Up & Out - Ariella Papa [62]
“Not really.” He gives me the number of an attorney who helped him negotiate a deal two networks ago. It’s worth a shot, I guess.
“Okay, well I’ll figure something out. Hang in, okay.”
“Okay, bye.” I hang up and Jen rushes over to give me a hug.
“I can’t believe this.”
“It was your uncle that did it,” Janice says, and I shake my head at her.
“Hackett was just going along with it.” I start to print things out that I hadn’t taken, while listening to Janice, John and Jen talk about how much this sucks. I am glad to be leaving with so many people thinking it’s wrong. I just want to be done with everything and never see this place again.
“Do you want to go out for a drink?” Janice asks.
“Or five,” John adds.
“No, I think I just need to get home.”
“Do you need us to help you?” Janice asks. I have this feeling they think I’m going to slit my wrists or something.
“Yeah, I can carry whatever you need home,” John says.
“Honestly, I’m fine. I’ll grab a cab. It’s all good.”
“I can send stuff to you on Monday,” Jen says.
“Okay,” I say. “That’s good. I’ll give you whatever I can’t take now.”
“We should let her be alone for a while,” Janice says.
“But call us if you need us,” John adds.
They leave my office and I worry that they need more comforting than I do. Maybe I’m not seeing the whole picture, but I just need to get through this hour and then I will let myself react however I need to.
I say goodbye to them on the way out. They still seem upset and keep trying to get me to go out for a drink. I give Jen a bag of tapes and scripts and give everyone a hug. I fear Jen is the one who is handling it the worst, because Hackett was involved.
I get into the elevator and two of Don’s team members are in there talking about me and looking upset.
“Are you all right?” one of them asks.
“Yes, thanks.”
“Don told us. It really sucks.”
There are a ton of people I will never get to know and these two guys are two of them. How will I ever meet anyone if I don’t have a job? Will I wind up on the street? No, I just need to get out of here.
I stop on the human resources floor in order to drop off my ID card so I can’t break into the building.
I am certain you will do this all with the dignity I have always known you to exhibit, the human resources guy said when he told me I had an hour to clear out. I don’t think we had ever had a conversation before that except when I wanted to find out if my dentist was covered in my insurance plan.
I could take a cab, but then realize I should start saving money. Although I deserve a cab, I take the subway and regret it instantly because it is so muggy down there that I get a headache. I get dirty looks from people because of my big box. In New York, big boxes and bags on the subway rank with golf umbrellas on the sidewalks. You just shouldn’t go there.
I look up at an ad for the NYC Teaching Fellows that says, “Nobody ever goes back ten years to thank a middle manager.” No, they certainly don’t.
My shirt is drenched in sweat by the time I get outside again. I am panting as I walk up the five flights to my apartment, but all the while grateful that I moved in here when I had the chance. I might have slit my wrists if I had to worry about $2,500 a month on my own.
Tommy is—can you guess?—on the couch playing the Spider-Man game. Last night he opened another level, so now he has the fever. He shouts hello. I drop my box in the hall. We need an air conditioner. We will not last the summer at home together without it.
“It’s hot out, huh?” he asks, glancing up at me. “What did you do, walk home?”
“I got fired.” He actually stops (not pauses) the game and stands up.
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t know,” I say. Then I sit on the floor and start to cry.
Tommy buys an air conditioner first thing Saturday morning. It’s there when I wake up. He is off for the weekend and I hear him calling all the guys he was going to have over for some kind