Page 12 of Lovely War
He pivots back slowly and tears his eyes from the screen.
“Help me with these?” I point to the pennants hung high on the wall: one for each of the Eagles, Sixers, Phillies, and Flyers. He won’t say no. Ben would help Darth Vader lift a heavy suitcase off a baggage claim carousel.
He eyes the stack of garbage on the filing cabinet. “I hope you’re not planning to get rid of that. A lot of it is worth saving.”
I open the top drawer and sweep the pile inside. “There. In case the National Archives call.”
He shakes his head and reaches up to detach the Eagles pennant.
“I know what you’re doing,” I say.
“What I’m doing?”
“I know about the budget cuts.” I lean back against the desk, crossing my arms. “The layoffs. Or layoff, singular. I get that you’re worried about your job, but putting a target on my back to save your own ass isn’t cool. I know you and Williams tried to convince Thomas that hiring me was a mistake. And I know you’re trying to turn the managers against me before I’ve even met them. ‘She doesn’t deserve to be here.’ I have it on tape.”
Outrage washes over his face. “Did you use your camera to spy on us? Wiretapping is a federal crime.”
Deflection. What a coward. “Some would say that hair gel abuse is also a federal crime, but here we are,” I say. “I had no idea you’d stoop so low, Ben. You’ve changed.”
To his credit, he resists touching his hair. Instead, he stares, his eyes boring into me like he’s trying to read my DNA. In another context, the intensity in his gaze would be sexier than—nope, not going there. Burning all evidence of that thought in my mental fireplace.
“And you haven’t changed at all,” he finally says. “You’re the same person you were senior year.”
I flinch. Oof, that’s a sore spot. “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.”
He can see that he hurt me, although I can’t imagine he understands why. He has the decency to look chagrined. “Look, I didn’t mean for it to be like this.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” I say. “I want to keep this job. I’m sure you feel the same. We’re in an awkward position, but Eric said it might not even happen. It’s not definite yet.”
Ben tosses the Phillies pennant onto the filing cabinet.“Eric is a great guy and his optimism is one of his best qualities, but he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Do you think he’s read our financial statements?”
“And you have,” I say, because of course he has.
He presses his mouth into a flat line. “Things are bad. Millions of dollars bad.”
“And that sucks, but it’s not my fault!” I say. “Don’t take it out on me.”
He pulls the Flyers pennant from the wall. “I’m not trying to take it out on you. You clearly didn’t know what you were getting into, but you’d be much better off looking for another job. You can’t possibly understand the whole situation. You don’t know this place anymore. So much has changed since you were last here.”
Another poke at the bruise that never fades, and I can barely stand the condescension. But I take comfort in this: If he were confident in his job security, he wouldn’t stress about me. He’s afraid if we go head-to-head, I’m going to win. After all, there’s a precedent for it.
He reaches for the Sixers pennant. “Leave it,” I say sharply. “I like that one.”
Junior year, when Maynard announced he’d recommended me for the Sixers internship, I was honestly a little surprised. It wasn’t until later that I questioned his motives, revisiting the process again and again in my mind until it wrung me dry, trying to gauge whether I deserved it.
I’m pretty sure I did, but Ben deserved it too. And Ben had the kind of life where everything always worked out in his favor. Fancy prep school. The luxury of choosing a college based on where he wanted to play as a walk-on, withouthaving to worry about getting an athletic scholarship. The ability to waltz into a student manager gig after he stopped playing sophomore year, to have Maynard immediately treat him as indispensable.
The head manager job was supposed to be all mine, but when Ben made the switch, Maynard divvied up the responsibilities between the two of us. I was uneasy, because it seemed like he assigned the most important tasks to Ben.Maynard wouldn’t screw me over,I told myself. He was being considerate. I liked being a manager, but after college I didn’t want to work in operations or administration. I wanted to be a videographer, and my reel would be stronger if I had more time to dedicate to that aspect of my job. He was looking out for me, or so I thought.
Ben and I made a great team. And when I got the Sixers internship, he was gracious. But the stakes are higher now. He could lose the job he’s clung to for his entire adult life. He must love it, since he hasn’t gone elsewhere by now. The stakes are higher for me too, because I don’t have anywhere else to go.
Or maybe it has nothing to do with the internship. Maybe he heard I was recently named toHome Appliance Magazine’s 35 Under 35 list. That would leave anyone quaking in their team-issued Nikes.
Ben Fucking Callahan, my nemesis. It doesn’t sound funny anymore.
The next morning,I reread the email I sent Ben before he insulted me on camera, before I confronted him about it.Ugh, I was so polite, and he never responded. He can’t ice me out. We have jobs to do, and those jobs will involve interacting with each other. But it takes him over twenty-four hours to produce this:
Tuesday, 3:50p.m.
