do. In my mind that means I deserve to be a little demanding.”
“But I’m the best associate you have. I want to be judged by my work, not by how much I weigh.”
“Then grow a penis.” SuSu still didn’t understand that Portia had their best interests at heart. “Did you even try?”
“Yes, but—”
“How tall are you?” Portia knew the answer, but she wanted SuSu to come to terms with this herself.
“Five feet four.”
“Five feet four and one hundred twenty-seven pounds.” She leaned against the hard glass ridge of her desktop. “I’m four inches taller. Let’s see how much I weigh.” Ignoring the resentment in SuSu’s eyes, she slipped off her shoes and sweater, dropped the pearls on her desk, and stepped on the scale. “One hundred and twenty-two. I’m up a bit. Oh, well. No carbs for me tonight.” She stepped back into her shoes. “Do you see how easy it is? If I don’t like what I see on the scale, I cut back.”
SuSu collapsed on the couch, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m not you.”
Women who cried on the job reinforced every negative stereotype about females and the workplace, but SuSu hadn’t developed the hard shell of experience, and Portia knelt at her side, trying to make her understand. “You’re a terrific worker, SuSu, and you have a great future. Don’t let obesity stand in your way. Studies show that overweight women receive fewer job promotions and make less money. It’s one more way the business world is stacked against us. But at least our weight is something we can control.”
SuSu regarded her mulishly. “One twenty-seven isn’t obese.”
“No, but it’s not perfect, is it? And perfection is what we all need to strive for. Now go into my bathroom and take a few minutes to pull yourself together. Then get back to work.”
“No!” Red-faced, SuSu leaped to her feet. “No! I do a good job for you, and I don’t have to put up with this. I’m quitting.”
“Now, SuSu—”
“I hate working for you! Nobody can ever live up to your expectations. Well, I don’t care anymore. You might be rich and successful, but you don’t have a life. Everybody knows that, and I feel sorry for you.”
The words stung, but Portia didn’t flinch. “I have a very good life,” she said coolly. “And I won’t apologize for demanding excellence. Obviously, you’re not prepared to give it, so clear out your desk.” She walked to the door and held it open.
SuSu was crying and furious, but she didn’t have the nerve to say more. Clutching her dress in front of her, she rushed from the office. Portia closed the door carefully, making sure it didn’t slam, then leaned back and shut her eyes. SuSu’s angry words had struck home. By the age of forty-two, Portia had expected to have everything she wanted, but despite all the money she’d made and the accolades she’d received, the pride of accomplishment eluded her. She had dozens of friends, but no soul-deep friendships, and she had a failed marriage. How could that have happened when she’d waited so long and chosen so carefully?
Carleton had been her perfect match—a power match—urbane, wealthy, and successful. They’d been one of Chicago’s A-list couples, invited to all the best parties, chairing an important benefit. The marriage should have worked, but it had barely lasted a year. Portia would never forget what he’d said when he’d left. “I’m exhausted, Portia …I’m too worried about having my dick cut off to get a good night’s sleep.”
Too bad she hadn’t done just that because, three weeks later, he’d moved in with a bubble-headed twenty-three-year-old event planner who had breast implants and a giggle.
Portia splashed half a bottle of Pellegrino into one of the Villeroy & Boch goblets Inez kept by her desk. Maybe someday SuSu would understand what a mistake she’d made by not taking advantage of Portia’s willingness to mentor her. Or maybe not. Portia wasn’t exactly drowning
“But I’m the best associate you have. I want to be judged by my work, not by how much I weigh.”
“Then grow a penis.” SuSu still didn’t understand that Portia had their best interests at heart. “Did you even try?”
“Yes, but—”
“How tall are you?” Portia knew the answer, but she wanted SuSu to come to terms with this herself.
“Five feet four.”
“Five feet four and one hundred twenty-seven pounds.” She leaned against the hard glass ridge of her desktop. “I’m four inches taller. Let’s see how much I weigh.” Ignoring the resentment in SuSu’s eyes, she slipped off her shoes and sweater, dropped the pearls on her desk, and stepped on the scale. “One hundred and twenty-two. I’m up a bit. Oh, well. No carbs for me tonight.” She stepped back into her shoes. “Do you see how easy it is? If I don’t like what I see on the scale, I cut back.”
SuSu collapsed on the couch, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m not you.”
Women who cried on the job reinforced every negative stereotype about females and the workplace, but SuSu hadn’t developed the hard shell of experience, and Portia knelt at her side, trying to make her understand. “You’re a terrific worker, SuSu, and you have a great future. Don’t let obesity stand in your way. Studies show that overweight women receive fewer job promotions and make less money. It’s one more way the business world is stacked against us. But at least our weight is something we can control.”
SuSu regarded her mulishly. “One twenty-seven isn’t obese.”
“No, but it’s not perfect, is it? And perfection is what we all need to strive for. Now go into my bathroom and take a few minutes to pull yourself together. Then get back to work.”
“No!” Red-faced, SuSu leaped to her feet. “No! I do a good job for you, and I don’t have to put up with this. I’m quitting.”
“Now, SuSu—”
“I hate working for you! Nobody can ever live up to your expectations. Well, I don’t care anymore. You might be rich and successful, but you don’t have a life. Everybody knows that, and I feel sorry for you.”
The words stung, but Portia didn’t flinch. “I have a very good life,” she said coolly. “And I won’t apologize for demanding excellence. Obviously, you’re not prepared to give it, so clear out your desk.” She walked to the door and held it open.
SuSu was crying and furious, but she didn’t have the nerve to say more. Clutching her dress in front of her, she rushed from the office. Portia closed the door carefully, making sure it didn’t slam, then leaned back and shut her eyes. SuSu’s angry words had struck home. By the age of forty-two, Portia had expected to have everything she wanted, but despite all the money she’d made and the accolades she’d received, the pride of accomplishment eluded her. She had dozens of friends, but no soul-deep friendships, and she had a failed marriage. How could that have happened when she’d waited so long and chosen so carefully?
Carleton had been her perfect match—a power match—urbane, wealthy, and successful. They’d been one of Chicago’s A-list couples, invited to all the best parties, chairing an important benefit. The marriage should have worked, but it had barely lasted a year. Portia would never forget what he’d said when he’d left. “I’m exhausted, Portia …I’m too worried about having my dick cut off to get a good night’s sleep.”
Too bad she hadn’t done just that because, three weeks later, he’d moved in with a bubble-headed twenty-three-year-old event planner who had breast implants and a giggle.
Portia splashed half a bottle of Pellegrino into one of the Villeroy & Boch goblets Inez kept by her desk. Maybe someday SuSu would understand what a mistake she’d made by not taking advantage of Portia’s willingness to mentor her. Or maybe not. Portia wasn’t exactly drowning
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