Chapter 1
Christine didn’t use a lot of makeup, she didn’t need to. And more importantly, she didn’t feel that she needed to. When she looked in the mirror, she didn’t upset her reflection by imagining it any different than it was. She loved to see it; to smile and see her very self smiling back. And when she did, she didn’t trap herself on any of her probable imperfections; probable because she, like most people, was bound to grace some unique strokes in how her skin bent around her muscles and the contours of her bones and though they were probable, I still couldn’t tell you what they were because describing Christine, looking through her eyes, I myself can’t find a single thing wrong out of place.
Christine dressed in a dark suit; pin striped pants that curved to her body but didn’t sexualize her in any way and a jacket that broadened and lifted her shoulders without hardening her feminine allure.
She tied her hair in a ponytail that pulled high on the ridge of her head and carried long down her back. She wore, under her jacket, a simple white blouse of which she opened from the second button and which sat loosely on her body. The fabric rolled like little waves through the break in her jacket as the chilly morning air wrapped against her quickly moving pace.
Christine walked briskly to the subway, only three blocks from her house. She ran through in her mind all the plans that she had for the day; firstly meeting with Devin before the meeting to go over the presentation and ensure that he had learned all of his parts, the script she had spent weeks preparing for him. Then, if all went well, there would be lunch and drinks no doubt as was custom to close any deal. And she had to pick up some treats for Einzy on her way back from the gym and she was also supposed to meet some friends for drinks tonight but she didn’t like going out on a Wednesday night; there was still the rest of the week to act out and anyway.
She preferred to curl up on the bed with Einzy instead and watch a movie or listen to some music and nurse a small glass of her favourite Chilean sauvignon blanc.
The subway was crowded as it always was in the morning. Christine preferred to avoid the conflict and the shoving and nudging and the tiresome grudging, choosing instead to leave her house that little bit earlier so she could afford for her journey to take that little bit longer so; without stress and without much ado, she could arrive at work on time; time enough to pour herself an espresso and prepare the profile she wore around the office; the think skin she wore to shield that particular office demeanour - those traded subtle comments and wayward glares that were as unfortunate and common as flies at a picnic.
It wasn’t easy achieving the success she had. It meant a lot of hard work and in many ways working tenfold more than her friends and colleagues, all of them men. She never shied from taking on their share of projects for herself, knowing that any slip along this steep slope would see her fall before anyone else, so she had to be sure, if she was pushing her way up that hill, that hers were firmly dug into the earth for should anyone above her lose their footing, she could take their weight and carry them for as long as she could bear.
It wasn’t quite fair but then again, there were very few women who had half the success as she and maybe if she pushed a little harder, dug her feet in a little deeper and climbed a little further, she could be at a height where she could extend her hand and help others like her; inspiring young women to dig in their heels and succeed like her, leading through example - through hard work and through just reward; like her mother had taught her.
Her table was at the far end of the office and it was a walk she both relished and reviled, having in one ear, the whisperings of want and admiration with lauding eyes lifting like regal arms as she walked along the rows of desks and then of her revulsion, there were the libelous eyes; looking up with grudging contempt, in vagrant disbelief that a woman was in their command, whispering in their lowly murmur words that she could not hear but of whose spiteful tongue was signing upon their pinching eyes.
As she walked, she couldn’t help but feel every eye upon her, for every eye was upon her and every stare was bridged with a hiss or a tisk before eventually, at the height of her passing crescendo, those baying eyes bowed back down before their flashing screens with their fingers typing away, papers shuffling and the volume lifting from a whisper to a dull roar as tongues turned to matters of work and obligation and promises and failings and excuses and blamings.
Seated at her desk at the end of the hall, Christine prepared her notes, and stared with her own blaming eyes towards the far end of the room where a door was opening, and from it, walked a young man in a striking pin striped suit, broad shoulders, wavy dark hair, blue eyes - his suit tight and curving to his exercised and disciplined body, his hands constantly lifting to point at someone around the office; clicking his fingers, winking his eye and slowly working his way towards Christine who sat with a ‘that should be me’ look in her eye.
“Big day,” Devin said. “Are you ready for this? This is your shot you know. If we make this deal, you’ll finally get that promotion. That’ll be your office” he said, pointing to the room at the far end of the floor; the room he had just come from. “You deserve it,” he said.
Christine had her eyes trained on the door and imagined the small steel plate - which had her focus - reading out her name. And she imagined the door opening; as if a light breeze had pushed upon a half closed handle and she imagined, like those watching her would imagine, how striking she would look, seated behind a grand glass table with monitors lined up behind her, a few personal photos erected in golden frames waiting in attention for her eyes to shift in their direction, her pony tail just visible as her head tilted downwards with her eyes stern and focused on some important documents in her clasp as around her, the room would be decorated lightly with a large golden Buddha on one side, carrying a large golden sack of proverbs over his shoulder and a collection of samurai swords that were probably real, stacked neatly to her left.
“Did you get everything done? It’s all prepared?” asked Devin, looking through her notes.
“It’s all done. Listen, do you really think this will work? We’ve yet to deliver anywhere near this kind of deadline” she asked.
“It doesn’t matter. We can renegotiate the scope down the line. Just make the sale, that’s all we need. It doesn’t matter what we promise once everything is underway, it just matters how we finish” said Devin.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she said, sounding nervous.
“You have no choice, Chris. You’ve come this far. You really want to end up back there in the trenches? Look at you, you’re a woman. Do you know how many women leaders there are in this company? None, not one. Why? Because women are indecisive. They are led by doubt and feelings. Their place is in their home; on their backs or if they want a career, taking messages, holding calls, filing papers and taking dictation… on their knees” he said laughing into her ear, letting her in on a secret, patting her back, inviting her as one of the boys.
Christine felt appalled and irascible. She hated the way he called her Chris. It wasn’t her name, but he did it anyway so that he could masculinize her; for the sake of work, imagining her without breasts and then at evening drinks, imagining them as all that she had and all that she was.
But he was the closest thing she had to a friend and he was on the rung above her so she had no choice but to dig her heels in a grin maddeningly, taking the pat on the back and nodding in abated concurrence.
“If I lie and this doesn’t work, if we can’t deliver in six months, this’ll come back at me. They’ll hold me responsible” said Christine.
“Listen, Chris, relax, stop being so god damn pious. Look, you don’t wanna lie, I get it. Neither do I. We’re good people. But every truth is born a lie. It’s true. The second we start to sell, there’s no product; it’s a lie. We dress that lie as the truth and we throw it in the air. Our promise is that in six months, this product will be in your hands, certifiable and guaranteed. Whether we can deliver in six months doesn’t
make this promise any more or less true. Why? Cause it’s not six months from now and we don’t know if this promise is the truth or the apparent lie that you’re naming it to be. Every truth is born a lie until it’s proven to be the truth. But that’s not your job Chris. Your job is to sell that lie. Dress it as the truth. Keeping it that way, well that’s their job” he said, pointing to the peons before them. “They keep the lie floating, to keep it dressed as a truth so, in six months’ time, when you’re furnishing your new office, the lie will become a truth. No promises are real Chris. Anything that is not here and now is untrue, it’s unreal, it’s a lie and it’s our job, the reason we get paid so fucking much money, to motivate those plebs to make truths happen. We’re magicians. We’re fucking messiahs. Every truth is born a lie” he said, seating sideways upon her desk, his hands cusped over his right leg while he scanned the office with his eyes, looking for the returning sexually favouring eyes of less important women, those whose tenure was to have him at the heat of their desire.
“Every truth is born a lie,” she said in concurrence to herself; dressing her fraud in adulation.
“I’m gonna give you the floor on this one. You did most of the prep, yeah? I think you’ve earned it. Whatta you say fella?” he said squeezing firm against her broadened jacket laden shoulders, touching her as he would any man in her position.