Show Her The Money. Stephanie Feagan
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never wanted anything but for you to be happy, Whitney, and I feel bad for you because this has all been so awful. You deserve a break, and a fresh start.” Dropping her arms, she stepped back and gave me a funny look. “You don’t seem very fired up about this.”
Sighing, I shoved my hair behind my ears. “I’m sorry, Mom. This is really great of you, but it’s a crummy feeling to know the only job I can get is a mercy job with my mommy. It’s humiliating. And it makes me so mad, because I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong, yet I’m being punished.”
“It won’t always be like this. When you’re all done with the finance committee and everything’s over, people will begin to see you in a different light. You’ll be able to get back the respect you’re missing right now.”
I mustered a smile and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Thanks, Mom. I love you, too.”
She patted my arm, then nodded toward the doorway. “Come on and meet Gert. She’s the senior manager in charge of staffing and human resources.”
We walked across the hall and she introduced me to a dumpy woman who didn’t smile and stared at me like I was something she’d scrape off her shoe.
“Gert will get you all set up,” Mom said as she turned to leave. “Come see me when you’re done and we’ll talk more.”
The woman continued to stare at me hostilely and I sat down, trying to think of something personal to say to make the awkward moment go away.
I was forming a few questions in my mind, like “Hey, Gert, how long you lived in Midland?” or “Yo, Gert, love that blouse, you clever thing, and I’ve always wanted a blouse with little numbers printed all over it,” when she asked in a husky, manly voice, “What do you know about forensic accounting?”
I looked at Gert, in her pathetic blouse, with her pathetic glasses and mousy hair and grim reaper face, and thought, no way in hell she was gonna treat me like a first year staff, like a newbie, fresh out of college, without a clue.
Sitting up straighter, I cleared my throat and gave Gert my very best I’m A Professional With Balls Of Steel look. “Having worked as an auditor the past eight years, I can’t think forensic accounting will be much of a stretch.”
Gert made an odd noise, a cross between a grunt and blubbery thing with her lips. Obviously, she had no faith in my abilities. “Jane needs someone to work with Sam who is dedicated, fair and honest.”
Her emphasis on the word “honest” made me mad, but I had a feeling she intended it to, so I calmly nodded and agreed with her. “No doubt, that’s why she hired me.”
“All of her reasons to the contrary, I believe she hired you because you can’t get a job anywhere besides Burger King.”
“Why is my employment here any of your business? Did my mother make you a partner in this firm?”
That hit a nerve, and it dawned on me, she was afraid Mom would eventually make me a partner and leave her in the dust. A part of me felt sorry for her because she saw me as such a threat, but another part of me thought Gert needed a few lessons in diplomacy, politics and the subtle application of cosmetics. No doubt she was freaking brilliant, or Mom wouldn’t hold her in such high regard, but if she wanted to run with the Big Dogs, she was going to have to make some changes.
I’d known lots of accountants just like Gert. Miserable, bitter people, always clawing for a leg up, never getting that old saying that one wins flies with honey, not vinegar.
With her lips pursed together as if she’d just swallowed a cup of vinegar, she stared at me with blatant dislike. “We have a very strict policy about time. Jane doesn’t like to eat time. If we can’t bill it, she eats it.”
“Yes, I’m aware of billable time.”
“And we expect you to be punctual. Office hours are eight in the morning until five in the evening, except during tax season, when everyone stays until eight and works Saturdays.”
Remembering some audits when me and my staff stayed at a client’s office for four days straight, around the clock, I almost laughed at Gert, sounding so, “Hey, this is a tough job and you’re obviously a wuss and a Mama’s girl, so you better get ready for some long hours.” Almost laughed. Maybe I would have, if I hadn’t been ready to chuck an eraser at Gert’s head.
“And lastly, you’re to have no contact with clients unless you okay it with me first. You may say something that the firm could be held liable for.”
Okay, that was it. I’d had enough. Standing, I looked down at Gert and said, “Should I raise my hand when I want to go pee? Do I need a permission slip to leave for lunch?”
Gert narrowed her already squinty eyes and looked up at me through slits. “There is no one on earth I respect more than Jane Pearl, and I’m not going to sit by and let you take advantage of her. I’ll be watching, and if you screw up, even once, I have permission to fire you. Now, do you want to have a seat and let me go over the procedure, or would you care to give up now and go look for another job?”
Sinking down to the chair, I thought about my ex-boss, Lowell, and the Marvel execs, and wished I could line them up in front of a firing squad. They were all still lunching at The Mansion, taking off for a weekend in Santa Fe, enjoying life in Dallas, where there was live music and art films and bars that served nothing but martinis, while I was taking orders from a battle-ax named Gert. It was so unfair and everything in me railed against it. How was it that I did the right thing but was the one to suffer?
I slumped back in the chair and wished I’d majored in something like basket-weaving. Of course, knowing my luck, I would have gone to work for a guy who smuggled drugs in his baskets, and still been faced with the whole whistle-blower thing.
“Okay, Gert. Lemme have it.”
For the next thirty minutes, Gert droned on about workpaper referencing and professional etiquette and office procedure and some other accounting stuff that I pretty much tuned out. I will admit, even though I hated Gert, the CPA, I felt really sorry for Gert, the woman. I wondered why she dressed that way, and wore her hair in that awful bun, and had on no makeup. Makeup was invented for women like Gert. She looked to be maybe midthirties, and she wore no wedding ring, so I assumed she was a lonely old maid whose work was her life.
I refused to think of myself that way. It scared the hell out of me.
Finally, she wound it up, then took me around to meet the other staff, who all seemed friendly enough, whether because they were sincere, or because the Big Cheese was my mom, I couldn’t be certain. I supposed it didn’t make much difference.
Although I wasn’t able to meet my new boss, Sam, because he was in court all afternoon, that was fine by me. Dressed in a wrinkled skirt and a navy cotton top, I was not at my best.
While I got the nickel tour with Gert, a client came to see Mom, so I was told to wait in one of the empty cubicles in the bull pen until she was available. Gert looked happy to be rid of me and left me there without another word.
Very tired and thirsty after a six-hour drive and a run through the rack line with Gert, I went to the break room for a Coke. On the way back to the cube, I noticed the light was on in what I’d thought to be an empty office. I walked past and glanced inside and saw a tall, meaty guy who was a dead ringer for Sammy Hagar.
He had to be a senior, or a manager, since he was in a real office with real walls, but he was dressed in jeans and a Hawaiian shirt. Not standard Midland CPA issue slacks, dress shirt and tie. He was tan and his blond hair was long and wavy, in a ponytail. I’m serious when I say he looked like Sammy Hagar.
I went to the break room a couple more times during the next hour and always shot a look at Sammy, but I couldn’t ever get a good enough look to decide if he was hot, or just interesting because of the Sammy Hagar thing.
Finally, Mom’s client left and she waved me into her office. I shoved some files aside