Page 1 of 7+Us Makes Nine

One

Catherine

“We have to let you go.”

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“I’m sorry, Catherine. But there are certain circumstances beyond my control that have taken over the situation.”

“Let me guess. Does it have anything to do with someone by the name of ‘Lola Whitestaff’?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that.”

“I came to you the second her husband hit on me at that carnival we had last month. Right to you. I told how that man made me feel and you said you would do something about it. Is this your idea of doing something about it?” I asked.

“The Whitestaffs are massive contributors to the school. He claims he didn’t hit on you.”

“That isn’t what this is about. His wife is threatened by me. She came into my office last week, you know.”

“She did? Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“I did, sir. I filed a formal complaint, like you had me do with her husband. She came into my office ripping me a new one about how her husband didn’t hit on me, but about how I hit on him. She threatened my job, and now she’s getting what she wants.”

“I’m not aware of any complaint you filed.”

“If I make this a legal matter-”

“Miss Catherine, that isn’t-”

“And I subpoena the financial documents from this institution, am I going to find that they are one of the top five contributors to Lawrence Day?” I asked. “Because a similar situation happened at another school downtown. A teacher was harassed by a father and lost her job because she reported him and he didn’t like it. So they threw money at the situation.”

“Are you calling my character into question, Miss Catherine?”

“It depends on how this situation pans out, sir.”

I was infuriated. I was the one that had been harassed. I was the one being threatened by Mrs. Whitestaff. It wasn’t my fault her husband hit on me at that carnival. It wasn’t my fault her husband was a serial cheater and everyone in the community knew it. But if I was going to lose my job over it because they single-handedly kept this school functioning, then I was going down with a fight. I would make sure my voice was heard, and if necessary I would ride my issue to the highest ranks I could. Because there was no reason in this world why I should lose my job over a man who’s pissed off I didn’t sleep with him and a woman who’s pissed off because I’m prettier than her.

“The situation is out of my hands, Miss Catherine. Friday will be your last day.”

“No, sir. Today will be my last day. I’ll pack up my things and you can start preparing for the next woman to come in so she can be harassed by the moneybag parents of this school,” I said.

Before the principal could get another word in, I stormed out of his office. I was fed up with this. First, I had to talk with him face-to-face about the encounter and exactly what happened to me. What Mr. Whitestaff said and how he made me feel. Then, I had to file a formal complaint that went in my employee folder recounting the events again. Then, Mrs. Whitestaff came marching into my office threatened to expose ‘the slut I am’, so I filed a formal complaint. And less than a week later I’m losing my job at a school I’ve taught at for over three years?

I wasn’t buying it.

And if anyone asked me about it, I’d explain it to them exactly like that.

I didn’t have much at my desk. It was mostly things my students had made for me. I folded up the pictures and shoved them into my purse, then picked up the colorful pad and pens that I purchased in bulk that delivered every month. I plucked the few desk ornaments I had from around the sides of my computer, then I grabbed my snacks from the drawers of my desk. Finding vegetarian snacks that didn’t need to be refrigerated was hard, so I wasn’t about to leave them sitting in a desk for some crackerjack idiot to scarf down in one sitting.

They were expensive.

“Miss Catherine!”

I heard the principal yelling behind me as I made my way out to my car.

“Miss Catherine! Wait!”

I knew exactly what he was about to make me do, and I wasn’t sure if I was going to sign it or slap him for it.

“Yes?” I asked.

“You forgot this,” he said.

He jogged up to me with one sheet of paper and a pen.

“What is this?” I asked.

“Come on. You know what this is,” he said.

“No, I don’t. Explain it to me.”

I was going to make him do this. I was going to make him looking me in the eye and explain exactly what this was so he knew exactly what he was doing.

Selling out a woman’s harassment claim so the school didn’t attract any bad press.

“It’s a standard NDA, Miss Catherine. Because of the high-profile students and parents we cater to, it’s procedure that anyone who loses their job or quits signs it. So they can’t start writing books about their time spent around these children.”

“And also so I don’t talk to the press about my encounter with Mr. Whitestaff,” I said.

“Catherine-”

“I want to hear you say it.”

I watched him grit his teeth but I stood my ground. I leaned against my Prius and crossed my arms over my chest. I looked the man I had called my boss straight in the eyes while he debated on whether or not to say it. It made me sick. That man cornered me at the carnival and tried to shove his hand up my skirt, but I was the one losing my job over it. Part of me wanted to go to the press. To expose him for the sick bastard he was. Part of me wanted to talk about my crass run-in with his wife and how she verbally cornered me and slandered my name to the moon and back.

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