Moondance by Karen M. Black Page B

Laphroaig?” The bartender nodded. “A double please. On the rocks.”
    She looked around at the people, now strangers, who would become part of her world for the next two years. A man with coffee colored skin and black plastic glasses held out his hand. Althea took it. His palms were soft and slightly moist and he squeezed her hand tightly, two quick pumps. She squeezed back. They had to lean into each other to hear. His name was Rasheed and he squinted slightly as he spoke.
    “Have you met your group yet?”
    “No. You?”
    “Two of them.”
    Althea paid the bartender for her scotch and pushed a few coins over the bar as a tip.
    “They say that we’ll be at each other’s throats by mid-term,” the man said. Althea nodded, sipping the sweet, smoky scotch.
    “So I’ve heard.”
    Most of the first year MBA assignments were group work. From what she’d heard, managing the combination of personalities, egos, and demands of group work could be the most challenging part of the MBA program.
    “What’s your background?” Rasheed asked.
    “Advertising. For now. And you?”
    “Bachelor of Commerce, and Masters in Economics from U of London.” His eyes flickered up and over her shoulder.
    “I have a few friends who went to Western,” Althea said. Tori had done her undergrad at the University of Western Ontario in London.
    “London, England . I worked in financial services there for two years.”
    “Interesting. Do you know what you want to do when you’re done?”
    “Investment banking all the way. I’m going to do my CFA at the same time.” Certified financial analysts were licensed to trade stocks for individuals and institutions. Investment banking was a lucrative career in which seven-figure salaries were commonplace.
    Rasheed was nodding, his eyes wandering. “I figure I might as well blow my brains out. Get all the schooling done now, then I can start making some real cash.”
    “Makes sense. I haven’t decided yet. I’ll probably —”
    “Stan the man!” Rasheed exclaimed, turning away from Althea to slap a preppy Val Kilmer look-alike who was grinning and holding a Guinness. Althea backed away from the bar and turned to face a lean, tanned woman with short-cropped hair and thin lips. She looked like an aerobics instructor.
    “I’m Trisha.” Trisha’s handshake was cool and dry.
    “Althea.”
    “I think you’re in my group.” Trisha held a glass of white wine close to her chest. Althea noticed a white metal ring on her hand. Trisha wasn’t an aerobics instructor. Trisha was a professional engineer.
    That night Althea met three of the people in her first year group. Trisha was a mechanical engineer who wanted to get into management. Hermann was a software developer who wanted to start his own firm. Tony was a group insurance sales rep on the executive track. Two group members were absent that night: Celia, in the process of moving from Europe, and Michael, an accountant.
    Group D drank together and laughed. Their discussions were a communion of well-chosen stories on well-contemplated topics such as education, career experience, grades, GMAT scores, their previous jobs, idiot bosses, financial aspirations and overseas travels. Beneath it all, the low-level hum of competition lingered, with an unspoken understanding: they would work together, they would rely on each other, and their own objectives would remain paramount.
    As the night wore on, the alcohol took effect, and Kevin and Tori felt further and further away. Althea’s ambition and desire for success was taking root. As she talked, she re-envisioned her life: the career, the title, the success, the travel, all dedicated to build ing, growing, making money.
    Creating security.

    • • •

    JUST AFTER MIDNIGHT, ALTHEA stepped outside to get some air. A man leaned against the wall, smoking, blending in with the brick. When her eyes adjusted, she could make out angular features, fair hair and rectangular glasses. He caught her