Carly Sevens
I didn’t sleep a wink. I tossed and turned, and in the end, gave up on my bed and went into the kitchen for warm milk. I was a hot mess by the time the others appeared for breakfast. I was having a small crisis, all of my own making. One minute I’d decided to fuck college off and head for home, but then talked myself out of that because it seemed such an extreme reaction. Then I figured I’d drop out of the program, but I knew my parents would be disappointed and I’d be disappointed in myself. Then I went the other way, the ballsy, angry way, that had me wanting to hunt him down and best him and his attitude.
“You look like shit,” I heard from behind me. Sascha was not wrong. If I looked half as bad as I felt, I must have looked shocking. “You feeling okay?”
“Rough night is all.”
“I heard you pulled Griggs in the program.”
“Excuse me?” I fired back quickly, causing her to turn to see why I’d answered sharply.
“The news of your defiance after your mentor announcement travelled quickly.” I watched as she placed a fresh filter in the coffee pot. “What was that about? There’s others who would switch places with you in a heartbeat.”
My grunt in reply caused her to look over me like I was a newly discovered variety of freak.
“I’d better get my ass into gear.” I left her in the kitchen, and could hear my cell ringing as I got closer to my room. It was Xavier, who had tried calling at least five times, and as I was debating whether to call him back, a voicemail alert appeared in the window.
“Hey, friend, you remember promising to have dinner with my parents? They’re in town so it’s tonight. Be ready for 6pm. We’re meeting them before they head to the theatre. Don’t let me down. I’m counting on you.”
I threw my cell on my bed in frustration. Clearly today wasn’t going to get any better. A full day of studies, my first enforced mentoring session with Jack, and then dinner with Xavier’s parents, who he didn’t speak that highly of. Why did I get myself into these messes?
* * *
I operated on half speed during my classes, feeling thankful that the subjects were ones I didn’t struggle with. I was so tired and grumpy that I had this invisible cordon around me that everyone seemed to naturally respect. Xavier hunted me out to confirm I’d got his message, and even though I told him I wasn’t really in the mood and I would be terrible company, he refused to take no for answer. So, by the time I got to my mentoring session with Jack, I was in the worst mood possible. I’d paid no attention to the study list he’d given me yesterday. It was still screwed up in the bottom of my backpack, and the textbook I should have made every effort to get hold of had been the last thing on my mind. In my heart, I knew I was trying to be as difficult as possible just to make him suffer like he was doing to me. The thought of being cooped up in a confined space with him was awkward—no, worse than awkward. It would be… there were no actual words it was that bad an idea. I hated the way my body reacted to him. He was everything it shouldn’t have wanted. I needed to find myself a real boyfriend and switch the part of my brain and body that was under Jack’s control off.
Under. His. Control.
We’d been together twice, but each time was like tasting amber nectar. I was seriously scared that finding another person in the world who could make me feel this way would be impossible.
What if Jack was it for me and we couldn’t be together? What if soul mates were real and I was destined for a life of loneliness because I couldn’t have mine?
He was just a guy who could switch it on and off, ruled by his dick, and I was a girl who needed that physical explosion that felt like true chemistry. What if I was left mourning the relationship I could never have and then I wasn’t able to find anyone else who could make me happy?
The fear of that looming in my future made me want to hate him all the more.
When I stood outside his crappy little office, knowing he was on the other side of the door, I felt the need to bottle up my rage and shake it like fizzy soda pop. I needed it just under the surface to help remind me that he could ruin me. As I raised my hand to knock, I felt the hairs on my arms and neck prickle and rise. “I was wondering how long that would take,” I heard from behind me.
“What would take?” I responded without turning around.
“For you to decide that you’re mature enough to see this through.”
The little jibe about my age pissed me off and I could feel my soda pop rage bubble just a little bit under its tightly screwed lid.
“It’s open. Go in and get comfy. Your first teaching is about body language and right now it doesn’t take a genius to interpret yours.”
When he said those words, I pushed out a hand to steady myself on the door. This was not what I’d signed up for. I was not going to let him screw around with my head and have fun at my expense. I’d tried to give him an out in the auditorium and that hadn’t made him happy either.
I stomped into the office and pulled out a new, unused pad and pencil. I wanted him to understand that I was here for the program and to learn whatever the dean thought he had to teach me. After fifteen minutes, he returned with two Styrofoam cups of coffee and placed one in front of me. “It’s from the staff room. It’s shit but you look like you need caffeine.”
“Thanks.” I popped the lid off and gently blew across the steamy top, fully aware that he was now sat opposite me, regarding me like I was some puzzle he needed to crack. His gaze was making me a little jittery.
“What do you want to be? What’s your education working towards?”
“An entrepreneur,” I told him, quickly gulping the hot coffee.
“Okay, interesting. This will be fun then. Do you appreciate that a person’s body language is an inbuilt reaction, something so integral that you shouldn’t have to think about it?”
I didn’t think about his question. I agreed and nodded, continuing my drink.
“Entrepreneurs take risks. They gamble. The decisions they make are only partly based on numbers and a calculator.”
I wasn’t sure whether it was the coffee or the conversation, but I was slowly becoming alert.
“What key characteristic do you think the top performing entrepreneurs have?”
I paused, thinking for a moment. “Understanding trends and the markets they’re about to invest in.”
“Wrong.” His rejection of my answer was swift and I nearly dropped my cup of coffee. “They all have a high level of emotional intelligence and because of that, they read themselves and others well. For that reason alone, showing your gut reaction will sabotage your success in business. Does that make sense?”
“Uh…”
“A successful entrepreneur will configure their own body language to get what they want and read that of others to get the best possible outcome.”
I let his words sink in and thought about the best and only real entrepreneur I knew—my grandpa Oli. He was a smart cookie and what Jack was saying was Oli Hart all over.
“So, when I say body language is important, you should believe me. People who take it seriously have the ability to recognize what unspoken words and signals can really mean during a conversation. In return, they monitor and control their own body language accordingly.”
For a brief second I had no idea whether we were talking about business anymore. The connotations of body language fit in every situation, especially the awkward one Jack and I had tripped over on a couple of occasions. Pushing all of that aside, I felt relieved that I was actually learning something and that this was interesting.
“Let’s look at your body language right now,” he said suddenly. “Slouching. It’s disrespectful and tells me you don’t want to be here.”
Even though he was a right with his comment, I couldn’t stop my body from straightening, feeling caught out or chastised.
“Imagine you’re at work. Would you ever say to your boss, ‘I don’t see why I should listen to you?’”
“Absolutely not,” I told him firmly.
Jack smiled at me. It was full of praise and pleasure that he was hooking me with this lesson. “I’m sure you wouldn’t, Carly, but by slouching, your body is saying it loud and clear for you. Tell me what does it mean when people say, ‘they own the room?’”
“It means that a person has presence.”
“That’s a basic answer. But if you think about it, it means so much more. It means that they are using up all the space available to them wisely. Physically, those people are taking up no more space than you in that room, but they are doing it with squared shoulders and a powerful stance. When you slouch, you take up less space and automatically take a lesser position, a backseat.”
Once again, I was back thinking about the way my grandpa dominated any room he stood in. My father was similar, but when I thought of the times grandpa and my dad were with Jack’s brother Jonas, it was stifling, like there would never be a room big enough to contain them all. When I attempted to sit up straighter in my chair, like someone had inserted a rod down the length of my back, he chuckled. His reaction didn’t deter me, though. I was desperate to appear bigger and own my part of this dingy office.
“Ah,” he smiled, “that, then, was what we call an exaggerated gesture. You’re now over reacting and that tells me that you could be trying to stretch the truth in the situation. What I’m saying is don’t slouch, but don’t over egg it either. There is a confident mid-point and that balance leads to small controlled gestures.”
I didn’t slouch back down. I retreated a little and he waited until I’d found what he was describing.
“Much better. Sum up what I’ve just told you.”
I reached forward for my cooled coffee, trying to stretch a bit of time out so I could think through my response. I noticed that his body posture had not changed once during our conversation.
“Business success is as much acquired business acumen as it is learning how to control yourself and read the level of control others have over their own bodies.”
“Great answer. You’re a fast learner, but we knew that.”
Another statement that could have a double meaning and I began to wonder if I’d always be trying to read into the subtext with him.
“What do ninety percent of the students who suffer through a lecture from old Watkins do during them?”
“Chat and play Candy Crush.”
“And?” he asked, expecting more. Jack waited for me to shrug and confirm I didn’t know the answer. “Clock watch. It’s another sign of disrespect and impatience. So, what does the old fucker do in return? He drags his lectures out. Watkins reads the body language of his audience and then plays his own games to remind you all who’s boss. When he sees your impatience turn to frustration, he’s won. Your ego deflates, he leaves with his intact and he’s still the boss.”
I felt like I was leaning in on his every word. This was exactly what the program was about, what students knew it could deliver. These were little insights and shots of brilliance that you couldn’t grasp fully from a text book. This was experience and mentoring in an unscripted way and that made the message sink in so much more solidly.
“Let’s go,” Jack said suddenly, and with that, he was up, walking round his desk and opening the door.