The I.T. Girl (8 page)

‘Sure.’ Felix mumbled and went back to his computer screen as
I let myself out of his office.

Our Monday meeting had started. I ignored Boris’s wave and went
straight into the toilets. For once, being the only woman on the floor was an advantage;
I always had the toilets to myself. Rumour had it when Felix took over his position
he questioned why the men couldn’t use the ladies when theirs had a queue. I leaned
over a sink and tried to get my head around what just happened. I had heard of this
happening to someone in the States. After three programmes he’d been fired. I couldn’t
risk being fired.
Or demoted.
I’d have to leave. But how
could I leave so soon? The hop would look bad on my C.V.

I went back out to the floor and grabbed my handbag. I needed
to escape.

Chapter Five

I wanted to scream at Desktop. Instead I cranked the phone against
my ear and started typing.

‘Again,
the
underlyings
are enabled via the switches. So, you need to send us that information. Same with
price retrieval,’ Gordon, my Desktop contact was saying. We had met at the
AsiaCap
kick-off meeting. He had a long face and a short nose,
like a cartoon cat.

Under my new role, the project required me to write the spec
for Desktop and I tried to remember the terms they were using from the Introductory
Market Data course. ‘It’s just that: as I was saying, Gordon – I’m writing this
down and will have to check it with the consultant.’ I continued to click my inbox,
willing the screen to refresh with new mail.

‘We’ll probably need about two weeks to implement. We test it
from here, make sure it’s enabled but we don’t do any end to end testing. That’s
up to you.’

‘Fine.
I’ll update the website when
that’s ready for you.’ I jumped when new email appeared. It was the reply to my
job application.

‘Okay, thanks everybody. Have a nice day.’ Gordon ended the call.

I hung up the phone and took a closer look.
Development focus, full life-cycle.
I went through the form and
filled in the questions about my job history.

Last job:
DataCom

Reason for leaving: Travelling

References?
Mark McCarthy

They were my previous employment details. I had only been with
CouperDaye
for eight months. I could pretend I’d been
back-packing and this job never happened.

Interviewer: Rob Hanger

It was an agency interview. I’d have to get past some twenty-two
year-old with a spotty face and a shiny suit first. But, once I got to the real
thing, I had the skills they needed.

The T.V. screens around the canteen were showing a Jerome Ross
5-Minute Snap
about Payroll. I passed
below the rolling scene that started with a picture of a chemical pulp mill where
wood-free paper was made.
The Life of a Payslip
covered each step up of production up to the rubber stamp and journey through the
office in the mail-cart.

‘Hi,’ I said as I slid into our booth.

‘Hi,’ Sam replied. We held each other’s eye for a moment and
I flinched, hit with self-consciousness. This was my first time to talk to someone
since my meeting with Felix. Everyone knew something had happened over METX but
I had said no to the lunch invites and drinks suggestions like I was closing a curtain.
I was trying to digest the information myself first, before letting the vultures
descend.

‘How’s tricks?’ he asked.

‘Different.’

‘Different?’

‘I’ve been put on a revision programme.’

‘That’s outrageous! Say you’ll leave if they try to go through
with it.’

‘There’s no way I’m staying. I’ve already sent out my C.V. I’m
waiting for confirmation of an interview.’

‘What did Stern say?’

‘Didn’t push for what my project needed.
Didn’t
react fast enough.
Apparently that’s not senior behaviour.’

‘But, how can they justify a revision programme? That’s for people
who are deliberately negligent or repeatedly break the rules. It’s not for someone
who’s relatively new and still learning the ropes. What are they playing at?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said wearily.

‘Fuck. That’s harsh.’

I looked at my plate and began pushing food around. Sam retreated
to his lunch too and chewed angrily.

‘Look,’ he said through bites, ‘Boris is trying to talk me into
going to some Exchange party tonight. You want to come along?’

‘The
Tradeq
thing?
I don’t know. Those things always get messy.’

‘C’mon. I don’t want to go with that idiot by myself.’

‘Oh well... then you’ve persuaded me,’ I laughed. ‘Who can I
be this time?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know we’re not supposed to go. It’s only for Exchange group.’

‘Ah, that’s what he was talking about. You must be Jenny then.
So, does this mean we’re supposed to sneak out or something? Do we need to come
up with a signal?’

‘No. We can leave together.’ I cocked my head with mock exasperation.

We ate the rest of our curry and rice with the conversation cutting
up
CouperDaye
policies. I listened to Sam’s rants about
the history of its inconsistencies and depths of its incompetency, laughing, but
my stomach still felt sick.

The darkly-lit basement cranked like a booze-cruise bar under
the strain of alcohol filled thirty-
somethings
and long
forgotten work ethics. The party was being held in the Exchange’s auditorium but
the speeches were long over and dancing had broken out in corners as well as on
the dance floor. Boris, Sam and I huddled over a table. We had deliberately avoided
mixing with clients. I was definitely not in the mood and to Sam it was the condition
for his coming. Boris had given in to us.

‘How dare Felix question my senior
level.
I mean what the fuck does he think I am?’ I shouted above the music. ‘I may be still
fairly new to this company but I’ve been writing software for eight years.’ I took
another swig of G&T. ‘He acts like I have a bad attitude or am some kind of
delinquent. And like, leaning on me is the best way to motivate me.’ The thought
warranted another gulp.

‘You just don’t know how to play the game,
Orls
,’ Boris teased.
‘Got to know the rules
of the game.’
He winked as if we shared a secret.

‘Don’t be so smug. And don’t call me
Orls
either.’ I slumped back in my chair.

‘Ooh, someone’s had a little too much to drink.’

‘Speak for yourself.’ I
clinked
my glass
into Boris’.

‘Felix is a prick,’ Sam began. ‘Look, I think you’ve got to gather
evidence now. I mean, say you go through this programme and something goes wrong
with one of your projects. You’ll need to have your case ready. You’ve got to justify
every step.’

‘
Orla
, that chap you had a thing with
last time is here.’ Boris gestured to the dance floor.

‘Boris, I didn’t have a
thing
with him,’ I scolded. ‘Anyway I’m not interested.’

‘I reckon you should run over there and snog the girl next to
him,’ Boris said.

I fell to the side, laughing, spilling my drink. ‘Keep your fantasies
to yourself, Boris. Hey, I love this song. C’mon let’s dance.’ I pulled at both
of them. Sam resisted my grasp.

‘C’mon,’ I said again. ‘I really need to let my hair down.’

‘I’m not stopping you,’ Sam said.

‘
She don’t want no
rock’n’roll
,’ I sang along on the dance floor, feeling the
weight of work finally begin to lift away.

A fair-haired man still wearing his jacket despite the heat crossed
the floor and remembered me from the party before. ‘Lucy?’ he asked, dropping his
hand around my waist.

‘It’s Jenny this time.
Ben, right?’

‘Yeah.’
He stepped into rhythm behind
me. I vaguely remembered meeting him at the last Exchange party. Through a drunken
haze we had danced before knowing each other’s name and linked arms to do Tequila
shots.

‘Hey, behave yourself.’ I laughed at his hands following my hips.
I remembered this too – he pushed things as far as he could. I slapped him away
and went back to Boris.

‘He’s gagging for it,’ Boris said into my ear.

‘Just dancing,’ I insisted. I looked over at our table. Sam was
standing with his coat.

‘Stay.’ I caught Sam and leaned my hands into his shoulders.

‘I’ve an early start in the morning. And so do you.’

‘But why don’t you stay?’

‘You stay.’

‘But if you stay for another drink then we can leave together.’

‘I think I’ll leave you to it. You look like you’re having fun
with your friend.’

‘He’s not my friend.’ My voice was high with protest, but I dropped
my hands.

‘See you tomorrow,
Orla
.’ He squeezed
my arm and stepped around me.

‘He’s a lightweight,’ Boris said when I went back to the dance
floor.

‘God,’ I drawled. ‘He’s so serious sometimes.’

At the end of the song I snuck up behind Ben. ‘See you later,
Ben.’ I brushed my hand down his back.

‘Smooth,’ Boris nodded his approval as we sat down. I guzzled
some more G&T. It felt like 7Up.

‘So you’re going to be keeping an eye on me at work then, Boris?’

He raised his eyebrow. ‘I’ll just guide you, teach you. Be your
mentor, if you will.’

‘Maybe you’ll learn thing or two,’ I quipped.

‘Hey, I do your job too, remember? It’ll be a while before you
catch up with me,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Look. He’s talking to another woman. You
want to put a stop to that.’

We looked around at Ben and he looked back at me.

‘What’s your plan of action?’ Boris asked.

‘I’m going to feel him up until he snogs me.’

‘Works for me.’

I watched Ben go to the bar. ‘Round two,’ I said.

At the bar I ordered more drinks. A hand breezed across my bum.
I jumped around shocked but then saw Ben walking away. With my drinks clutched in
one hand I passed him by and returned the compliment. A small sober voice reminded
me I was at a work event and this was going too far. It felt like a little stab
– there was a time I’d have been fired up to meet clients – put a face to a name
I might be working with in the future. But I didn’t care. I was going to be leaving
the company soon.

‘We felt each other’s ass!’ I informed Boris.

‘Yay!’
Boris imitated my enthusiasm.
‘Thanks for the drink but I’m going to have to go. Michelle just rang, wondering
where the fuck I am.’ He laughed. ‘She didn’t say it like that but that is in essence
what she wanted to know.’

‘Ah really?’

‘Yeah, sorry.
You’re in there, though.’

I looked at Ben’s group. They were a tight circle, talking. I
recognised one of the women from our Exchange team. ‘I think I’ll pretend I’m leaving
too,’ I said to Boris. ‘If he bites, he bites.’

We went around to various groups sharing ‘goodbyes’ with those
we had avoided sharing ‘hellos’. At each group, I looked over at Ben. He was looking
back at me. I turned a corner into the cloakroom and waded through the coat rack.
The party was still in full swing so there was no one else around. I sang along
to the music. ‘
I feel so bohemian like you
...’

Hands came up from behind, over my breasts.

‘Hi,’ Ben said as I turned around to his mouth. I giggled while
we kissed. He pushed me up against the wall.

‘Hey, cut it out.’ A sober voice commanded from the doorway.

‘Sorry,’ Ben muttered with a quick glance. ‘You want to go back
to my place?’

‘No.
School night.
Maybe some other
time though.’

‘I don’t know if I’ll want to some other time.’

‘Well leave then.’ I slapped his chest.

We kissed again. His hand dropped down to my thigh, raising my
skirt.

‘Jesus, what are you, sixteen?’ I teased. ‘Take it easy.’ I raised
his hand but still gave in to his mouth. There was something to be said for a man
who’s most consistent relationship was with his gym, I thought, feeling muscle pressing
against my ribs. Suddenly he sucked my tongue roughly into his mouth. It hurt but
I couldn’t pull back. I tried pushing him away but only managed to force out a muffled
scream.

 
‘
Ow
!
That hurt.’ My hand flew to my mouth as soon as I was released.

‘What?’ He held up his hands.

‘I’m going.’ I pushed him away.

‘What the fuck?’

‘Leave me alone.’ I escaped the cloakroom without finding my
jacket.

Outside in the air, sobriety found me. I remembered my new route
home and realised it would be an hour before my head hit the pillow. I began walking,
listening to the click-clack of my shoes and the occasional sound of mock arguments
and laughter. The early morning air had brought a chill.

Boris came to my cube the following morning, and looking over
my head, said conspiratorially, ‘I’ve booked a room.’

I followed him along the floor with a pounding head. His hair
looked like a manic bird dance but his face was heavy with tiredness. I noticed
a folder swinging from his hand. Our meeting rooms were glass panelled and ran along
one wing of the floor. The last room was for the head of department. Currently that
was Felix Stern. But there had been four heads in Boris’ six years.

‘Right.
I’ve drawn up a plan of attack.
No, it’s not really. It’s just a list of things you are supposed to do.’ Boris placed
his folder between us when we sat down and flipped it open.