Page 70 of The Singing Trees
Annalisa couldn’t take another moment of conversation. As she bade him a good day and turned to rush away, he said, “Let me know if you change your mind about my nephew. Who knows what could happen with your soldier boy?” With that, he smacked her on the bottom.
Annalisa spun so quickly she nearly broke the heels off her shoes. Not today. She had no tolerance whatsoever. Here she was having given up love to establish herself, and he had no right to touch her, to get in the way.
A part of her tried to suppress the rage. She knew as well as anyone in this building that this was a man’s world, and anything she did other than let this go would be detrimental to her career.
That thought was so far down the tunnel, though, that it didn’t stop her from raising her right hand. “Don’t you ever touch me again,” she spat through gritted teeth. Her hand was ready to swat him. She could feel hot coffee spilling out of the cup in her left hand.
“Whoa, little lady,” he said, lifting up his hands in retreat, as if he’d done nothing wrong. “Let’s settle down here.”
Annalisa looked in his dirty little eyes and felt rage boiling up inside. There was no amount of rationality strong enough to stop her. Instead of hitting him, she slung the coffee toward his shoes, spilling half of it on his pant legs below the knees.
The steam rose as he reached for the burn, rubbing his legs like they were on fire. The huddled managers all turned, and Annalisa could feel her job—the one she’d fought so hard to earn—slipping away.
The fire inside burned too hot, though. “Don’t you ever touch me again!” she snapped. “Or any other woman in this building.A fanabla!” Go to hell.
He glared at her. Annalisa thought he might hit her, but at the last second, he glanced at their coworkers gawking at the spectacle.
Breathing like a bull through his nose, he said, “I hope that was worth it.” Lowering his voice, he continued, “You just ruined your whole life. You’ll never find another job in this whole fucking town.”
Tapping into the deepest part of her core as a woman, she asked, “Do you think you’re the first man to get in my way?”
Then, as she stared into his beady eyes twinkling with victory, the reality of what she’d done hit her. She’d just let him win. She wasn’t the first in Pride’s to get a smack on the bottom. Maybe this week. A woman had to tolerate this sort of thing if she wanted to work and not sit at home all day, and she knew that. Even Patty, who was as strong as any woman Annalisa had ever known, let men get away with unacceptable comments. Otherwise, you were waging a war that you might not win. Whether Annalisa liked it or not, she’d just risked her job tostand up for all the women at Pride’s and everywhere else who were fed up with such injustice.
Without engaging further, she marched down the hall past the others. As she disappeared into the Advertising Department, she heard Mr.Miller ranting about how she’d just made the biggest mistake of her life.
It was quiet as she entered, a sleepy feeling, especially compared to the commotion she’d just escaped. Her coworkers thankfully hadn’t heard. Trying to breathe through her feelings—the fury, the determination, the regret—she walked past the cubicles filled with copy editors to her desk by the window. She said hello to her neighbors and perched on her stool, knowing it was only a matter of time before she’d be fighting for her job.
Sure enough, she heard Patty’s high heels crossing the floor ten minutes later. Annalisa had been sitting there, staring at her empty illustration board, thinking that what he’d done should be a crime. But she knew reporting him would do nothing. In fact, her slinging coffee on him was the more serious offense. No one would care that he’d touched her. No one would care that she’d stood up for her fellow women.
Annalisa closed her eyes, feeling Fate wrapping her fingers around her neck. Patty asked her to follow her to her office. Once she’d closed the door, she said, “I don’t like him any more than you do.”
Annalisa paced back and forth, explaining to Patty that she had no choice but to defend herself.
Patty sat back in her chair. “I admire what you did, but you can’t. You just can’t.”
“What was I supposed to do? He smacked my butt.”
Patty shook her head. “You’re preaching to the choir. If it was up to me, he would be pushed out the window.”
Annalisa stopped pacing and put a panicky hand on her chest. “Patty, I need this job. I’ve worked so hard to get here.” Had she really just lost everything she’d worked for?
“There’s no doubting your work either,” Patty said. “You’re my favorite employee, but this is out of my hands. I fought for you, but I only have so much pull. You attacked Ted, honey. I want to pin a medal on you, but you and I are alone in this one. Men run Pride’s, and we’re just lucky to have a role. I hate to say that, but it’s true. You know I’ll help you find another job, but your time here is done.”
With the only strength she had left, she thanked Patty for the opportunity, stood up, and exited the building through the revolving doors.
Ted Miller had won, and Annalisa had failed Patty and all the other women who would have killed to have her job. She’d failed herself and even her family back home, who’d been cheering for her. She’d been making so much money that she sent monthly checks back to Nonna. What would Nonna say? Annalisa had enough savings and was making enough from selling her pieces at Walt’s shop to not have to retreat back home yet, but still, what would she do now?
She couldn’t make a living selling pieces out of a silly clock shop. What she needed was a gallery to finally take her in, but who would? Annalisa couldn’t bear the idea of showing her latest portfolio to Jackie after walking out on Sharon. Surely the two had spoken about it.
“Yeah, Jackie,” Sharon probably said, “that Annalisa didn’t stick around.” Jackie might have replied, “Oh, what a shame. She was good.”
“I know, but I’m not sure she had what it takes.”
Annalisa felt like a child, telling Sharon Maxwell of all people that Portland loved her paintings as evidenced by her selling out of them at the clock shop, as though that was proof of her greatness. Maybe she needed to go somewhere else, maybe Boston or even farther—anywhere to get away from this madness. But would running really help? She gave up love to be an artist, and that was what she had to do. Or both her and Thomas’s heartache would be for naught.
Pushing into Walt’s shop, she called out his name. “You wouldn’t believe what just happened. I’m now out of a job because...”
He was having a coughing fit at his desk in the back, and she rushed his way in a panic. This was a much more serious cough than she was used to. “You okay, Walt?”
