Bond Girl (16 page)

“He's a
work
friend. It's not like he's some guy from college I've known for years.”

“Please! Seriously, my back is killing me; just call him. Don't ask
specifically
if he'll come over. Just mention you're packing and see if he offers. There's nothing wrong with that. And for the record, I think you lost the right to call him a ‘work friend' when you started hooking up with him.”

“Fine, I'll call him, but I'm
not
asking him to come over.”

“That's all I want. My deltoids thank you.”

I dialed his phone number and held my breath in anticipation. As usual, it went to voice mail. I always answered the phone when he called, but for some reason, he never had his phone with him when I did. It was more than a little annoying.

“Hey, Will,” I said after the beep. “It's Alex. I'm just calling to see what's up. I'm home packing so give me a ring when you get this.”

“Shit. Voice mail?” Liv whined at the thought of having to finish packing on our own.

I surveyed the mess that was our—now Liv's—apartment and sighed. I took my pictures off the wall and wrapped them in towels. I went through all the cabinets and cupboards and pulled out my pots, pans, glasses, mugs, dishes, silverware, and utensils. As we worked, we came across items that triggered memories of our time together, and I realized how much I was going to miss her. Two hours later we had all of my stuff packed, labeled, and ready to go.

Liv stretched her hands above her head and arched her back. Her yellow zip-up sweatshirt was coated in dust bunnies and her hands were covered with newspaper print.

As she collapsed on the couch, my phone beeped.

“Typical,” she sighed. “Watch, that's Will. He could probably sense that we didn't need his help anymore so he decided to call you back. How do guys do that? It's like they can sense when they're needed and go underground.”

I pulled the phone from between the couch cushions and flipped it open.

SMS from Kieriakis, Rick:

I like a girl that plays hard to get.

“It's not Will. It's Rick again.”

“Psycho,” she said as she twirled a piece of her hair around her index finger.

“Yeah. Clearly. Well, on that note, I'm going to bed.”

I placed my phone on the nightstand next to my bed and, with a surprising feeling of sadness and loss, went to sleep for the last time in our converted one-bedroom apartment in Murray Hill.

Ten

Charity Begins at Home

A
s the breezy New York spring turned into a hazy New York summer, Will and I began sneaking around outside of the office so that Chick wouldn't find out that we were seeing each other. I was beginning to think one of the reasons Will had never wanted to come over before was because I had a roommate. Once I got my own place, we started hanging out more after work and things seemed to become somewhat more consistent. Of course, that's not saying much since originally there was no consistency whatsoever, but I like to see the glass as half full. It had taken seven months, but I felt like things were finally going in the right direction. We took separate cabs in the morning, never left the office at the same time, and tried to keep office flirting to a minimum. We kept things casual, mostly because I was afraid to ask him to define our relationship. We had quiet dinners, drank beers at every bar on the Upper West Side, bet on the ponies at Belmont, and spent rainy afternoons at the movies. While I was happy that we seemed to be getting on a more normal track, Will was still hard to read. He preferred to hang out during the week and he always seemed a bit distant, but I chalked it up to his being nervous about Chick busting us. I was nervous about that, too, but it wasn't like Chick hung out in the city on the weekends, so that didn't explain why Will was never around then. It was like from Friday night until Monday morning he fell off the grid, and I didn't really understand why. I mean, I had friends, and a life of my own, too. It wasn't like I was sitting at home waiting for his phone call. Still, that didn't mean he couldn't make one—ever. I was trying hard not to let it bug me. Will was a quirky guy; it was one of the things I liked about him. So I decided to live with his quirks. I didn't really have much of a choice.

Soon it was July, and we started having waterside cocktails after work, always careful to travel far from the office. It made my personal life a bit complicated, but I was handling it. Of course, at work, it was business as usual.

One of the firm's time-honored traditions was the annual trading floor charity auction, mind-blowing in its fund-raising capabilities. The donated items ranged from the perfectly normal to the absolutely outrageous, and there was no way of telling how high the bidding would go. The auction itself took place at the end of the day, on the floor, and was followed by a massive party at an off-site venue. It was without a doubt one of the best days of the year.

“Look at this. This is funny. Twenty-five hundred dollars to play golf with Darth Vader at Shinnecock. Who the hell would pay money for that?” I asked Drew.

“A lot of people if Baby Gap is the caddy,” Drew said as he snatched the pamphlet from my hands. “There's some good stuff in here. Giants tickets on the fifty-yard line, a trip to Bermuda, a round of golf at Maidstone, a spa package at the Mandarin.”

“What are we talking about?” Chick asked as he buried his hand in a bag of potato chips.

“The auction,” Drew answered.

“Good stuff in there this year. I'm going to bid on the trip to Bermuda, but I've got something to do this afternoon and won't be here for bidding. Girlie, I'll call in from my cell. You bid for me.”

“Me? Seriously?”

“Yes, you. You have a problem with that?”

“No, of course not.” I didn't have a problem with it, but everyone else on the floor probably would. Chick was forcing me to break one of Cromwell's most sacred unwritten rules: women don't bid in the auction. The auction was a male ritual, a socially acceptable way to discover who made more money than whom. The very senior Cromwellites took great pride in being able to shut down a colleague's bid, of proving that one was Master of the Bond Universe. Richer. More powerful. Better looking (in their heads at least). No woman had ever bid in the auction, not even Cruella. It might have even been in the handbook.

“See you guys on the roof tonight,” he said, as he grabbed his briefcase and ran off the floor.

“Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.” I pretended to sob as I grabbed Drew's forearm. “Why is he doing this to me? Why can't
you
bid for him?”

“That wouldn't be nearly as funny.”

A
t 3:00 the floor buzzed even more than usual as we prepared to begin the auction.

“All right, gentlemen!” Vinny, the auctioneer, boomed over the loudspeakers that were set up like a giant sound system all over the floor. He stood at a podium at the head of the center aisle, holding a microphone, and wearing a baseball hat etched with the firm's logo. “This is my favorite day of the year at Cromwell. It's time for us to remember that not everyone is as fortunate as we are, and to give back. Last year this floor raised $286,000, but this year we can do better!”

The room shook as everyone cheered, loving Vinny's pep talk. A resounding “YES!” rang out from the crowd.

“Are we going to raise even more money this year?”

“YES!”

“Are we ready to show everyone why Cromwell is the greatest shop on the Street?”

“YES!” The thought of eliciting envy from our competitors was enough to make Cromwellites donate their kids if Vinny asked them to. A few guys chest bumped. I still had a hard time getting used to that.

“Then let's get this party started! First up, we have a helmet signed by the Forty-Niners. The whole team!”

“Giants!” some yelled, offended that a football helmet from San Francisco was for sale.

“I know, I know. This hurts me, too. But some of you must be closet Forty-Niners fans. For this one day only, it's allowed. Opening bid is two grand!”

“Three thousand!” one trader shouted.

“Three thousand five hundred!” another countered.

“Four thousand!” someone screamed.

“Sold!” Vinny yelled as he slammed his gavel on the podium.

Will appeared at my desk. “I'm going to hang here with you. I want a front-row seat for when you start bidding.”

“I can't believe he's making me do this. He could at least let me bid on the spa package if he's going to make me humiliate myself. I'd cut off my arm for a full day of pampering at the Mandarin.”

“Why don't you bid on it if you want it?”

“Sadly, I can't afford to spend thousands of dollars on a massage and a pedicure.”

“Suit yourself.”

We turned our attention back to Vinny.

“Now this one, fellas, this should go for top dollar. This is a bonus item. It's not even on the list! I'm personally bidding on this one, so who's ready to take me on?”

“You're going down, Vin!” an anonymous voice yelled. “I'm going to make you pay through the nose!” The room was so crowded there was no way to decipher who was challenging Vinny, but it didn't matter.

“Every day, he gets your coffee, makes your milkshakes, and sells you cookies. Now it's time to say thank you for his years of hard work. You know who he is, the unsung hero of the floor, our very own Jashim! Who wants to pay to take Jashim to lunch?”

Jashim, the coffee-stand guy, ran onto the floor, soaking up every second of his five minutes of fame. He waved to everyone as the room exploded into screaming cheers, and the theme from
Rocky
played over the hoot.

“He's going to auction Jashim?” I asked Will.

“This is hysterical.”

“Vinny can't auction a
person
!”

“Why not? Cattle sells at auctions.”

“Jashim's not a cow!”

“No shit. Thanks for clarifying.”

Jashim stood on a chair and waved to his adoring fans, reveling in his newfound status as a trading floor celebrity.

I didn't hear the phone ring, but I saw the light blinking on my board. I grabbed my headset. “Cromwell,” I said loudly. I pushed the earpiece tightly against my ear, hoping that I'd be able to hear the caller over the din.

“Where are we?”

“Hi, Chick.”

“Are we almost there?”

I looked at the brochure. “Bermuda's number thirteen. Right now they're bidding on Jashim.”

“What? Jashim wasn't on the list!”

“Sold to your favorite vending machine eater and mine, big Billy Marchetti! Way to go, Bill!”

“Marchetti just spent fifteen thousand to take Jashim to lunch.”

“I paid Billy last year. Believe me, he won't miss the cash. What's next?”

“The spa package. I'm so jealous of whoever ends up with it.”

“Then buy it for yourself.”

“I can't afford it.”

“It's for charity, A. Haven't you ever heard that charity begins at home?”

“I'm all for charity, but I don't care how rich I am, I'm never spending that much money on a backrub.”

“Talk to me when you're rich.”

“Fair enough.”

“SOLD!” Vinny declared as someone forked over ten Gs for a day of pampering at the Mandarin for his wife. Lucky bitch.

“Boss, you're up.” I breathed deeply and prepared myself for total humiliation.

“Item number thirteen. A four-day trip to Bermuda. Sun, sand, and more important, four days out of the office. Let's start the bidding at a very social ten thousand dollars. Do I hear ten?”

I gripped the microphone attached to my headset tightly, making sure that Chick would hear me clearly. I couldn't screw this up. I didn't want to go back to the mailroom.

“Starting bid is ten grand, Chick,” I said calmly.

“Bid ten.”

“Ten grand!” I yelled.

Simultaneously, everyone turned to face me, their mouths agape in shock. It was almost as if I could see the thought balloons floating above their heads:
Did she just . . . bid?

I stood frozen, as eight hundred eyeballs focused on me. I stared back. Slowly, a smile crept onto Vinny's face. “Well, then! I've got a ten grand bid from Alex in the back. Do I hear twelve?”

“Twelve!” A hand shot up on the far side of the room.

“Twelve grand! Let's go, everyone. Open your wallets! Sixteen, anyone, do I hear sixteen?” Vinny's eyes darted around the room ensuring he wouldn't miss a hand in the corner.

“It's going at sixteen now, boss.”

“Go sixteen.”

“Sixteen!” I screamed.

Will chuckled. “Holy shit. I didn't think it was possible for a human being to turn as red as you are right now.”

“Shut up! Don't distract me.” My head throbbed.

“Eighteen!” someone else yelled as the standing room only crowd cheered and applauded. “Eighteen now,” I murmured into the headset.

“Twenty. I want this trip, Girlie!”

“Twenty!” My voice cracked.

“Twenty from Alex. The little lady wants to hit the beach! Let's go twenty-three everyone. Twenty-three!”
Please make this end, please make this end.

“TWENTY-FIVE!” a baritone boomed.

Twenty-five? We were only at twenty-three, who just upped the price to twenty-five? I pushed Will out of my way and strained to see who had bid for the trip.
Oh please tell me this isn't happening.

Vinny was pointing to Doug Hanlon. Doug was Chick's boss. Maybe Chick's boss's boss.

“Chick,” I hissed. “Doug Hanlon just bid twenty-five. You're not going to make me . . .”

“Bid thirty!” Chick was not about to be slighted by someone just because he was on the executive committee.

People pounded on their desks causing the room to shake. I cupped my hands around my mouth and bellowed back, “THIRTY!”

Reese came running over to my desk, shadowboxing. “Give it to 'em, sugar! Give it to 'em! Take no prisoners!”

I boxed back, delivering a phantom uppercut to his jaw. Reese immediately collapsed on the floor, pretending to be knocked out.

“The little lady has thirty, fellas!” Vinny beamed in my direction from the podium. “Does anyone want to go thirty-five? Anyone? Thirty thousand dollars going once, going twice, and Alex takes down the trip for thirty Gs!” The guys applauded, whistled, and cheered while I tried to crawl under my desk and hide.

“Did I get it?” Chick hissed over the phone.

“Sold to you, boss, for thirty.”

“Good job, Alex. I'll bring you back a magnet for your refrigerator.”

Click.

I collapsed in my chair and waited for the throbbing in my head to subside. I was worried I was about to have an aneurysm.

Will rubbed my shoulders. “Good thing the party at the Gansevoort is tonight. Looks like you could use a drink.”

“Or twelve. I'm looking forward to it; I hear the view from the roof is insane.”

“So what? It's the same skyline you've seen a million times. I thought only tourists were impressed by rooftop views of Manhattan.”

“What can I say, I have a thing for skylines.”

“Really? That's interesting.”

“It is? How come?”

“No reason. Are you going to the bar for late night? I think Chick is organizing something after the rooftop.”

“Nah, I'm planning on leaving by ten thirty at the latest. I guess I'll see you up there.”

“You bet. Hey, I have something for you.” Almost slyly, Will placed an envelope on my desk.

“What's this?”

“Open it.” He smiled.

I removed a brochure from the envelope. It was a gift certificate for a full day of pampering at the Mandarin. My heart stopped.

“You bought this?”

“For you. It's basically your one-year anniversary here, right? Plus, I figured you could use a massage after all the pizzas we make you carry.”

“Oh my God. I can't believe you did this for me. I really wish I could kiss you right now, you know, and not get fired.”

He laughed. “You wanted it, and the money goes to charity anyway. Enjoy it. I'll figure out a way for you to thank me later.”