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The worst part of each day are these daily status meetings we have. I have been assured they will only last the first two weeks of the project or until we are all sure we’re on the same page. The junior partner from my firm joins us by phone and we debrief.
Occasionally, Simon is asked to come in and discuss a question about the design. As it’s a refurbishment rather than a rebuild, we often have to distinguish what is original from some of the more recent work done on the building. It’s exhausting and painstaking work, but we are making progress, and when this part of the project is done, Simon won’t have to join us anymore and that is music to my ears.
It’s torture being in the same room with him and having to train my features to impassivity. To pretend his presence doesn’t speed up my pulse in equal part with anger and desire. I am still wounded by the way he treated me, but I refuse to let him see it, especially when he seems to think he has a right to be annoyed with me.
Every time I see him, usually when he walks past my office or in these status meetings, he looks like he is barely tolerating my presence. It’s galling. But it is also an incentive to keep up my act of disinterest.
He didn’t attend yesterday’s meeting, but halfway through today’s we discover we need him to answer some questions. One of the finance staffers is sent to fetch him. I prepare myself for his appearance by getting my roiling stomach under control and taking a deep breath when I am sure no one is watching me.
Simon enters the room, and I can tell right away something is wrong. Normally, Simon walks in and gets to work immediately. He doesn’t even spare a moment for greetings, instead it’s “what’s the question.”
Today, Simon walks in while typing a text, he sits down, continues to type the text, and doesn’t address anyone. We all watch him as he types furiously. His brows are drawn together. I notice his normally clean shaven face is sporting enough of a beard to let me know he hasn’t shaved recently.
He finishes his message and looks up. “Okay, I’m here. What do you need?” He says this to no one in particular. Then his phone rings, and without a word he snatches it up and leaves the room as he answers it with a brusque, “Yes?”
A few minutes later, he sticks his head back in and says, “I’m leaving for the day and probably won’t be back for the rest of the week.” And then he’s gone.
No one says a word for a moment. And then, Eric their VP of Finance, speaks up. “Okay, let’s just move on to the next item on the agenda.”
They act as if nothing bizarre just happened. Am I in the twilight zone? I want to leap out of my chair and chase Simon out of the room and demand to know what the hell was going on. I want to scream at the fucking weirdos who are acting like the normally composed Simon hadn’t just behaved totally unprofessionally.
Instead, I sit there like I’m the fucking weirdo and finished the meeting. Because, shit, what else can I do? Clearly, there are things about Simon I don’t know. I mean, of course there are, but this is not a minor thing. And I was going to get to the bottom of it.
When the meeting ends I walk back to my office to start working on the action items I have been tasked with. I plan on talking to Simon myself. I hate second hand talk. I’ve lived thirteen years of my life being the subject of gossip. I like my tea straight from the source. I know I am not really talking to him, but I’m going to because I want to know what the fuck that was about.
As soon as I sit down, Matthew’s head ducks into my door with a conspiratorial “Hey!” I deserve some sort of medal for not rolling my eyes.
“Hi, Matthew. I was actually just about to make a call—” He cuts me off.
“Oh, I won’t keep you long. I was just stopping by to explain Mr. Perfect’s behavior. Everyone lets him get away with whatever he wants because he won us this bid. It’s ridiculous if you ask me, it was dumb luck. But now he’s the second coming of Christ in the eyes of the C-suite and exploits it every chance he gets.”
I stare at him. This petty, jealousy driven speech is so unprofessional and shocking I can’t believe that this man, who is the head of their legal department, is standing in my office giving it.
“Then he goes and adopts his nephew and they act like he’s fucking Mother Theresa. They let him come in late, leave early, work from home, take days off, whatever he wants.”
I cut him off, sharply-- “What did you say, Matthew? About his nephew? He adopted his nephew?”
So the crying baby lives with him. He mentioned a nephew, but he didn’t say anything more. So I assumed he was just visiting. Or something.
“Yeah, something about his sister, who knows who cares, right? Those people never really get past their true nature. God only knows what sort of the drugs the baby is withdrawing from.”
I rear back in shock. I don’t think about hiding my reaction.
“Matthew, I know we have to work together, and that I owe you professional courtesy, but you don’t know me well enough to talk to me like this. Nor should you be talking about your co-worker with me this way. I don’t know what compelled you to come to my office to explain.” I put the last word in sarcastic air quotes, “but I really don’t want to hear any more.”
I look back to my computer and continue without looking at Matthew. “I’ve got a ton of action items from our meeting to deliver before tomorrow, so I’m going to get started. See you later.”
I ho
pe Matthew knows he has been dismissed and doesn’t say another word as he leaves my office. No such luck.
“Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just trying to let you know he’s bad news. I don’t want you to get caught up in all that stuff. I can tell you haven’t been around people like him - you know, with his background - before.”
I am enraged on Simon’s behalf. I know people often can’t tell, but my mother is black, and I can’t believe the way Matthew just disparaged Simon because of his heritage. And the way he cavalierly divulged something so private about Simon to someone who is, as far as he knows, a total stranger.
What a dick.
At the same time, he is my client, I can’t afford to do anything to damage this relationship. My career is the thing I care about most. I remind myself of that as I look back at him and smile.
