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As Vanacore comes in behind me and pushes the button for what I assume is our floor, she says, “I’m looking forward to working with you, Tommy. Greatly.”
In the elevator, there’s a palpable energy between us. I’ve never felt this kind of energy before. It’s both heavy and light or excited and suffocating.
Briefly, I wonder if this is what people mean when they say certain people have “chemistry” with each other. If that’s the case, I’m not sure what kind of “chemical” reaction is going on between us, but it’s like nothing I’ve had since growing up and becoming an adult.
Vanacore is older than me — much, much older. Old enough to be my mother, and yet she has this way about her. She has this aura that’s equally charming and domineering.
Just looking at the way her hands are, how strong and commanding they are in the tiniest gestures, makes me nervous. I quickly tell myself to calm down and to get a hold of myself, since I’m going to be working for her in a very professional, very important capacity.
I shake my nerves away just as the doors open, and Vanacore holds the door for me again. Again, I sneak past her. But this time, I feel like she’s watching me — watching my ass as I go by.
I hurry out of the elevator and put a bit of distance between us. Enough distance to strike those thoughts from my head, but not enough to take the lead.
“I’ll show you to my office, your part of it, go over some notes about how I like my business conducted,” says Vanacore, as she strolls ahead of me, oblivious to any of my awkward posture or the fact that I might have felt her looking at me that way. “We’ll go from there, Tommy. Wouldn’t want to overwhelm you on your first morning, after all.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, and quickly follow after her.
“I like the way you do that, Tommy.”
I huff, trying not to let her hear too much of it.
“Like how I do what, ma’am?”
“That,” she says.
“Call me ‘ma’am,’” she adds. “Young men these days don’t call me that. They call me things like grandma.”
In the pause between her words, I shiver.
“That’s one of the reasons I hired you for this job, Tommy. You know how to treat your elders the right way.”
“I do my best, Ms. Vanacore, ma’am,” I say, working to follow after her, and not sound like this is the equivalent of a marathon to me.
Vanacore’s eyes meet mine for a moment, as she looks back at me.
“As much as I love all of that, you may call me Vanacore, not Ms. Vanacore. Not anymore, understand?”
“Yes, Ms.— I m-mean Vanacore, ma’am.”
Ms. Vanacore just chuckles and stirs me up with those hypnotic eyes again.
“Good.” She turns back around, quickening her pace, as though she can’t wait to get to her office and show me around it. “You and I are going to work great together. I can tell already.”
After this, she doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t need to. Her words reverberate in me long after she holds the door open for me again, lets me into her office and begins to educate me on what I’ll be doing for her.
Over the next few hours, I’m Ms. Vanacore’s shadow and vice versa. She shows me around her office — where she likes to keep her files, how she likes her desk to be kept when she’s not sitting at it, and then finally, where I’ll be stationed.
As it happens, I’ll be in a little “alcove,” a little makeshift cubicle created by a fancy Asian-style screen, and one of her large windows. Here I have my own desk, my own laptop, and yes, even my own phone.
It’s not as big or fancy as the one on Ms. Vanacore’s desk, but I’m not expecting it to be. After all, if people call me, it’s generally going to be just to leave a message for her, not to actually talk with me.
“Go ahead and take a seat,” says Vanacore, pulling out my chair for me, and guiding me into it.
As she does, I can’t help but feel torn between discomfort and gratitude. On the one hand, it’s a nice gesture. On the other, I still can’t shake the feeling that I’m being treated like some sort of “date”— some beauty prize being placed on a pedestal.
“Let’s get you set up with having access to my accounts so you can reply to some of my emails, finish some of my reports and case notes for me when I’m not able to complete them myself.”
“Okay, sure,” I say, a bit surprised at how secretarial a lot of that sounds.
It looks like I’m going to be a bit like a glorified secretary, but I’m not about to complain. Earlier this morning, I wasn’t even sure I’d get looked at for the job. So, I can’t spit in the face of my good fortune by complaining about the details of that job now.
