2. Marnie
CHAPTER TWO
Marnie
“What do you mean there is no funding?”
“I mean exactly that,” Irene replies without glancing up from the paper in her hands.
Frustration builds inside me at her lack of emotion. My world is crashing down, and that’s all she’s going to say?
“Are you kidding?” I half-shout, grabbing the wooden armrests on either side of me.
From the tone of her text message last night, I strolled into her office this morning expecting her to shake my hand and offer me the promotion, not to set my life’s work ablaze in less than a minute.
She levels me with an annoyed expression, telling me just how not kidding she is. “Close your mouth, you’ll catch a bug.”
My mouth snaps shut, and I lean back slowly until my back hits the seat. My body knows better than to disobey Irene, even if my mind is still playing catch-up.
Setting the papers down, she leans forward to capture me with her sharp brown eyes, practically burning a hole through me. She’s studying me, but I can’t tell what for. The silence is unbearable, so I look around for something else to focus my attention on.
My eyes divert to her impeccably too-tidy desk that takes up most of her office. I count the pens in her desk organizer, separated by color and type of pen. Anything to take my mind off the mental daggers she’s throwing at me.
In the two years that I’ve spent interning under Irene Campbell, she’s made me run ridiculous errands around the city, pick up dry cleaning in rush hour traffic, and has made me cry on several occasions, but she’s never once lied to me. I know she is telling the truth.
That doesn’t mean it feels any better to hear it.
Small beads of sweat form on my palms, loosening my death grip on the armrests. I meet her eyes again and wait for her to continue.
“The board denied my proposal for additional funding to support an assistant curator position. With it already being the end of April, we are too close to the end of our fiscal year, and they do not have room in the budget to shuffle things around. But they did say that they would approve it for the start of the next fiscal year in July, which means they will need my recommendation by the end of summer.”
Her eyes return to whatever she’s reading, unconcerned that she’s just dropped a bomb on me without a second thought.
“So, what do?—”
“I don’t think you’re ready,” she interrupts, not bothering to look up from her paper. “After discussing with the board on what their new expectations will be for this position moving into the new fiscal year, you’re no longer the best candidate.”
Ouch.
Irene has always been blunt. I’ve been on the receiving end of that bluntness on more than one occasion, but this one hits differently. Because this time, I can feel my career goals slipping through my fingers.
The statement catches me so off guard that I’m silent for nearly a minute, trying and failing to form a response.
This can’t be happening to me.
Sweat pools across my forehead as if the temperature in the room just jumped twenty degrees. I attempt to discreetly remove my blazer and drape it across the back of my seat to give myself some reprieve.
I replay her words in my head again, but I can’t seem to make sense of them.
Reading the confusion written all over my face, she continues, “At least not yet. John’s résumé contains exhibits that better showcase his roles in the planning and education components, making him the better candidate right now.”
Hearing that is a blow to the gut. I never thought that would’ve given him an edge.
Since John always expressed interest in the education aspects, I never fought him on it.
Those elements are flashier and easier to pinpoint when analyzing an exhibit—exactly the kind of thing John would be interested in.
Instead, I focused on gathering all the individual pieces, weaving them together in a way that tells a visitor the exact story I want them to see.
My favorite part of putting together exhibits has always been the underlying vision. The storytelling.
So, we divided and conquered according to our strengths. We were supposed to be a team after all, even if we didn’t always act like it. We were always competing, but if the exhibit failed, we both did. I just didn’t think that would come back to haunt me like this.
Unfortunately, not everyone in our field has an appreciation for storytelling like I do.
My skin feels flushed despite already removing my blazer, and I wring my hands in my lap, trying to make sense of it all.
“Surely you have something here I can work on to boost my résumé.”
“All of my upcoming exhibits are finalized, and they have launch dates already, but I may have a solution.”
My ears perk up at that.
“I have a long-time friend, Josie, who is the executive director over at the Martha’s Vineyard Historical Society. She is in desperate need of some help this summer. They haven’t been able to fill a recent vacancy in time to start planning an exhibit that needs to open in late August.”
My heart sinks at the idea of going somewhere else—of working with someone else—for the next few months.
Leaving Boston for the summer means leaving John as the sole intern assisting Irene with her exhibits while I do the exact same work at a different organization for a different boss.
If he gets to work on Irene’s new projects, then he gets an advantage in the hiring process and I’ll be stuck on an island, completely out of the loop.
My head cocks to the side, contemplating Irene’s proposal.
This is not where I thought this conversation was going.
There’s something I’m missing, and I either need to figure it out on my own or steer Irene in the direction of revealing it herself so I don’t have to confess that I’m completely clueless right now. “You want me to work with your friend on an exhibit? How is that any different than what I do here?”
Another annoyed glance. I shrink back into my seat, nervous that I’ve said the wrong thing.
“You’re not working on it with her. You’d be planning the entire exhibit from start to finish.
Plus, Josie wants to incorporate fundraising and education components to gear it towards tourists.
” Her face morphs into a conspiratorial look.
“This is the leg up you need to have a better résumé than John when the time comes.”
Logically, I knew she was right. Neither John nor I have been able to take the lead on an exhibit from start to finish. If I can pull this off, that promotion is mine. Still, it would be nice to have some time to mull it over before jumping right in.
This is certainly a good opportunity, but is this the right move for me right now?
My heart rate quickens at the thought of every task I’d have to complete just to be able to attempt this. I’ll have to pack up my office, grab all the things I’ll need to live away from home for an entire summer, reschedule doctor’s appointments . . . leave Gwen.
I don’t want to think about not living in the same city as my best friend, even just for the summer.
And what about my lease in Boston? I have no idea how to go about finding housing on Martha’s Vineyard this close to summer, or if I could even afford what’s available.
Maybe it would be better to find a project closer to the city. Then I can make sure John doesn’t take any opportunities to get ahead.
“Can I have a few days to think about it?” I ask Irene.
“There’s nothing to think about. I told her you could start Monday.”
The hits just keep coming.
I have to be very careful about how I navigate this. “It’s a big decision. I really need to think it over and make sure it’s feasible for me.”
“How tragic,” she deadpans. “You have to spend the summer on a beautiful island, living on the beach, working for a dear friend of mine on an exhibit that will all but guarantee that the board selects you for the promotion.” She leans in even further this time.
“You’ll do this as a favor to me, and in return, I’ll write you a letter of recommendation to include in your portfolio when the board reviews your application again. ”
My shoulders straighten involuntarily, like an invisible puppeteer is controlling my movements. I like the sound of that. Having Irene’s personal support will be the difference of who gets the promotion.
If she wrote a letter for both of us, they would cancel each other out and become worthless for the board’s consideration, so if she is offering to write me a recommendation, she must want me for this role.
My curiosity is now piqued. “Can you tell me anything about the type of exhibit?”
“All Josie said is that it needs to launch the last weekend of August. That gives you four months to prove that you can handle an accelerated timeline while incorporating an effective educational component, in addition to your regular responsibilities.”
Four months? I’ve never worked on an exhibit less than four months before launching, never mind doing it all on my own as well.
At my lack of response, she adds, “You’re up to the task. Once you get these experiences on your résumé, you’ll be a more competitive candidate.”
Deep down, I know I should be flattered.
Grateful, even, to be considered for an assignment like this.
But it just feels like a backhanded compliment.
It’s funny how fast a conversation with Irene can turn.
I walked into her office this morning expecting good news, and instead I was met with her essentially uprooting my life.
All in the name of getting the promotion that I’ve worked so hard for this past year. And in all honesty, my entire life.
Growing up in my household, school was always the priority.
My mother worked as a subject editor for several academic journals and my father taught history at the local college.
From a young age, they instilled in me that the only way to get what you want is to work for it, and if someone has something you want, it is because they wanted it more and I just needed to be better.
I have a strong work ethic because of it, and I’ve spent my entire life working day in and day out, giving up other things I also wanted to do just to get ahead professionally. If I earn this promotion, it would make it all worth it. There was no other option.
“So, it’s settled then?”
My legs start to feel heavy and all I can manage is a nod.
“Good. I’ll have my assistant email you everything later. Boat reservation, housing information, work address, all of it.”
So, what I’m hearing is, I never really had a choice anyway. Not that anyone ever really says no to Irene. She can make your career just as easily as she can break it, and I’ve worked too damn hard to jeopardize it now.
When I don’t immediately rise from my chair, she waves me off with a hand and a quick “You’re dismissed,” before she resumes her reading.
Well, that’s that.
I gather my blazer and sling it over my arm, followed by my purse.
I’m almost out the door when she calls out to me. “Oh, and Marnie?”
I stop in my tracks and whip around. “Yes?”
She pulls out a new stack of papers, vigorously flipping through the tabs. “Don’t embarrass me. Josie is a dear friend, and your work reflects on me. Positively and negatively.”
The way she ends that sentence feels almost like a threat. No words of encouragement, no additional information about Josie or the position. I don’t know why I expected anything different.
My lips pull into a brief smile that I’m sure doesn’t reach my eyes and I spin around on my heels. I’m not even two steps out the door when I dial Gwen to ask her to come over after work, preferably with another Dark ’n’ Stormy.