Chapter 3 – Grant
THREE
GRANT
She would always refer to it as the bagel incident.
Three Weeks Later
“Coffee, WAPO and NYT,” Anna said, setting out my morning ritual on the credenza behind my desk.
First, my cold brew close at hand. Then, physical copies of the major news periodicals I subscribed to laid out in the particular order I liked to read them.
“Also, a friendly reminder, all of these can be read online.”
I didn’t look at her, just watched the figures on my screens reflect the current NASDAQ activity. There was something in renewable energy that I was seeing. Different types of technology, I made a mental note to do more research about.
“Online news is for pussies,” I muttered.
“Also, I got you this,” she said, and then placed a brown bag on my desk next to my coffee.
I glanced at the brown bag and frowned.
We were a little more than a month into her employment and so far everything had been running smoothly.
Better than I could have ever expected given all those Ivy league and MBA candidates I’d interviewed.
None of whom had actually wanted to be my assistant.
All of them had only wanted to become richer.
Then there was Anna.
Almost painfully thin, with the dark circles under her eyes. Her clothes hadn’t fit right. The cheap heels she’d bought clearly had been hurting her feet.
Everything about her screamed that she’d been someone who walked through the wrong door. And up to this moment, I still wasn’t sure why I had entertained her for even a second. Her non-existent experience, one page resume which featured waitressing and valet parking.
It hadn’t been pity that had moved me to hire her. I was immune to pity.
Then what?
Every day for the past five weeks she’d been on time, coffee in hand, and papers like I asked for. I would give her what we called The List. Things I needed done that day. And she would walk me through my morning meeting schedule.
Only the morning schedule though. Because the whole day was too intimidating, she’d decided.
Which was why the brown bag on my desk jerked me out of my sense of habit.
I was a creature of habits and I didn’t care for variations.
“What is that?” I asked softly.
“It’s a poppy seed bagel. Hot from the oven from this new bagel place next to our building. I thought you would like it with your coffee.”
I could feel the reaction in my body. A hot flush over my skin. A swell of nausea. That bitter taste on the back of my tongue.
A signal that the anxiety attack wasn’t far behind.
What the fuck? I hadn’t had one of these attacks in years. I’d told my now fired therapist that I’d been cured.
“I didn’t ask you to get me a bagel,” I said softly, as I measured my breaths.
“I know,” she said, fanning out the newspapers behind me.
Oblivious to my inner turmoil. “It was spontaneous. A gesture of sorts. A ‘thanks, boss’ for our five-week anniversary. I think it’s been working out pretty well, don’t you?
I mean, who knew I would rock at this and you haven’t even once asked me to give you a blow job. ”
I didn’t hear much of what she said over the ringing in my ears.
Order. Schedule. Habit. Order. Schedule. Habit.
This was how I’d survived.
Gestures. Pity. Caring. And worst of all - smothering. Had sent me into a spiral of depression, anxiety and anger I’d barely managed to crawl out of.
But I had. I’d done it. Through sheer force of will and the ability to keep every social contact in my world in its proper context.
I told Anna to have my coffee and papers ready for me every day. I gave her a budget for this responsibility.
The bagel. The bagel would have been extra. What did she call it? A gesture?
I didn’t want her fucking gesture.
“You got me a bagel,” I said. “I didn’t want a bagel.”
When I felt confident I had my breathing under control, I looked up at her. She didn’t look crestfallen or disappointed. She didn’t look like a puppy I’d kicked. In truth, she seemed completely unaffected.
How dare her?
She shrugged like it was no big deal and picked up the bag. “You don’t like poppyseed? Your loss. I’ll take it.”
“You’re fired.”
She blinked. “I’m sorry, what, now?”
She didn’t understand. The rational side of my brain knew that, but I was no longer in the business of being rational. Those days were gone. If I’d learned anything about myself in the last four years, it was the realization that I was an asshole. But I didn’t care.
Stiffening myself for the messiness that was to come, I pulled in a breath and told myself to be brutal.
“I don’t need you to predict me. And the last thing I want is spontaneity. You overstepped your position. Which signals a red flag in our working relationship. I can’t have that. I’m sorry, but you’re fired.”
“Over a bagel?”
I could hear the incredulousness in her tone. Yes, it was ridiculous. It had been nothing. A gesture.
It wasn’t the goddamn bread. It’s what it represented. First a bagel, then maybe lunch. Then the questions would start.
How are you today?
Good weekend?
What are your plans for the holidays?
How did your wife die?
Civility and order would turn into friendship and caring and…some twisted form of sympathy I didn’t deserve.
“It’s not the bagel. Obviously. It’s the…red flag.”
She nodded slowly as she accepted the news.
I would miss this about her. Her lack of drama. Her absolute steadfastness in the face of any situation.
There would be no tears, no begging for her job.
As she stood there, looking at me, I couldn’t imagine what was spinning through her head, because she didn’t show it on her face.
“Okay,” she began slowly. “Well, I’ve thought about it for a half a second and I reject your firing.”
She would say goodbye, pack up her handful of personal items in the other office and leave without another word.
I’d have to find a new assistant. Or maybe not. Maybe trying to work again had all been a colossal…
“Wait, what?” I said, clearly mishearing. “What did you say?”
She smiled, opened the brown bag, and pulled out the baked bagel covered in tiny black poppyseeds, and took a bite.
Then she had the audacity to moan in order to signal its deliciousness.
When she was done chewing, she popped the rest of the bagel back into the bag and wiped her hand on her hip.
“I reject being fired,” she repeated. “Clearly, you’re in a mood.
Because nobody fires anyone over a kind gesture.
Let’s just move beyond that. You’re probably not ready for your morning schedule, so we’ll skip that.
And I’ll pull The List from our shared drive.
Oh, and your loss on the bagel. Poppy seed is delicious. ”
She plucked the brown bag off my desk, left my office and quietly closed the door behind her.
I looked around the empty room.
My desk was the same. My double monitors continued to reflect back the information I’d been looking at a moment ago. I checked the clock in the corner of the monitor. Only a few minutes had passed.
Then I hadn’t fallen through some sort of black hole into another universe where my awesome ability to intimidate - my superpower, really - had somehow been extinguished.
Carefully, I stood.
I didn’t wear a suit to the office. I hadn’t worn a tie since my last board meeting before Covid. However, I also didn’t do the tech-bro thing with black, heavy metal t-shirts and board shorts. How utterly ridiculous. I wore jeans and shirts that cost a fortune but looked simple.
I was ironic like that.
Now, as I stood there, arms crossed over my chest, I had to think about what just happened.
I’d fired any number of people during my career and it was always a scene, but it was never simply ignored.
What if this was it? What if I’d finally severed touch with reality?
I hated to do it. But I was going to have to leave my office and follow her.