THIRTEEN #5
There was applause as Adler finished. As I looked out over the sea of tables, about half the audience was clapping and cheering enthusiastically.
I glanced across the room at Marcus Reese, still sitting there with his Viacom colleagues.
Marcus wasn’t applauding. He looked grim. Sad. He felt sorry for me.
I was humiliated.
I remained at the table for a minute or two, more or less in shock.
People at the other tables had fled almost as soon as Adler had finished his speech.
Tim Hollister remained sitting. He looked concerned.
He raised his eyebrows at me. You okay? I just shook my head. I couldn’t speak to anyone right now.
Next to me, even Jack Hanover had turned a little in his seat and was also, finally, staring intently at me. He looked at me as though he were actually seeing me for the very first time. He probably was.
As the crowd filed out, and the din in the room slowly quieted down, I remained sitting at the table, still dizzy with shame and rage.
I could barely see. I wanted to dig a little hole underneath the table and crawl into it.
I looked up at the stage, and Marty Adler actually caught my eye and gave me a smile and a nod and a little thumbs-up sign.
That did it.
I stood up abruptly, picked up my purse, and stormed toward the illuminated red EXIT sign.
As I threaded through the crowd, a number of distinguished elderly guests spotted me and nodded in recognition, smiling paternally.
Why, it’s that Little Minority Lawyer they talked about tonight, their smiles said. Isn’t she cute?
I didn’t smile back. I couldn’t. Clutching my purse, I made my way toward the crowded elevator lobby.
As I stood there, waiting, I could actually feel the embarrassment draining from me, and the fury—pure, unadulterated fury—forming in its place.
It had started as a hard little knot somewhere in my stomach and was now welling up and spilling over.
Just as the crowd surged forward and I was about to fold myself into a waiting elevator, I felt a hand on my elbow. I looked up. Adler had me by the arm. He was beaming. “So what’d you think? Terrific turnout, huh?”
What did I think? My God, was he really that clueless? I jerked my arm away.
Adler looked puzzled. “Something the matter?”
“Everything’s fine. But I really have to go. Now.”
“No, no, stick around, there are some people I want to introduce you to—”
“I don’t think so, Marty,” I snapped. “I think I’ve performed enough for one evening.”
There was a moment of surprised silence, as my words seeped into the space between us, and then Marty Adler narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”
“I have to go. Now,” I said. “And I mean, right this second.”
Adler lowered his voice. “Ingrid, just what are we talking about here? Is there something that I need to be aware of?”
In other circumstances, his utter cluelessness would have been fucking hilarious. But not now, not this night.
My hands were shaking. I was dimly aware of a flashbulb going off as the official event photographer snapped a picture of Adler and me.
Adler placed his hand on my elbow again, as if to steady me, but when he spoke quietly into my ear, his tone was not entirely kind.
“Look, Ingrid. I’m not sure exactly what this little outburst is all about, but I sincerely hope you’ll be feeling more like your old self by Thursday’s meeting with SunCorp.
This is a very big deal for us, and I cannot—let me rephrase—I will not have my star player dealing with any sort of emotional craziness.
So whatever it is you’re dealing with on a personal level—and there’s obviously something—deal with it.
But I expect you to be back and in fine form by Thursday.
I will need you to be one hundred and ten percent at this meeting. Am I making myself clear?”
“Oh, you’ve made yourself perfectly clear.” I turned to go, then swiveled back around. “And Marty, when have I ever given anything but one hundred and ten percent?”
He looked at me angrily, then opened his mouth to say something.
Without waiting to hear it, I turned around and allowed myself to be swallowed up by the well-heeled, elegant wave of people already sweeping into the elevator, carrying me away.
As I turned the key in my lock and slipped inside, the first thing I saw was the blinking light on my hall table. My mom. I knew it would be her.
“Ingrid-ah.” Her familiar voice flooded into my dark and empty apartment, and my eyes filled with tears.
“It’s after ten thirty.” She sighed a soft, small sigh. “You’re still at the office. But Daddy and I want to know if you’re coming to Jenny Chang’s wedding. Auntie Chang really needs to know. She says the country club is counting our heads! So call and let us know. Bye-bye. Love, Mom.”
For some reason, my mom always signed off her phone messages like you would a letter. “Love, Mom,” she said, to punctuate the end of her calls.
I wanted desperately to hear her voice. I wanted her to reassure me everything would be okay. That it would all be worth it. I looked at the clock. It was already past eleven. Far too late.
Nobody bosses my Ingrid around, my mother had once said to me.
Oh, but they do, Mom, I wanted to tell her. But couldn’t.
They do.