Bond Girl. Erin Duffy
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for the alleged purpose of team bonding. It left from Chelsea Piers and cruised around the island of Manhattan. Oddly enough, a chance to share horror stories with my peers, others who understood how brutal it was to be the new person on the desk, sounded heavenly.
Since Chick would sooner gnaw off his own hand than spend an evening stuck on a boat with a bunch of insignificant kids, he was sending someone else as his representative.
“Boat cruise tonight?” Chick asked, as he chugged a soda.
“Yeah, I have to leave at five thirty. I hope that’s okay.”
“It’s fine. Reese will be there. Have a good time.”
Great. Swine Guy was coming. I had purposely avoided him since my first day. He scared me. “Thanks. I’m sure I will.”
At the yacht, two waiters clad in white dinner jackets and black bow ties were standing on either side of the entrance ramp holding trays of wine. Not a bad greeting as far as I was concerned. There was a DJ spinning a bunch of pop radio classics loud enough for everyone else on the pier to stop and gawk. I saw a few familiar faces from my training class, but I didn’t know any of the investment banking interns. There were probably fifty or sixty first-year analysts in the entire firm, but I decided to only talk to the ones in sales and trading because we would be able to discuss the difficulties of adjusting to life on a trading floor. At least we had that in common. I took a glass of white wine and approached my fellow freshman Cromwellites, all of us united in our inadequacy. Or so I hoped.
“Hi, guys!” I chirped as I joined a conversation. I meant “guys” literally. They were. Every single one of them.
“Hey,” a few muttered, barely acknowledging my existence.
“What’s up? It’s been a bizarre two months, hasn’t it? The folding chair is just crazy.” The group shot me inquisitive looks, as if I had just confessed that I had been beamed up by an alien spacecraft.
“A folding chair?” one of the more vocal analysts asked. “You’re joking, right?”
“No! Wait, you guys don’t have to sit on folding chairs?”
“No. I have a desk. Don’t you, Dan?” a guy named Adam asked.
“Of course,” Dan responded. “How could you not have a desk, Alex? That’s humiliating. What in God’s name do you do all day if you don’t even have a computer?”
I suddenly felt like I was in the middle of one of those dreams where you show up to class naked.
“There … well, the thing is, at the moment … there … wait. You guys seriously all have seats?” It never occurred to me that being deskless wasn’t customary.
“Yeah, Alex, we really do. Clearly your group doesn’t think you deserve one. Sucks to be you. So, anyway, are you guys going to the Yale-Harvard game this season?” Dan asked the others, none too subtly excluding me from the conversation. I skulked to the stern, leaned against the rail, and stared at the Statue of Liberty as we cruised up the Hudson River. I was isolated, an outcast among my peers. I overheard a few conversations other analysts were having, each trying to prove that he had a more important role, a better boss, a desk that made more money. I wasn’t going to play that game, mostly because I was pretty sure I would lose. I decided a better course of action was to keep munching on appetizers at the railing with my good friend, Lady Liberty.
I was halfway through my third mini BLT when someone pulled my ponytail, yanking my head backward. I turned to see Reese with a big smile on his face, and a shrimp in his hand.
“This spot taken, Girlie?”
“Nope. No one else back here except for me and the swine.”
“The what?” He leaned his elbows on the railing so that we were closer to eye level. Reese must have been six foot four, and it was hard to hear him what with the noise of the wind and the boat engine, not to mention the din from the idiots bragging about the many feats of intellectual strength they’d performed over the past two months.
“Remember the day I started? You asked me if I fancied the swine. I’m a big fan of the swine. I just wanted you to know.” I held up the remaining half of my bacon lettuce and tomato sandwich.
Reese started laughing and patted me on the head. “I forgot about that! I like to unnerve the new kids right away. It’s my idea of a personality test. If you had gotten all huffy on me, I never would have talked to you again, you see? With girls especially, you gotta know what you’re dealing with if you want to stay out of trouble. Good job. So far, you’re okay with me.”
“Thank God! I’m Alex, but my friends call me Girlie,” I said, as I extended my hand, feeling comfortable for the first time since stepping foot on the boat.
He laughed again. “Well, hello there, Girlie. You can call me Reese. How are you liking Cromwell so far?”
“I love it.”
“Really? No one’s given you a hard time?”
“Nope! I’m having a ball. Everything is great.”
“Bullshit,” he replied with a smirk. “Don’t lie to me on the first date, sugar. I only have room in my life for one woman who lies to my face, and I’ve already got a wife.” He held up his left hand and shook his ring-clad finger.
I didn’t think complaining was a very good idea. So I stayed silent.
“I’m not letting you leave until you give me an honest answer, sugar. How are you liking Cromwell?”
He was serious.
“Well, I’m just worried that maybe I’m not doing enough or that people don’t like me. I don’t want to be annoying. I’m supposed to be asking everyone questions, but also staying out of the way. That’s kind of hard to do considering I don’t have my own desk yet.” There, I said it. Now I probably should just throw myself overboard.
“Why do you think people don’t like you?” Reese chuckled. “Let me tell you something. If people didn’t like you, you’d know it. You should ask some of the other kids what their time at the firm has been like, and then you’ll see how nice people are really being.”
“I was just talking to some of the other analysts and I’m the only one who has to sit on a folding chair. It sounds like they have real work to do, and so far I really haven’t been able to do anything except help Drew and a couple of others with a few things.”
“Is that why you’re standing over here by yourself instead of mingling with the other rookies?”
“Sort of.”
“Ahhh. I see. And obviously, you believe everything they’re saying.”
“Well, yeah, why would they lie?”
“Because they’re guys,” he said, without hesitation. “I talked to one guy who’s such a tool he doesn’t even realize that his team is ripping on him. I’d feel bad for him if I didn’t think he was such a prick after talking to him for two minutes.”
“Who?” I asked, eager to discover which Ivy Leaguer wasn’t quite as impressive as he claimed.
“That guy, the one in the orange shirt. You know him?” Reese pointed to the gaggle of analysts.
I looked over and was not at all surprised to see Adam holding court. Still.
“Oh yeah. I know him,” I said. “He went to Princeton. And just in case anyone doesn’t know he went to Princeton, he name-drops about his eating club, wears at least one orange item every day, and carries a duffel bag with a giant tiger’s head on it. He has a huge ego.”
“Sugar, if you don’t like big egos, you’re in the wrong industry. I’m going to cheer you up though. Watch this. Hey, Tony the Tiger! Come over here.” Reese waved to Adam, whose face lit up like a hundred-watt bulb as he realized that Reese wanted to speak with