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“Ross!” I said, banging hard enough for one of our clients to poke his head out further down the hall. “Ross, you have Mr. Davies here to see you!”
“I’m not in,” he said. I could practically taste the cowardice in his tone.
“You’re a manager,” I said, for once reminding my so-called betters of their positions rather than the other way around. “And you’ve been ignoring his calls for a month. Just come out and tell him he hasn’t been hired. It’s not that big a deal!”
Ross didn’t answer, and by now, Miguel was catching up. I shook my head, snorted, and strode toward the front desk again. Even in heels, I was quicker than Miguel’s fat ass.
“Maddy,” Lacy said as I came into view around the corner. She was texting while Mr. Davies sat in one of the reception area chairs. She brushed a dark lock of hair from her face and tried to pretend like I hadn’t just caught her slacking off once again at work. “Mr. Davies is here for…”
“For Mr. Culling,” I finished, smiling at Mr. Davies. That smile felt wrong and wild, but the momentum of my anger was thrusting me forward now. I couldn’t stop. “I’m Madison Hearst. We’ve spoken on the phone.” I extended my hand for his.
Mr. Davies stood up and hesitated a moment. My eyes fell to his left hand, the one that was shriveled and tucked against his side. Some kind of accident, I’d been told. But I didn’t need that one. I only needed his right.
After a time, he grasped my hand in his good one. “I remember. You helped me with my application before my interview.”
“I did,” I said. One might have thought our very own staffing specialist would have been able to do that, but alas, Ross wasn’t terribly familiar with the application process—nor anything else of particular value, it seemed. “And I apologize that Mr. Culling hasn’t returned your calls. I assume you’re here about the status of your background check and interview?”
Mr. Davies nodded. I turned slightly over my shoulder to see Miguel hanging back by the offices, keeping out of sight of Mr. Davies. His face was turning redder by the second and he had a look of unease about him, almost as if he knew what I was going to do.
I’d been lying for Ross and Miguel for far too long. I was going to tell Mr. Davies the truth, and that was something Miguel was desperately afraid of.
“Mr. Davies,” I said, turning back to him, but this time without a smile. “I’m afraid Mr. Culling has been avoiding you.”
Lacy gasped. Miguel made a strangled sound like a pig that had just been stuck in the belly. I continued:
“Your background check came back fine. Your resume was all in order. Everything was perfect, really—except your arm.” I slowed my words, taking care not to injure Mr. Davies at all in my anger toward Miguel, Ross, and the rest of ExecuSpace. “Mr. Culling felt that, as a salesperson, the arm would keep clients from signing on. He didn’t have anything concrete to reject your application on, and he knows discrimination against disabled people who can adequately perform the job at hand is illegal, so he figured that simply avoiding you would do the trick.
“But now you’re here speaking to me because he refuses to come out of his office and face you himself, and because our general manager thinks that an administrative assistant making ten dollars an hour is better equipped to explain these things to you than, say, a manager. I apologize on their behalf, Mr. Davies, and on behalf of a company that you really, really don’t want to work for, anyway. Not if you know what’s good for you.”
Mr. Davies looked at me for a very long time. I knew how I looked on the outside—calm, perhaps cold even—but on the inside, I felt like shit. It wasn’t that I had done anything wrong. I was upset because in the four years I’d worked here, I’d failed to change a damn thing about this awful company, and people like Mr. Davies were going to pay for it. None of this would ever come down on Miguel or Ross’ shoulders. It was only nice people, hardworking people who would bear the burden of ExecuSpace’s moral void. And I hated to be the one who had to inflict it.
“My… arm,” he said at last, and I nodded slowly. “But it’s not an issue. I can write just fine. Drive, even. I don’t see what my arm has to do with being a competent salesperson…”
“It doesn’t,” I assured him. “It has nothing to do with it at all. But Mr. Culling feels that the perception of ExecuSpace might be marred by someone who doesn’t look like the rest of us do, and for him, that’s cause enough not to hire you.” I saw the look on his face, the slump in his shoulders, and added: “I really am sorry, Mr. Davies. But after a month of being lied to, I thought the truth might—”
“The truth does nothing for me, Miss Hearst,” he snarled, a surprising rage blazing in his eyes. I could see they were watering. They glimmered like hot coals. “A job is what I need. And even a shitty one for a shitty company would have been enough for me. But you people don’t give a shit about men like me, do you? All you see is a withered arm and you think that means I’m trash, that I can just be tossed into the gutter. You didn’t even have the decency to consider me for the position, did you? You just saw the arm. That’s all.”
I pursed my lips. This was exactly what I’d feared. Not only was Mr. Davies upset by the news, but he was taking that out on me, the nearest available target. I had to swallow the compulsion to invite him back to Ross’ office and knock on his door until he opened up, but Miguel would probably just call security and have them haul both Mr. Davies and myself out.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “If you’d like, I can get you the number for our corporate office in Virginia. There’s a woman named Patricia who could hear your complaint…”
“That’s enough,” Miguel said, finally loosening himself from the doorway and practically pushing me out of the way. “Mr. Davies, I’m Miguel Herrera, the general manager for ExecuSpace. Unfortunately, you just weren’t a good fit for the criteria we’re looking for right now. I’m sorry no one’s gotten back to you sooner, but we’ve all been very busy—”
“Do you think I’m stupid?” Mr. Davies asked him, his face taut with barely-contained rage. “You must, because as much as I think your receptionist there could give a rat’s ass about what happens to me, at least she had the decency to be honest.”
I felt my own knot of anger and tried not to grimace. “Receptionist” was something of a dirty word amongst personal and administrative assistants. Even secretaries were higher up the food chain. A receptionist was a person who did the least amount of work in the industry, someone who answered a phone and filed a few papers, maybe. Lacy was a receptionist—barely. I didn’t appreciate being compared to her.
But I understood that this wasn’t about me. This was about Mr. Davies and his embarrassment at the treatment he’d endured. Though I’d meant for the truth to be helpful to him, I knew that it couldn’t have been easy to hear, and I tried to accept his hatred gracefully.
Miguel, however, was showing signs of cracking. I could see his brow lining with deep wrinkles and the muscle in his jaw was steadily twitching.
“Sir, I assure you, what Miss Hearst has said is in no way representative of our company’s values or beliefs. She is obviously misinformed.”
“Then why?” Mr. Davies demanded, his voice rising. “Why won’t Mr. Culling return my calls? Why did you decide not to hire me?”
Miguel sneered. “We’re not under any legal obligation to disclose that. In fact, our HR department discourages us from—”
“Fuck your HR department!” Mr. Davies railed, getting so close to Miguel’s face I could see spittle marring his skin. “And fuck you!”
Before Miguel could retaliate, Mr. Davies left, storming off through the doors to the elevator with steps that shook the office floor.
As the weight of his anger dissipated, I felt another sensation flooding in. What I had done was, objectively, the right thing. I’d given a man honestly when no one else would, and I’d stopped being the whipping girl everyone wanted me to be. I’d stood up for myself and for my own values. But
at what cost?
Miguel turned to me. I raised my chin, doing my best to look confident, but not smug. I was preparing to defend my decision when the words I’d been dreading left his mouth.
“Get your things and turn in your key card. You’re fired.”
Almost without thinking and with shock softening the blow, I removed my lanyard and threw it at him.
“You can’t fire me. I quit five minutes ago.”
I grabbed my clutch from the front desk, turned, and strode out the doors, following Mr. Davies. Miguel was yelling something at me, but I couldn’t hear him—probably some clichéd movie-villain line about how I’d “never work in this town again.” He seemed like the type.
The blood rushing in my ears was deafening, and I could feel my body quaking as I pressed the button for the elevator car. Equal parts relief and dread seeped into me, but I tried not to let either one win until I heard Lacy’s shrill voice calling to me over the baritone roar of Miguel’s furor.
“But Maddy! I don’t know what all you do! Send me an e-mail with everything once you get home, okay?”
