Chapter 22
There was hope and a sense of solidarity in the air, on this surprisingly dry, yet chilly November morning.
Izzy was on a high that came from thousands of women all marching together, and she had never experienced anything like it before.
There was a harmony about the crowd which organizers had estimated to be about 100,000 strong. They had started off on the corner of Columbus Avenue and 71st Street, moving slowly down Central Park West and then turning into Columbus Circle before heading towards Bryant Park.
It was a route she knew well.
They marched with a huge group of students from the college, and Izzy hoped something like this was a sign to the Shoemoneys of this world that it wasn’t acceptable to prey on women. That it wasn’t acceptable to touch and grope, in the workplace, in schools, and in gymnasiums, in swim squads, or behind the scenes at movie castings and fashion shows, thinking it was normal.
Because it wasn’t, and had never been, and somewhere along the line, a whole generation of men had grown up thinking it was, and a generation of women had grown up believing they were alone.
Stories such as this had been crawling out of the woodwork for months, and had given her strength, in light of what had happened to her. It gave her comfort, and made her stand straighter, to know that she was not alone.
She and Cara marched together, in unison, the collective energy building, the vibe in the air permeating each and every cell in her body.
They listened to speeches along the way, where women dreamt of a world where equal pay was possible, and not just a glass ceiling to aim for, a world in which harassment in the workplace, the smutty jokes and physical references, were a punishable offense, not just the stuff of locker room high fives, or boardroom handshakes.
For six hours they had walked and the procession had been peaceful, and friendly. It was easy to make friends surrounded by people who all shared the same values, dreamed the same dream and hoped for the same future.
It was only in the last hour of what should have been the end of a peaceful demonstration, that things turned ugly. She heard the commotion up ahead, and then what sounded like crackers going off. Women’s screams filled the air as people panicked and ran.
Izzy grabbed Cara’s arm and ran, as quickly as she could, fearful of being trampled on, as the crackers—someone shouted that they were gunshots—went off close by.
But just as they were about to push their way out of the thick crowd, Cara tripped and fell. “Get up!” Izzy screamed.
“I can’t!” Cara’s ghostly pale face stared up at her as she lay crumpled in a heap on the ground. “I can’t move my foot,” she groaned, her face twisting in pain.
“Get up,” Izzy urged. Covering her face, as people jostled and shoved past her and Cara. They had to get away before they were trampled. She put her arm around Cara’s neck then yanked her to standing. Supporting her body as best as she could, they limped to an alleyway, away from the crowd.
They cowered for what seemed like ages.
“Your face is all scratched,” Cara told her.
“I’m fine.” She stared down at Cara’s foot. “We need to get back.” But the sound of sirens suddenly filled the air and, in the next moment, police officers spilled out onto the streets like ants.
It was later, when they had been to the hospital and then returned home to watch it all on TV, that they learned how lucky they had been that Cara had only suffered a bad ankle sprain, and Izzy’s face had suffered a few cuts and grazes.
They’d gotten off relatively unscathed.
They had discovered, to their horror, that an angry ex-husband had come looking for his wife with a gun. He’d shot her, and left her in a critical condition in the ICU. A hater with so much hate that he’d wanted to put a bullet through the mother of his children.
~ ~ ~
He hadn’t bothered to call because he’d bought the damn thing and now he just wanted her to have it. He needed to focus on his proposal for Hennessy, not worry about fucking spreadsheets being in the wrong format.
This would fix that problem.
It had better do, or else …
He knocked a few times. Would have been here yesterday, but the goddamn streets were rammed. There had been some sort of lesbian demonstration taking place in the streets, and it had been impossible to get anywhere.
Laronde opened the door and looked slightly uneasy. “Oh,” she said, when she saw him. It wasn’t the usual response he was accustomed to—even if he turned up unannounced at a girl’s place, but he’d always known that Laronde was never going to break out into a flirtatious smile at the sight of him.
“Nice to see you, too,” he said, his tone blatantly sarcastic. It was the first time he’d seen her since that interview in the park a few weeks ago. He’d been so busy, he hadn’t had time to think about the bet.
“For you,” he said, handing over the thin white box.
“What is it?” she asked, staring at it, but not taking it.
“Here, have a look,” he insisted, and gave it to her. “Something that will solve your problem.” She had scratches on her chin and on the side of her face, making him wonder what the fuck had happened.
“What happened?” he asked, nodding at her face.
“Long story.”
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“Sorry, come in.”
She lifted the lid and peeked at the sleek shiny surface of the MacBook Pro. He hoped this would put an end to their incompatibility problems. He’d write the purchase off as a business expenses, and it would earn him bonus points. Win-win.
“For me?” Izzy asked, looking stunned. The kind of stunned girls looked like when he bought them a trinket from Tiffany. “You bought me this?”
“It’s a business expense, not a personal gift.”
She looked up, “I know. I get it, but … uh—you didn’t need to.” He followed her into the living-room.
“Shit,” said a girl who was lying on one of the sofas. Her leg rested on a huge velvet green ottoman that looked like it was big enough to seat two people. She sat up with her mouth open as soon as he walked in. “Xavier Stone?” she gasped. Now, that was the kind of response he was more accustomed to. He flashed a brilliant smile at her, and saw that she wore an ankle brace. To the side of the couch lay a pair of crutches. “Hi,” he said.
“This is Cara, my roommate, this is Xavier.” Izzy made the introduction in a flat voice. He smiled at the roommate again. “What happened?”
“Oh, this?” her friend replied, “It’s not as bad as it looks. It’s nothing.”
“That’s not what you said when you were bawling your eyes out at the hospital,” retorted Izzy.
“I wasn’t bawling!” her friend protested. “I wasn’t,” she said, turning to him, her voice softer, as she flashed him the kind of smile he was used to.
“What’s that?”
“A MacBook Pro,” Izzy told her.
“You bought her a MacBook Pro?” Her friend made the kind of appreciative noises that he wished Izzy would make. “That costs almost as much as our rent.”
“It makes sense, now that she’s working for me,” he explained, trying to be casual about it.
“But I’m not a Mac girl,” said Izzy. She said it the way Gisele would have said she wasn’t a Prada girl. “I’m Windows all the way.”
What the fuck was she complaining about now?
“But we won’t have that spreadsheet problem you keep moaning about,” he replied, irked by her less-than-stellar reaction.
“I’m not used to the Mac.”
For fuck’s sake. What did it take to put a smile on this girl’s face? “You said you have problems opening my spreadsheets. This will fix it.”
“But it’s a Mac.”
“I know. I bought the damn thing.”
“Shut up and stop whining, Iz.”
“Don’t you like it?” he asked, her reaction grating on his nerves like fingernails on a blackboard.
“Uh, yes. Of course I do. It’s a Mac, what’s not to like. It’s just that I’m not used to it.”
“You’ll get used to it. You’re a smart girl, how hard can it be?
“True,” she said, running her hand over the sleek shiny top. “After all, you used it. How hard can it be?” She scratched her head. “This is an expensive machine. Do you buy these for all your VAs?”
“Most of them already have MacBook.”
She looked surprised.
“You don’t want it?”
“I don’t need it. I mean, it’s an expensive solution. All you had to do was export your spreadsheets.”
There she went again. “I don’t have time to do that, Laronde. Time is money and I’m a busy man.”
“I bet you’re really busy,” gushed Cara. He let her have his signature smile, because he liked her, and she seemed to be on his side, and was a million times friendlier than Laronde. “I don’t think she likes it,” he said to her.
“Well, on her behalf, I’d like to thank you,” Cara replied, returning the smile.
“You’re welcome,” he said, enjoying the banter and aware that they were deliberately blocking Izzy from the conversation.
“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful,” said Izzy. “Thank you for this. It’s just that it’s so … it’s so … expensive.”
Her constant whining about the cost was making more sense now. He was reminded of the conversation with Savannah, when she had said something about Izzy wanting to do it alone, and the other jobs she had on the side. He had assumed that everyone who went to Columbia was rich, otherwise why go there? But even though he’d known she wasn’t rich, he hadn’t been aware of quite how much she worried about money. Maybe she was just trying to make it, do the best she could. He looked around the small dingy apartment, and in a neighborhood that didn’t scream ‘safe’, it confirmed his suspicions.
“Like I said, it’s a business expense, and you’re free to use it until you no longer need it, but I’d be grateful of you did your charts and my work on that, and not your laptop.”
“Of course. Thank you. No, really. Thank you. I wasn’t expecting you to go and buy me a machine. You’ve surprised me.”
He’d surprised her, huh? Well, that had to be a first.
His work here was done, and thank fuck this was sorted.
“What happened?” he asked again, pointing to her friend’s ankle brace for he was still none the wiser.
Izzy replied, “We got trampled on at the Women’s march yesterday. You must have heard about it?”
He thought it was something to do with a bunch of lesbians complaining about more rights. “Women’s march?” he asked, hesitating in case he said the wrong thing and they jumped down his throat.
“That’s right.”
He blinked. “And you went to it?”
“Yes, we went to that.”
“Oh-kaay.” He scratched his head, wondering why they’d gone. Who the hell went to marches and shit like that? “What was it for?”
“Taking a stand,” replied Izzy, folding her arms.
“It was good fun,” her friend added. “It had a party vibe to it.”
He was curious now. “Taking a stand for what?”
“You don’t know?” Izzy asked, looking at him as if he were a rat.
“Not really.”
“We were marching for basic human rights—you know, equal pay, and standing up for women who have been victims, of sexism, and sexual harassment, and for women being underpaid, and underrepresented. Where do you want me to start?”
He cleared his throat. “I see.”
“I could go on, but you get the idea.” Izzy’s face was hard, and she eyed him as if she was testing his reaction.
Come to think of it, he had seen a few newspaper headlines, and trending news on social media. Stuff was starting to come out, about famous people, famous women, actresses and models who had made complaints about some pretty top level people. A whole heap of scandals had come out, something to do with men and their abuse of power, mostly in the entertainment industry.
Gisele had said it was common, that everybody knew and nobody said anything. That if you wanted a role, you had to go along with it. There was a producer her friends had spoken of, it was common knowledge he was a pervert, but nobody said anything. It didn’t seem to be a big deal.
He didn’t fully understand. There were always two sides to a story. “No wonder the roads were a nightmare yesterday.” It was all he could say for fear of saying something and getting his head bitten off.
“Sorry that you were inconvenienced,” said Izzy, her tone icy. “You seem to be dismissive about the march. Do you have a problem with it?”
“No,” he replied, slowly. He felt as if he was walking into a trap and worded his reply carefully. “I don’t have a problem with that. Why would I have a problem with that?” He slapped a hand around his nape. “Why would you think I’d have that opinion?”
“Because of the way you asked.”
“No.” He cleared his throat. “I think it’s a good thing.”
“Standing up for something you believe in, standing up for people who’ve been victims, yes,” she said, fire in her eyes. “It is a good thing.”
“For sure,” he replied. He would agree with anything she said right now, knowing he was at a disadvantage, at her place, with her friend.
“And wanting the basic things that you men have. You know, like knowing you won’t get touched up by a woman at work, just because she’s feeling horny and you happen to be around.”
He had to fight so that his lips wouldn’t spread into a smile. The idea of a woman boss trying to get it on with him suddenly appealed.
“It would make for a fairer world if women could experience the same sense of safety,” said Izzy, continuing on with her rant.
“Absolutely. So how come you got trampled on?”
“A woman got shot by her crazy ex-husband who was pissed she’d gone to march. She’d probably gone because she was married to a bastard like him.”
Strong words. He doubted he’d ever heard Laronde speak like that before.
“And there was panic and people ran, and I fell over and sprained my ankle but Izzy pulled me away. Except, the crowd was heaving so she didn’t escape unscathed.”
“Whoa, that’s bad that it turned ugly.”
“An angry man shot into the crowd and tried to kill his ex-wife. What do you expect?” Izzy blazed. There was a quiet anger behind her words.
“I didn’t realize how many men had an inability to control their dicks. He obviously felt threatened that she was empowered enough to want to rise up and make a stand.”
He felt outnumbered. “That’s true.” He opened his mouth, tried hard to think of something to say, something which would melt the anger that was so evident on Izzy’s face. “I think it’s a noble cause.”
“It’s a necessity, in this day and age. It was about time too. Don’t you think it’s a sad state of affairs that so many of my friends have a story somewhere in their past, something to do with a misuse of power, something to do with a man being a pervert.”
Her anger spilled out into her eyes, and there was something about the way she said it, the way she levelled her fury at him, that made him wonder what she was so mad about. It wasn’t as if he’d done anything to her.
He swallowed. Maybe Laronde wasn’t the type of girl he ought to be messing around with. Already he sensed he was in way over his head. Did he need this extra headache when there was so much other shit to be dealing with? A new business to start, investment to procure.
Did he need to work his ass off just to get a taste of her pussy when all he needed to do was walk into The Oasis any day of the week and get it, guaranteed?
“It’s okay, Izzy.” Cara’s voice drifted over, reminding him that it wasn’t just him and Izzy in the room.
“I’m explaining it to him,” said Izzy said, biting the words out slowly. “Because it seems as if Xavier doesn’t know, or isn’t aware of the protests, and why.”
He let out an exasperated sigh, wondering how he had ended up being caught up in the crossfire of something that wasn’t his fault, but for which he seemed to be getting the blame for. “Not all men are dirty perverts, Laronde.”
“I never said they were, Stone. Just like a lot of the stuff, it needn’t always be sexual, but most of the time it is.”
“And sometimes, men get the blame for things they didn’t do,” he replied, testily. Jeez. He was starting to wonder if she wasn’t one of those man-hating chicks. The kind who’d slice his dick off after they’d had sex, just to spite him. That is, if he ever got around to doing the deed with Laronde. Things looked less hopeful each time he saw her.
“And sometimes they should get the blame but they don’t.”
“And sometimes, men get blamed all because of a witch hunt.”
“You seem to speak with authority,” Izzy challenged. “Do you take a ‘no’ for a ‘no’, or does the line blur over for you?”
“I’m not an asshole.” Her words offended him, as did the idea that she thought he was like those people who assaulted women.
Was that how she saw him?
Her friend coughed, making them both stop and look at her. “I’m dying here, do you mind?”
Xavier laughed. “You look as if you need some sympathy.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the sharp turn of Izzy’s head.
“Her boyfriend’s coming over later,” Izzy said.
“Yeah?” he replied, turning his head to face her. “And what about you?”
“She doesn’t have a boyfriend,” her friend chirped. He didn’t miss the hard stare Izzy gave her friend.
She nodded her head towards the MacBook which she’d placed on the coffee table. “Thanks for that.”
“Glad you like it.”