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Chapter Seven
Vicky
I can’t believe how close I came to signing it all away. Henry is smart. And he’s willing to play dirty. It’s sink or swim, now, and I need to swim.
I’m a little bit scared. Last time I tried to swim, I drowned.
But I’m in it now. The ultimatum has been offered and yanked away. The only alternative is running away with my tail between my legs. And what kind of example is that to Carly?
April agrees to become my assistant. I don’t think it’s out of any real loyalty to me—I don’t have illusions of her being my ally now or handing me secret strategies. April is a Girl Scout whose allegiance belongs to Locke Worldwide. She seems to think that if I understood what they’re all about, I’d love Locke Worldwide, too.
We visit different offices in the Oz-like glass building, gathering things for the packet, and then I take her out to a French bistro and grill her on how the board works and what the people are like. She’s smart. Straightforward. I like her and her Princess Leia hair.
I give her the rest of the day off and head home with the packet she put together for me. It’s a sheath of bylaws as thick as my thumb, along with some smaller envelopes, one of which contains a credit card and activation instructions.
In another I discover a check for seventy-five thousand dollars, one month’s pay for being on the board.
I stare at it a long time. April told me I was getting it, but I’m still shocked it was just sitting in there. I take it out and hold it up to the light, as if that will tell me something. Is this really the check? Like maybe it’s a piece of paper announcing the coming of the check, mentally preparing me, so I don’t keel over out of shock. It seems like there should be more fanfare around a check that large, like it should be brought in on a satin pillow amid a heraldry of trumpets.
But of course it’s real. I don’t waste any time, because I still feel like Henry could yank it all away from me at any moment. He’s probably working on it right now, spinning plans and sharpening swords.
I get right on the bus and head down to my bank. I hand it over to the teller expecting her eyes to pop out of her head at all the zeroes. Or maybe she has to call somebody over. But she just puts it in. I’ve asked for $600 cash back. She asks if I want that in fifties. I nod, waiting for an alarm to blare or something.
Instead I get the cash.
I have the account number of Carly’s meager little college fund. I load in fifty thousand plus a chunk of my Etsy savings. It’s something for Carly that nobody can take away—not even Henry.
Maybe that sounds paranoid, but it’s not paranoid if you went through what I did. Rich men have a different set of laws, and sometimes they can bend reality.
I take the cab home, feeling excited and scared. I have so much money still left, it boggles my mind. I’m thinking about the people I could help. Mostly I’m thinking about this makers space I belong to. It’s a shared workshop in a shitty, run-down section of Brooklyn. They have kilns, blowtorches, soldering irons, circular saws, industrial sewing machines, that sort of thing, and struggling artisans like me rent space there.
My mind races with ideas for all the pieces I could buy from my friends there, how much that would help them out. Henry Locke couldn’t take that money back, either.
I smile. I feel strangely alive.
It’s not just the money or helping my friends at the makers space; it’s something about sitting in that boardroom fighting Henry. Something got stirred up; I don’t know what.
Carly gets home and asks how it went.
“It was amazing,” I say.
“They were nice?”
“Complete assholes. Especially Henry, the leader of the pack. One of the biggest jackasses I ever met. He tried to fool me into voting against my own wishes, but I didn’t.”
I think back on his words. Baring his belly for the superior predator. Begging for mercy. And the way he smiled when he said it. It’s the first time I noticed he has dimples, and they’re lopsided—one deeper than the other. Like one dimple gets more excited.
“Uh! Such a jerk!” I say.
“But you didn’t vote against yourself?”
“Hell no.” I look her in the eye—I need her to hear me on this. “When people come at you, you have to stand up for yourself. Nobody will fight for you quite like you will fight for you.”
I want it again.
I’m already thinking about the next board meeting. It’s next Tuesday, and I plan to be ready.
I should be working on my line for my Saks meeting. I have five days left and need drawings for demure little hoops to go with the small necklace set. I should be thinking about soldering the mock-ups, but instead I pull out Locke Companies materials.
