Chapter 15
I again tried to explain what I’d done with the files, but it was like he couldn’t hear my voice, he just kept clicking each document closed one by one, his eyes becoming that darker grey as he worked.
Finally, I edged him out of the way, and swiped the cursor across, catching all the files and closing them all at once.
He stayed where he was, leaning over, one hand still on the desk, the one I’d nudged now dangling lifeless by his side. His eyes stayed on the empty screen. I pointed to where I copied my folder of transcribed work and he silently nodded.
I sat back in my chair, willing myself not to speak, knowing that I probably wouldn’t say the right thing.
He was obviously embarrassed that I’d seen the fruit—or lack of—his labor for the past five years.
That embarrassment now looked like it was turning into a healthy dose of anger.
I learned from my stepfather that it was best in these situations to not speak first.
That, and become as small and invisible as you possibly could.
“I know I said you had free rein as far as giving feedback, and I did ask you to transfer your files to my machine, and we never really discussed boundaries…but…I…” He shook his head as he stood straight, running a hand over his chin and then placing both hands on his hips and turning toward the door.
Turning away from me.
A feeling of panic rose from me that I would lose this job, and whatever chance I had of being with—in whatever capacity—Montrose. And yet, I kept silent.
Like I said, I’d learned a lot from living with my stepfather.
“I mean,” he continued, still not looking at me.
“It’s a weird situation. On one hand, as my assistant, eventually you would have had access to some of those files.
Who knows, maybe all.” I didn’t miss the emphasis he put on “eventually.” Clearly in his mind, we were not there yet on a working level.
“But, in another aspect, you’re someone I’m…
” The hand across the chin again as he walked away from me, to the couch, where he sat, sinking down into the old, soft leather.
He held his hands palm up, as if that would help him put a label on us.
It didn’t help and his hands dropped to his lap.
“I don’t know. Whatever we are. It’s early, yes, but it feels like over the last three weeks and all our talks that we missed a few steps.
Doesn’t it? Like we were on the accelerated course?
” He looked directly at me as he asked and I nodded, wheeling the chair back into place behind the desk, as if needing its protection.
And noticing he had used the past tense “were” when summing us up.
He waved his hands in the air, then let them rest on his thighs. Yesterday, my legs had been pressed up against those rock-hard thighs, rubbing against them as we’d tried to get closer to each other.
“Whatever we’ve got going, I would never allow my…person in my life to read any of my works in progress. I guess I should have explained that, but…” he trailed off, leaning back into the couch. His body read defeated. And pissed off.
I could keep quiet no more, even though my hard-earned lessons whispered to me to keep my mouth shut.
“Look, I get that you’re embarrassed, but—”
“Embarrassed?” he said, sitting up, his hands braced on his knees as if he could pounce at any moment.
“It’s not about being embarrassed. I’m not embarrassed by my work.
Any of it.” There was a touch of defensiveness in his voice and also hubris, and I saw the first sign of the affected person he’d sworn he had been near to becoming.
Yeah, not a real stretch to imagine him at full blown artistic prick.
“It’s about feeling violated. Having someone go through my private work. Someone who I’m seeing. Yeah, violated. Like…”
At the word “violation” my throat got tight and I felt a tingling at the back of my neck. If he brought up an analogy like his house had been broken into, I’d let it slide. But anything else, anything more—
“Like I’d been ra—”
“Stop,” I said, jumping out of my chair and holding my hand up.
All thought of letting Billy Montrose lead in whatever dance we were doing flew out of my mind, and pure, raw emotion—most of it anger—fueled me as I pointed at him.
“Do not say it. You have not been raped. You have not been violated in a physical way. Someone you’re…
seeing looked at your work, which you would have preferred to be private until you were ready to share. ”
He started to rise, but either the look on my face, or his own emotions, kept him on the couch.
“You are not harmed, you have not lost anything. You were not…violated.” My voice was strong and pure and just a tad bit violent, but I didn’t care.
Later I was sure I would regret telling him off.
I would tell myself that making this point wasn’t worth losing Montrose—or a good-paying job—over.
But right now…right now I knew I had to make my case.
I took a deep breath, signaling the end of my tirade, but I didn’t look away, didn’t back down. I should have been scared shitless that I’d ruined everything. But honestly? It was the most…fearless I’d felt in five years.
His eyes narrowed at me and I realized that either he was going to come back at me hard, or worse, he was going to figure out something about me that I didn’t want him to know.
That I didn’t want anybody at Bribury to figure out. Something I wanted buried back in Queens and not to be a part of the new me.
I snatched my backpack from the floor, now thankful that I’d packed it earlier, and could just grab it, my coat, and go.
Montrose started to rise but I gave him a hand out to stop and he did, though he watched me as I took my coat from the coatrack, disentangling one of my sleeves from his.
“I like this job, and would like to keep it. But I understand if it’s now too uncomfortable for you. If you’d like to get someone else, I’ll understand. Just send me an email before tomorrow afternoon, so I won’t come in.”
“Syd,” he said from behind me, but I had everything I needed now and just shook the back of my head at him and walked out the door.
I walked quickly down the hallway, sliding my coat on as I did. Half of me wanted him to follow me, to shout for me to stop. The other half dreaded the thought that he would.
I felt naked, like I’d become someone that I couldn’t be, someone who would not fit into this world of the elite.
Someone I’d worked so hard to abandon.
I got to the main door of Snyder and walked outside. The snow was falling and I was glad because it blurred my vision as I turned to look at Montrose’s office window.
But even through the falling flakes, and, okay, yes, maybe some falling tears, I saw the movement of the blinds as Montrose pulled them back.
And then let them fall back into place.