Few of Marie-Anne’s friends knew where she lived. Only one, Joscelyne Clement, had ever been inside. Joscelyne thought of herself as a fashionista. She prided herself on knowing what was in vogue. Her own home was like a train station. Out went the old as soon as the new had come to market. She spent a fortune keeping current. And, if her furnishings were sparse, it was only because she could not afford more. Fortunately for Joscelyne, she was married to one of the University’s benefactors, a banker who had come into his own trading on unregulated markets in oil, natural gas and soya beans. When they got hitched, Joscelyne’s mother reached forward to Marie-Anne, a maid-of-honour, as the bride was processing down the aisle, and, quipped, Honey. Today we’re gonna marry looks to money. My grandkids are gonna be rulers of the world! Joscelyne, who’d been born Jolene after the Dolly Parton song, had had looks and not a stitch of money. But, Lord, did B.C. — Bertrand Clement — ever have money. Joscelyne took to it, as her mother said, like a fish outta water. B.C. didn’t seem to mind. A trophy wife was like holding an Oscar at the After-Parties. It was trite, but they were made for one another.
Marie-Anne was delighted to find her old friend, Jolly, as she had been known in childhood, in the office where she worked as Dominique’s personal assistant. B.C. was contemplating a gift to the University Library that would have put it on the map. Millions! Jolly had accompanied B.C. to his meeting with Dominique, the Head Librarian. The deal was quashed not because Dominique didn’t know how to sell it. Indeed, she understood B.C.’s type perfectly and couched her every move and sentence in terms that he would understand and appreciate. With B.C.’s departure, Dominique was certain that she’d clenched the deal. It was after the meeting that the deal fell apart.
Joscelyne, begging her goodbyes from B.C., followed Marie-Anne on her break to the Starbucks downstairs. Why is it, Jolly asked, Head Librarians always have their offices in penthouse suites? Marie-Anne laughed. She’d never considered the question before. They don’t all sit in Ivory Towers, Marie-Anne answered. The chief of the Public Library, downtown, has her office on the ground floor. ... Clearly accessible to the public. Her response inadvertently seeded Jolly’s reservations. She didn’t trust women who seemed as much man as the man she’d married. It was, even so, a reservation that Joscelyne didn’t, herself, trust. What have you been up to?, she asked, adding quickly, What’s it like, ... working as Dominique’s P.A.? Perhaps it was the caffeine rush of her triple-shot latté speaking, but Marie-Anne found herself speaking freely. It was something that Marie-Anne would later regret. P.A.? Marie-Anne remarked, Oh, I wouldn’t dare speak for Dominique! Jolly looked puzzled. Public address system. — P.A.
Regardless whatever had unleashed her workplace reserve; Marie-Anne sensed, it needed to be caged. As she later replayed the conversation in her mind, she heard herself telling Jolly that she preferred the term “secretary”. ... Personal Assistant makes me think of bound servitude. Marie-Anne’s face muscles, she recalled, gave truth to the statement. She also recalled that, as Joscelyne probed deeper, she said, Dominique is aptly named. Marie-Anne’s meaning, intended or not, was clear. Joscelyne later reported to B.C. as she had it, from an excellent source, that The staff of that library fear the Head Librarian. Without revealing her source or remarking on Marie-Anne’s personal feelings, she’d go on to recount statistics: Ninety percent of her assistant heads and middle managers had left the library abruptly. — Two had been fired unceremoniously, with indecorous all-staff email from the Head following them to the door. — Productivity, as reflected in donor income and grants awarded had fallen sharply, by more than 50% in the last year. As she continued her litany of facts copied from Marie-Anne’s smart-phone, B.C. could hardly believe that a library could be so stressful; yet, he’d come to trust Joscelyne. He called the new University President that evening and, without saying why, rescinded his offer of thirty-six million dollars.
The news was delivered personally by the President the next morning. He’d intended the visit to soothe Dominique’s potential concerns. They spoke at length. The President, certain he’d conveyed that the donation was rescinded without malice. To the contrary, his visit inflamed her. The former President never came over here! she told her new assistant heads immediately after the visit, demanding they get to the bottom of “this”. Dominique took his visit as a signal that he wanted her head. She was wracked by paranoia, the feeling that she’d been “betrayed”. She knew that she’d need to offer something up. Something BIG.
Marie-Anne was delighted to find her old friend, Jolly, as she had been known in childhood, in the office where she worked as Dominique’s personal assistant. B.C. was contemplating a gift to the University Library that would have put it on the map. Millions! Jolly had accompanied B.C. to his meeting with Dominique, the Head Librarian. The deal was quashed not because Dominique didn’t know how to sell it. Indeed, she understood B.C.’s type perfectly and couched her every move and sentence in terms that he would understand and appreciate. With B.C.’s departure, Dominique was certain that she’d clenched the deal. It was after the meeting that the deal fell apart.
Joscelyne, begging her goodbyes from B.C., followed Marie-Anne on her break to the Starbucks downstairs. Why is it, Jolly asked, Head Librarians always have their offices in penthouse suites? Marie-Anne laughed. She’d never considered the question before. They don’t all sit in Ivory Towers, Marie-Anne answered. The chief of the Public Library, downtown, has her office on the ground floor. ... Clearly accessible to the public. Her response inadvertently seeded Jolly’s reservations. She didn’t trust women who seemed as much man as the man she’d married. It was, even so, a reservation that Joscelyne didn’t, herself, trust. What have you been up to?, she asked, adding quickly, What’s it like, ... working as Dominique’s P.A.? Perhaps it was the caffeine rush of her triple-shot latté speaking, but Marie-Anne found herself speaking freely. It was something that Marie-Anne would later regret. P.A.? Marie-Anne remarked, Oh, I wouldn’t dare speak for Dominique! Jolly looked puzzled. Public address system. — P.A.
Regardless whatever had unleashed her workplace reserve; Marie-Anne sensed, it needed to be caged. As she later replayed the conversation in her mind, she heard herself telling Jolly that she preferred the term “secretary”. ... Personal Assistant makes me think of bound servitude. Marie-Anne’s face muscles, she recalled, gave truth to the statement. She also recalled that, as Joscelyne probed deeper, she said, Dominique is aptly named. Marie-Anne’s meaning, intended or not, was clear. Joscelyne later reported to B.C. as she had it, from an excellent source, that The staff of that library fear the Head Librarian. Without revealing her source or remarking on Marie-Anne’s personal feelings, she’d go on to recount statistics: Ninety percent of her assistant heads and middle managers had left the library abruptly. — Two had been fired unceremoniously, with indecorous all-staff email from the Head following them to the door. — Productivity, as reflected in donor income and grants awarded had fallen sharply, by more than 50% in the last year. As she continued her litany of facts copied from Marie-Anne’s smart-phone, B.C. could hardly believe that a library could be so stressful; yet, he’d come to trust Joscelyne. He called the new University President that evening and, without saying why, rescinded his offer of thirty-six million dollars.
The news was delivered personally by the President the next morning. He’d intended the visit to soothe Dominique’s potential concerns. They spoke at length. The President, certain he’d conveyed that the donation was rescinded without malice. To the contrary, his visit inflamed her. The former President never came over here! she told her new assistant heads immediately after the visit, demanding they get to the bottom of “this”. Dominique took his visit as a signal that he wanted her head. She was wracked by paranoia, the feeling that she’d been “betrayed”. She knew that she’d need to offer something up. Something BIG.
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