And she did get me fired in the first place. Not that I’m angry. I hated being in the hospital anyway.
And I shouldn’t worry. If LWBS claims to be gender blind then they shouldn’t care about my lie if I ever got caught.
Yeah, right.
I try to stop worrying and pay attention instead.
After the lecture, Layla runs to the podium to thank Ms. Grand for her inspiring speech. I approach the two of them just as Layla is whipping out her checkbook.
“I’d like to make a donation,” she says, scribbling.
“I certainly didn’t expect to fund-raise at a women’s business panel,” Danielle says. She glances at Layla’s check and looks astounded. “Wow. Thank you. The Girls Group sincerely appreciates your overwhelming generosity. Have you ever considered a career in nonprofit?”
“Me?” Layla says. “No.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m in Mergers and Acquisitions.”
“So was I,” she says, and smiles. “Here’s my card. If you ever want to volunteer, or perhaps apply for a summer job, call me.”
We say goodbye and leave the auditorium. How cool is Layla? “That was nice of you to give a donation,” I say.
“Yeah? I thought I’d feel good, but now I feel worse for some reason. It would be fun to work somewhere where I felt I was making a difference. And not just…you know.”
“Making a fortune? Why don’t you apply for a summer job with them, then?”
She laughs. “Yeah, right. I’m a banker. I’ve worked at banks for the last three years. I’m majoring in Finance. My parents are bankers. I’m going to be a banker. Maybe all I need is an extracurricular activity, like bridge or square dancing. Only something I can be passionate about.”
I want to tell her she’s welcome to be passionate about me, but I hold my tongue.
layla gets the job done
Wednesday, November 26, 4:50 p.m.
Print! Print! Come on, come on, you can do it!
I have precisely ten minutes to print out my Economics assignment and haul butt to the Katz building. It’s four-fifty. Rothman wants the assignment by five, and he warned us to get it in on time because he’s leaving for Thanksgiving. Why did I have to be so nitpicky? I’ve been working on it for months. What if I’m too late? What if I don’t make it? All week classes have been empty because everyone else was working like crazy to finish. I showed up and now I’m going to fail? Where is the justice in that?
Print! Print! Page three pops out. Five more to go!
I don’t see why Rothman doesn’t let us e-mail our assignments. Why must he make my life difficult?
Print! Print! Two pages left!
I ram my feet into my shoes (no way to treat Prada loafers) and do up my coat. Then I double-check his office number. Six twenty-four. No problem. Time check: 4:54 p.m.
Yes! The final page is done. I slam it into the stapler, and run.
I pass Kimmy in the hallway. “Hey, Layla,” she says. “Where are you going?”
“To hand in Economics,” I say on the move.
“How’d you find the Stats midterm?” she asks quickly.
“I failed for sure,” I answer, and hit the stairs two at a time, and then sprint over to Katz. Stats was impossible. My paper flaps in my hand. I heave open the door to the building. I shimmy between the elevator doors as they’re closing and thump the sixth-floor button. Two students are inside, and they seemed to have already pressed the second and fourth floor.
Current time: 4:59. Crap!
The elevator stops at the second floor and a woman in a parka slides out. All right, let’s go, off to four. But then the elevator jerks and stops at three. No! A man in a suit steps in and presses…five. Oh, come on, give me a break. This is crazy. Are the Fates conspiring to make me late?
By the time we hit the sixth floor, it’s 5:07 and I’m late, I’m late, I’m late. I gallop to his office and-what if he left, what if I fail, what if my entire career is over because of this one useless paper-I stop. His door is open. His lights are on. I hear two men laughing inside.
My heart is still racing from the run. I poke my head around the door.
Jamie is leaning against the wall. “Well, hello there, Layla. We were wondering if you forgot.”
“Hi, Jamie. Hi, Jon. Sorry I’m late, sir.” I deposit the paper on his desk.
“Hi, Layla. Thanks for bringing it by. You see, Jamie, Layla still managed to make it to class this week even though there was a paper due. I suppose you were sick yesterday, but have since miraculously recovered?”
Jamie smirks. “You hit the nail on the head there, Jon.”
The professor laughs and looks directly into my eyes. “Layla, what are you doing this weekend?”
“Going home,” I say, and look away. He’s doing it again! Flirting with me!
“Have a good Thanksgiving, you two.”
I back out of the room. “Thanks, sir. You, too.”
Jamie waves goodbye and follows me into the elevator. “That guy has the hots for you.”
I blush. “Yeah?”
Jamie raises an eyebrow. But since he only has one, they both veer toward his bald spot. “Tall, dark and handsome not your type?”
“I don’t mix business with pleasure.”
He nods. “Still after your dream man?”
I sigh. “Yup.”
“Have you ever thought about dating someone that exists in real life and not just on paper?” he asks, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.
Enough already. “I told you. I’m not dating Professor Rothman. Too close for comfort.” I decide to change the subject. “I gave you a sex change on Friday.”
“You did?” He closes his eyes for a second and looks relieved. “Thanks. Much appreciated. Can I interest you in some dinner tonight? I’m not going home until tomorrow morning.” He hesitates. “I want to thank you properly.”
Aw. “You’re so sweet. It really wasn’t a big deal. But no, I’m taking the seven-o’clock train back to the city. I decided not to drive so I can start my reading for next week. And I haven’t packed yet.” The doors open, and I plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “Have a safe flight and a great weekend!” And then I bolt back to the Zoo.
russ returns to the land of the loonies
9:30 p.m.
I’m about to ring the doorbell, when I stop myself. Maybe I shouldn’t have come. What am I doing here? She’s going to be able to tell. My face will be like a blackboard with my illicit affair written all over it in fluorescent-yellow chalk. If only it could be like in Superman: The Movie and I could fly backward around the world to turn back time.
Truth is, I’m not even sure if I want to erase the experience with Kimmy. I like knowing that a sexy woman like Kimmy wants me.
I should tell Sharon what happened.
It’s freezing out here. Stupid Canadian winter. I press the bell once, twice, softly as though I’m not sure if I want her to hear.
She must have been waiting for me, because right away I hear the click of the door unlocking.
The soft, silky, short brown hair, the big smile. The perfect earlobes. Sharon. “You’re back!” she squeals, wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing me hard on the mouth.
Guilt and sadness surge through me, like I’ve just stuck my finger in an electrical socket of pain. I love her, and I always have. What did I do? “I’m back,” I say, attempting to keep my voice afloat. Can she tell?
She kisses me deeply and presses her body against mine. Apparently, no, she can’t. And I can’t tell her. She’d kill me. I can only tell her if I’m willing to lose her, and I’m not. Her tongue feels soft and squishy, like a pillow. I push her up against the door, and I explore under her shirt. My hands feel at home, like Clark Kent returning to Smallville.