12
Bea
“How’s the job going?” Claire asked as the cab pulled off, driving us away from our latest breakfast meet-up. “Boss still being a prick?”
Although we’d avoided any touchy subjects during breakfast, I knew that this question was an offer to bring up anything I might want to confide in. Claire knew very well that my job at the legal aid office was the least of my worries, but bringing it up was a way of allowing me to swerve into a more serious topic if I wanted to.
“Yeah, the boss is still a struggle,” I replied. “I guess in the long-term it might be something to learn from; after all, who doesn’t encounter challenging bosses in their lifetime? But he’s such a pain, completely obsessed with protecting our clients—who just need to get away from abusive situations—but being so overhanded about it that he ends up making his staff ineffective.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “What a shock—a man who feels the need to dictate everything,” she said. “I’ve come across that type; they’re always made worse the more power they get.”
“You’re not wrong there,” I said. “Because of him, the team are advising prospective clients—who have a perfectly good legal case against their abusers—to hold tight and stay with the abuser, because he’s so resistant to taking any chances whatsoever with what the verdict might end up being. It will all come back to bite him someday, though for the time being it looks like it’s biting my thesis too.”
“But you can’t help what employer they’ve lumbered you with.”
“No, but I do need a good case of self-defense soon to please my college thesis advisor, and I can just see myself having to rush the thing.”
“So that’s why you’re in a gloomy mood, huh? Not because of them at all?”
By ‘them’, Claire was referring to the black car that was following, in which sat two agents who were now following my every move. Being watched over did feel like an intrusion, especially when I was with a good friend and supposed to be benefiting from relaxed company. Even so, I was less bothered by their presence than I was by the absence of another.
“I’m ignoring them a bit better than I thought I would,” I replied. “Being followed around by the Secret Service is a good excuse to feel self-important.”
Claire ignored my little joke. “And yet…?” she probed, encouraging me to get to the point.
“And yet…I think I might’ve actually found a good guy, and now it’s all screwed up,” I replied, no longer trying to cover up my sadness with irritation.
“Are you talking about Damon?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I just think we had such a great connection. And then I come home to find all this going on. How could I possibly find a way to see him now?”
“Of course, things that are unobtainable can often seem more desirable,” Claire said, with one eyebrow arched.
“Maybe, but it feels like I know my mind on this one.”
“For once,” she said.
“Ha. Because I love you, I’ll let you get away with that comment,” I replied, pretending to pull a strict face at Claire, who was failing to suppress a smirk. “I also feel so harsh for ending it like that,” I went on. “He deserved better than a crappy text. But what else could I do? They’re monitoring everything I say and do. Phone calls, emails, Facebook—all of it.”
“You only went on one date, Bea,” Claire said, patting me on the shoulder. “It can’t be that unusual for guys to hear that news after just one date. I’m sure he’ll get over it, and besides, if he knows you’re the daughter of the Governor, then he can’t be foolish enough to know it isn’t complicated.”
“One rule for me and another for everyone else,” I reflected, making it clear that I was fed up of politics making me an exception to every slice of normality the rest of my generation adhered to.
We could have went on, but just then the cab pulled up outside the women’s legal aid office where I was working, so I said goodbye to Claire and went inside. Just getting on with life was easier than sitting around and thinking about Damon and what we might have had, so I was intent on getting to my desk and losing my mind in as much paperwork and online files as I could. Maybe there would be an answer to my thesis issues along the way. A purposeful walk through the reception and toward my offices was interrupted by curiosity, however, when I turned to see a great procession of people trooping out of the conference room.
It looked like underlings of all levels had been called in—probably except for the unpaid part-time interns like me—and so I had to presume that something important had happened. When setting my eyes on one of the pleasant young staff members I got on well with, named George, I was able to beckon him over.
“Hey, George, what’s going on?” I asked as everyone else continued to file past us.
“You won’t believe it,” George replied, then revealed, “John’s been fired.”
John was the head of the legal aid office, and the very same man who’d been making everyone’s life difficult.
“Are you serious? John?”
“Yep. Turns out someone from up high wasn’t too happy about the quality of his work. So he got axed, right in front of everyone too.”
“How brutal!” I said. “I almost feel sorry for him.”
George responded with a knowing smile—his feelings towards the office head being very much mutual.
“The new boss is a woman named Felicia,” he said. “I think you met her once; she’s been a social worker up until now.”
“I think I vaguely remember her,” I replied. “Can’t say I really got the chance to talk to her much, though.”
“Well, we’ll certainly be getting to know her better now,” George replied. “There’s another meeting at the end of the day, so you’ll be able to catch up. I have a feeling she wants to talk to you about something.”
Clearly George must have heard something in the first meeting that concerned a new approach towards the role of those present in the office on work experience, like I was, but he didn’t say anything else right then, so I’d just have to wait to find out what was going on. I wondered if more might be revealed via email, or if the new head might visit me in person, but this Felicia woman must’ve been keen on not intruding on work patterns outside of meetings—one notable difference from the previous head already—and so I had to wait for the return to the conference room at the end of the day to find out more about what was happening.
When that time came, there was very little that directly concerned me, although I found a lot of it intriguing. An appreciation of the inner politics of the place had given me an insight into how change would be received; what points would be praised as liberating, and what would be complained about as absurd behind the new head’s back. I knew that everyone had their own perspective and thought their way was the right way, though I thought Felicia seemed very focused and on-the-ball. The meeting offered very little for me other than to assuage my curiosity, however, until it came to the end and she looked at me for the first time since our brief reintroduction at the beginning.
“Bea, would you be able to stay a moment?” she asked.
I nodded and remained seated while everyone else filed out of the conference room.
“I’ve heard really good things about your work and attitude,” Felicia began, putting me in the position of having to maintain a professional demeanor rather than glowing with delight. “All the other staff speak very highly of you,” she went on, “they’ve told me about your readiness to volunteer as a legal supervisor and desire to help clients for the better. That’s great to hear, Bea.”
“Thanks,” I replied, unsure of how much gratitude to show, as I didn’t want to seem like a total suck-up. “I think there are some great people that work here, and I’ve tried to learn as much as I can from them.”
“That’s come across, for sure,” Felicia said. “And it comes from a passion for the cause as well as the profession. Interns don’t always have both, unfortunately, so you’ve made a good impression. Of course, being the daughter of the Governor, your attitude and commitment was always going to come under a bit more scrutiny than usual.”
Ah. So that’s what this was about. My father, as always.
“I really do feel passionate about women’s protection issues,” I said. “It isn’t just that I want the standing of becoming a lawyer like my father was before he was the Governor.”
“I know,” Felicia replied, with a smile that helped me feel far more relaxed. “I understand that your father is running for President, which means you’re being followed everywhere?”
“That’s right.”
“I worried you might find it difficult to adjust to dealing with that on top of work. It’s a lot of pressure. So that’s why I wanted to talk to you, so hopefully you can feel that you can make the most of the rest of your time here without feeling too pressured.”
“Oh, thank you,” I said, a blush rising in my cheeks. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. It’s mostly just annoying being followed and having all my texts and emails monitored.”
“I can imagine. Anyway, what do you say to going for a coffee? You can tell me more about your studies and what you need. I hear you’ve been struggling a bit with your end-of-year thesis? I’m sure I can offer some help with it.”
“Thanks, that’d be great,” I replied.
I was flattered that Felicia was taking so much interest in my role at the office, but the meeting had told me that workforce development was something the company really needed to do better in future, and so appreciating a student’s perspective would be crucial for putting this in place.
We took a brisk walk to the nearest Starbucks just down the road. Felicia’s busy day after taking over as head sure made it obvious that she needed a coffee, but even so, she walked very quickly, and I almost struggled to keep up, feeling breathless at having to switch to such a hurried state of mind. Once the coffee was steaming away in front of us, matters relaxed a little, however.
“I suspect I’ll sleep well this weekend,” Felicia said with a grin.
“I can imagine,” I said, returning her smile. “And speaking of sleep, I think the last head of department just slept through the entire job.”
She snorted with laughter. “John? Yeah, I can’t believe he lasted as long as he did.”
I nodded. “I think you’ll be a much better fit for the job,” I said before taking a long sip of coffee. “I really liked the new policies you outlined in the meeting. They make a lot more sense than John’s old ones.”
“Thanks!”
I wasn’t sucking up; I was truly impressed by how sharp-witted and attentive the new head came across. It felt strange to draw an overall conclusion so quickly, but there was just something about her that fit and—knowing how the department’s affairs had been handled previously—I just knew that Felicia would be appreciated by the team if she put in even half of the effort it looked like she was capable of.
She was also surprisingly open about her personal life, even though we’d just met, which made me feel like I could talk to her about anything, even though she was my boss. As we drank our coffees, we chatted about why we were interested in women’s legal affairs, and our lives in general.
“So what exactly made you get into studying law?” she asked, raising an inquisitive brow at me.
“All my father’s work is carried out in the public eye,” I replied. “I guess I wanted to try to contribute as well but do some of the stuff that goes on unseen and away from the cameras.”
“You’re not looking to run for office one day, then?”
“No way,” I replied with a big shake of the head. Then, trying to resist going into all the reasons why I hated politics, I asked, “So how did you get into social work in the first place?”
“I wanted to bring the kind of help to people that we were missing growing up,” she said. “Too many children’s lives are ruined by their parents before they are even given a chance.”
“That’s true.”
“I’ve got personal experience with it, to be honest. My brother and I didn’t exactly have the greatest upbringing. My father was an alcoholic, prone to violence…you get the drift. Mom wasn’t much better.”
“Oh god…I’m so sorry,” I said, feeling a twinge of guilt. I often complained about my own upbringing and parents, but my struggles were nowhere near as bad as some of the things other people had gone through in their pasts.
She shrugged. “My parents are the ones who should’ve been sorry,” she replied, waving away the apology. “We left home when I was fifteen, my brother a year younger, after the abuse got so bad that our father went one step too far and our mother ended up in a body bag.”
My stomach roiled at the horrifying tale. “God, that’s awful. Did someone take you in?”
“Only temporarily. We survived partly by staying with friends but sometimes on the street. Somehow I managed to finish school—people say that shows inner strength but looking back I just think it was somewhere to go; a convenient distraction.”
“Well, if you can go through all that, you can run our department, that’s for sure.”
She gave me a rueful smile. “You know, I can just hear my Dad sometimes saying ‘What we did gave you character’, but I’m never going to accept that. I got by in spite of him and…well…that’s why I magnetized toward social work; to try and step in before it gets too bad.”
“I guess that answers my question about how you got into this line of work, then.”
“Yeah. Besides, I’d only have to mention my brother to throw it back in my Dad’s face if he ever tried to say that. He didn’t exactly make it.”
I paused in the process of lifting my coffee to my mouth, unsure what to say at hearing of such a tragic past. Felicia’s eyes suddenly widened, as if she’d just realized that she’d given the wrong impression.
“Oh, sorry, I don’t mean that,” she said. “He’s alive, it’s just that he didn’t make it out of that kind of life. He’s always been involved with gangs; all kinds of dodgy people.”
“Do you think it’s more difficult for boys? Avoiding that kind of life?”
“I don’t know. There are other things the streets try to push young girls into doing—but we won’t go into that. I think being the person he is means that my brother felt responsible for the murder. It wasn’t his fault in any sense, but he was only fourteen when all that happened, and young boys have that macho attitude about becoming a man and protecting their loved ones. I guess where we grew up, everything reflected on how tough you were if you were a boy. I think he’d get out now if he could, though, but once they made him part of the lifestyle, it was never going to be that simple.”
Listening to Felicia’s story, I really felt that some of my own troubles were being put into perspective. I couldn’t even imagine going through what Felicia had and not ending up a total wreck. My own motivations for taking up legal aid was because I cared, and I knew that this was in part to do with my own treatment at the hands of my father, but did emotional and occasional physical abuse as part of a rich and privileged household really put me in a position of understanding the odds that the average person faced?
I very much doubted it.
It was Felicia who brought our discussion to a close, stating that she had to leave. I’d enjoyed our talk, but at the same time, I was relieved, seeing as my Secret Service buddies were lingering at the door and clearly wanted me to wrap things up.
“Well, thanks for the chat, Bea,” Felicia said. “I’ll see you in the office.”
“Yeah, you too,” I replied. “Thanks for the coffee!”
She bid her goodbye and got up to leave. As she did so, her cell phone rang and as she headed to the exit, I happened to overhear her answering.
“Hey, Damon, I’ll be there at around seven.”
Although I was getting up to leave, the name ‘Damon’ succeeded in making me pause and consider the unlikely possibility that Felicia might know my Damon. Well, he wasn’t mine, but he almost had been.
I quickly brushed the thought aside. Damon was a relatively common name, and I was being ridiculous—there must have been lots of Damons in Florida, and my brain was only taunting me by taking every opportunity to remind me of him. I needed to try and forget about it; after all, Claire had been right earlier—we’d only been on one date, and while it had been amazing, it couldn’t happen again.
Now if only I could get him off my mind…