Chapter 62

The next day, I write up my article on Miles and the tavern he saved and submit it to Lila, who seems very annoyed I took the nothing lead she gave me and actually turned it into something.

In what I suspect to be punishment, she loads me up with trivial tasks. Refill the coffee pot, deliver these letters, take this stack of papers to Mr. Harbinger.

I feel like I’m still on probation or that I’m an intern. Yet what can I do? Lila is tasked with assignment me leads and projects.

I try, several times, all morning, to present her with my own ideas for stories, my own leads, but she shoots each one of them down – not without writing them down for her herself, of course.

Eventually, I resign myself to these arbitrary tasks. Holding the stack of papers she wants deliver, I head to Hugo’s office.

I knock.

“Come in,” he calls through the door.

Opening it, I step inside.

Hugo is standing on the outside of his desk. Holding his remote, he’s watching something on the screen of his television that hangs on the far wall.

Glancing at me, he says, “Oh. Esther. What have you got there?”

“Oh, just a few papers from Lila –!!!” As I start to walk toward him, I trip over the edge of a rug. The papers go flying.

Hugo steps forward and I catch myself by placing my hands against his chest. Quickly, I steady, and just as quickly, Hugo flinches back, retreating back behind his desk.

When Miles had teased Hugo about his aversion to touching women, I didn’t totally take him seriously. There had been obvious animosity between Hugo and Miles, and I thought Miles might have been being harsh just to dig at Hugo.

But by now, many instance of the contrary are piling up.

I know Hugo is not a bad person. There’s no reason for him to not shake my hand when I offered it, or for him to now step back as if I’d burned him, rather than staying close to make sure I’m balanced.

I should have believed it from the start, perhaps, but now I know for certain.

Hugo’s aversion to physical contact with women is genuine.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“I’m fine now. Thank you.”

When I start to bend down to collect the papers I’ve dropped, Hugo returns to my side and assists me. We don’t talk about what happened, other than Hugo muttering, “I’m getting rid of this rug.”

Standing again, I hand him the papers I collected. As he starts to look through them, his frown grows more and more prominent.

“Lila asked you to bring me… this…?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“That hardly seems a good use of your time,” he says. “These are hardly vital, and this is a task for an intern, not a salaried journalist.”

I want to dance and sing. I want to throw my hands up and shout, Thank you!

Instead, I cling to my dignity with both hands and say, “I’m sure she has her reasons.”

Hugo’s eyes narrow as he studies my face. “Does she often have you do tasks like this?”

I could lie, I suppose, but I don’t. “Yes.”

Hugo looks at me for a long moment before turning and bringing the papers to his desk. He drops them with a flop on an open space then drags his hand down his face.

“Esther, if you feel you are being bullied, I would like to hear about it.”

It feels good to hear that and know that he is on my side. But how would it look if I ran to the boss with every little problem? Lila is a bully, as is Amber. Hugo giving them reprimands would only make things worse for me.

“I can handle it,” I say.

“You shouldn’t have to,” Hugo says. “It’s my job. You just have to give me the proof, Esther.”

“It’s nothing,” I say. “Not worth your time.”

He levels me a look that says he clearly doesn’t believe me.

I don’t back down. I have to handle this myself or Lila, Amber, and my other co-workers will never respect me.

Without my help, Hugo can’t possibly move forward with any reprimand. So he sighs.

“My door will be open when you change your mind,” Hugo says.

“Thank you, Hugo,” I say, but quickly realize my mess up. Hugo is my boss now, I shouldn’t address him so informally, even when we’re alone. “Mr. Harbinger, I mean.”

Hugo smiles softly at me. “Hugo is fine, Esther.”

He’s always so kind, so genuine, that I can’t help blushing a little as I back up toward the door.

“I’ll return to work now,” I say and make a hasty retreat before I can embarrass myself further. I sure as hell don’t need to develop any kind of crush on my boss, especially with my feelings in a jumble over Miles. And, oh yeah, the fact that I’m still married.

Outside of his office, I take a small pause to collect myself. Then, after a few deep breaths, I walk back to my desk. As I approach, however, I notice that something is off about it. Did I leave something on the floor?

When I come to the opening, I stop in my tracks.

Someone has upturned a garbage can all over my cubicle. Crumpled up papers and candy bar wrappers litter my desk and the floor. A banana peel is draped over the back of my chair.

Shock has me frozen. For a long moment, I can’t comprehend what I’m seeing.

Who would do something like this? It’s so asinine, so juvenile. Do I work with adults – or children?

I look around, and a few people snicker, but no one really takes the credit for this work. Amber is noticeably absent. Lila still sits in her office, but she’s on the phone.

For a brief moment, I think of returning to Hugo’s office and showing him this mess. But what good would that do? Especially when I don’t know the culprit.

Grabbing my trash can, I walk into my cubicle and began to pick up the trash and toss it a second time. I use only the edges of my fingers, desperate not to touch anything too much. I’ll need to wash my hands after this. Are those loose pickles under my desk?

My workstation is going to smell for a month.

After cleaning my desk and my chair, I get down on my knees to pick up everything off the floor.

The snickering persists behind me. I try not to let it get to me, but it still does. I feel humiliated. This is so degrading.

Then, someone steps in the opening of my cubicle. I turn and see one of my no-nonsense co-workers. A report named Kimberly, she’s always writing through her breaks and her announcements. Many of her articles make the front page. She’s even been on the live broadcast a few times.

She peers over the scene with a keen eye, then looks straight at me.

“Whatever grudge has formed between you and Amber, fix it. None of us have time for these childish games.”

Amber? “Did Amber do this?”

Kimberly doesn’t answer. She just walks away.

But she’s already told me enough.