond though. It makes me feel like I’m never going to live up to her standards.
“Look at me, Caroline,” Gram says, coming over to me.
I reluctantly draw my eyes up to hers.
“You know your stuff. I had no doubt. But your technique, well, you’re still green at that. You won’t be all blonde and busty forever. I mean look at me. Gray all over and…” She looks down at her own chest. “Well…”
I try to smile.
“You’re a pretty face. That will get you far. But my granddaughter won’t only be a pretty face. You understand what I’m saying?”
I nod, holding back tears. How many times have I been standing in front of my grandmother, holding back tears? I thought she may have learned after being so tough on my brother Chase, but no. She’s still so tough on me I sometimes have to wonder if she even likes me. “Yes, Gram.”
“Good.” She pats my cheek. “Now, we’ve got to go meet your brother for lunch. I wanted him to bring Jude but she’s teaching . What’s the point of having a job where you can’t take a lunch?” Gram mutters to herself as she leaves the conference room.
I feel like all my nerves are on display. I’ve been totally called out by my own grandmother, distilled down to someone who only knows how to use her looks to get what she wants.
It’s hard to be seen that way by everybody. Sometimes I deserve it. I could see it in Jake Simmons’ eyes when I tried to apologize. How he glared at my purse and my nails like somehow caring about my looks and having the money to care about them is a hateful thing. I deserved a piece of that disdain for pigeonholing him like I did though.
But…
I want to be both. I want to be capable and intelligent while also dressing exactly how I like.
I guess that’s what he wants too. The difference is I want to wear dresses that make me feel beautiful and he wants to wear his flannels and denim that make him feel comfortable. There shouldn’t be a crime either way, I guess.
At least I look presentable, though .
Since our back and forth after the first class of our MBA, Jake and I have stayed the hell away from one another. Different worlds. And yet in the very same spot.
In fact, I think we’re more similar than either of us would like to believe.
“Caroline! Hurry up!” Gram calls out for me.
“Coming!” I say, rushing off in my grandmother’s wake.
My MBA might be able to teach me a lot. How to win in a negotiation, how to be a good boss, and how to understand economic trends.
But will it be able to teach me how to be the woman who can have it all?
Doubtful. Really fucking doubtful.