Pure Slush

flash ... without the wank

Hamartia Lippincott

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Independence  >

by Anne E. Weisgerber


First there was a phone call in the middle of a meeting. The question being, should I let the waltz ringtone ride out, or should I fumble around and deal with it by disrupting the meeting and making for the hallway? I let it ride. Nobody I knew placed calls or left voicemails.

The meeting wrapped, I hailed a cab to take a half-hour break before returning to the office. Had to check out the sample sale on West 7th and pick up a cup of chia and berries at that deli next to the Starbucks for the ride back to the office. My phone was pinging and whistling and popping with analyst notifications and team updates all morning, but then I remembered that waltz.

Finally settled into a seat in the cab with some blousy summer tops, I swiped through missed calls. There was one mystery number, and then a text from the same: “Is this Marty’s phone?”

I texted back. “Who is this? Marty”

Within three minutes, a reply: “It’s Lauren Diaz. I just wanted to speak with you for a few minutes. It can wait. I want to make an apology for something that happened during my time at H+C with you.”

I remembered her. Ambitious, slutty, gossipy. Rapacious scheming turned the secretaries against her, and smart men followed suit. Ignorant of subtexts, even when I coached her. I’m sure this need to speak with me was precipitated by news of my landing the corner office at Diamond Roth. The question being: should I let it ride, or should I bite? I deleted her text, unanswered. Humility like hers would never last. 


published 9 March 2016