Hot Desk: A Novel - 12

Rebecca was not in the mood for desk shenanigans. Ben hadn’t watered his cactus even though she had politely encouraged it. In fact, he had stuck his own Post-it over hers that read “ Make it rain ,” which, if she was not mistaken, referred to showering dancers with money at a strip club. Rebecca was tempted to report him to Mrs. Singh, but it was possible that her funny joke with the apple ( MAKE IT FALL ), which was a visual reference to her clever Che Guevara posting as HOT DESK, might come under some scrutiny. More vexing was the fact that Ben had left a photo propped up on the monitor. Most vexing of all was that the photo was of the Lion. Rebecca snatched it up and examined it. No doubt: it was the Lion with the Bread Loaf sign behind him, a lineup of men on either side of him. (She thought she recognized a much younger version of Fedora, and, yes, he was already balding.) Was it a taunt? Did Ben not think she could land the estate? What had he heard? What game was he playing?

“How was the City of Brotherly Love?” Gabe handed Rebecca an oat milk latte with cinnamon powder. “I know Mondays are grueling after a visit to Philly, especially when one attends a party of preschoolers, so I picked this up for you.”

“I adore you. Thank you!” Rebecca drank the coffee gratefully.

“The good news is Jane came into the city with you, right?”

“I know; I can’t believe it. But she still won’t tell me anything about anything ! She was supervising the boys’ party like a wedding planner, then reading an apparently riveting book on the train. I’m not even sure when she changed her mind: one minute she’s literally hanging up on me; now she’s headed over to the town house? All she would say was that she needed to see Rose. I think she’s on her way over there soon. Why so fucking mysterious? I ask you.”

“May I remind you that patience is a virtue, though clearly not one of yours,” Gabe answered. “And you’re having dinner with Rose and Jane tonight. Amazing.”

“All shall be revealed.” Rebecca tapped her forefingers together.

“I still think I should be there. Jane loves me.”

“Jane does love you! But there can be no distractions. And you are distractingly handsome, obviously.”

“ ’Tis a blessing and a curse,” Gabe admitted. “I have some very interesting news for you too. Tor received an emergency call this weekend about the East River Review party. Apparently, now that the Lion is no longer with us, they want the party to be both a celebration of the magazine’s sixty years and a celebration of his life. Their budget quadrupled and Rose Adams agreed to host the whole thing at the Southampton estate. Since it’s supposed to be happening next week, the original party planners panicked and had to call in Tor. He’s been working all night; this morning when I left he was on the phone making Hampton Jitney an offer they couldn’t refuse.”

“Holy shit! The party of the century!”

“Right? They already had all these writers lined up, but now it’s going to be huge. Tor is out of his mind with the change in venue and last-minute brainstorming.”

“I think what you’re saying is: How do we get invited?” Rebecca finished her coffee with a flourish. “Tell Tor that the all-white party—and I mean all-white in more ways than one—is dead in the water!”

“He does so appreciate your input,” Gabe commented dryly. “And I can make myself useful as Tor’s plus one. Wrangle your own invite. Serendipitously, you are dining with the hostess tonight.”

“True, true.” Rebecca picked up the Lion photo. “What do you make of this?”

“It’s an all-white-man party?” Gabe took a closer look. “The Lion and the usual suspects. I wonder if that was the magical bonding summer of the Lion and Frank French. Obviously not, or he would have shouldered his way into this photo.”

“Ben, my obnoxious deskmate, left it there. I think he’s trolling me.”

“So the ginger has some snap!”

“Seriously? Gabe, focus! What could this mean? Doesn’t it seem suspicious to you? Like a pointed barb? Wait, is that redundant?”

“Yes. Barbs are by their nature pointed. Barbara Bush the elder, for example. I’ve heard that this Ben person is not fully a ginger. Just a hint of ginger. A drop of ginger. Dark ginger! And freakishly big. And here’s something else interesting: my source is quite taken with him.”

“For fuck’s sake! Mrs. Singh loves everyone! Why wouldn’t she love a ginger giant?” Rebecca waved the photo at Gabe. “He’s a monster! He’s trying to get in my head!”

Gabe carefully extricated the photo from her hand and propped it back against the monitor. “I forgot I should have gotten you a decaf. That’s on me.” He pulled his phone from his back pocket. “Should we google Ben? Find out what Sahila is talking about?”

“Absolutely not!” Rebecca had no interest in learning anything more about Ben Heath. She wanted to forget he even existed.

“Hmmm…” Gabe scrolled through his phone. “High school basketball hero? No photo for Hawk Mills yet. A disappointingly meager social media presence, I must say. What?”

Rebecca groaned. “It’s exhausting having to watch my back at my own place of work. It’s bad enough that everyone’s second-guessing me as a ‘mid-level editor,’ and, honestly, I’d have no business handling this on my own even if I were the Lion’s love child. And how is my mom all up in my work life? I don’t even have MY OWN DESK! Or at least a lovely person like Carlotta to share one with. She left you cookies!”

“Snickerdoodles,” Gabe confirmed. “Not the obvious choice.”

“I’m just saying that I hate him!” Rebecca flicked the photo until it slid down the monitor. “I hate you, giant ginger Ben, and your fucking cactus!”

Gabe stroked Rebecca’s shoulder as if he were calming a spooked horse. “I’m going to recommend hydrating. Things will be clearer after dinner tonight, right? And remember that last week there was no chance in hell that either of us would be partying in the Hamptons with the cream of the literati, while this week it is a distinct possibility.”

“That does help,” Rebecca admitted.

“You going to be okay? Thanks to your brilliant idea, I have a call with Liberty regarding a jaunty neck scarf for a certain Lady we love.”

“Go, go.” Rebecca waved weakly. “I have to prepare for a meeting with Alice Gottlieb to discuss her new idea for the trilogy follow-up. She wants to go in a different direction. A sci-fi direction.”

“I’m sure you will be able to steer her gently back to the land of her bread and butter: quiet tales of poignant family drama and menopausal woes.”

“Watch your mouth! We won the National Book Critics Circle Award!”

“Settle down, kitten. See you later.” Gabe handed Rebecca her water bottle. “Flush that caffeine out. And call me the minute you hear from Jane!”

Rebecca went by Chloe’s desk to drop off some books for UPS. Chloe was wearing over-the-knee white patent leather boots, a tiny plaid skirt, and a top that appeared to be made entirely of dental floss. Rebecca could not stop herself from thinking, in the exact voice of her mother, How on earth is that comfortable? “How was your weekend?” she asked Chloe.

“So fun! My roommates and I went to a twink rave in Williamsburg. What did you do?”

Rebecca thought rapid-fire of all the possible answers she could give, but in the end, coffee aside, she didn’t have enough energy to lie. “I went to a party with a bouncy castle, a cake in the shape of a basketball, and a clown.”

“That place in Times Square? So fun!”

Rebecca hated to dampen Chloe’s enthusiasm. Well, usually she didn’t mind dampening it a little bit, but in this case she looked so excited about Times Square that Rebecca didn’t have the heart to expose herself as not the so-lame-it’s-cool partier but the actual so-lame-twenty-eight-year-old-attending-a-children’s-birthday-party-in-the-suburbs-of-Philadelphia. “Kind of,” she said. “But much farther south.”

“Sweet!” Chloe stacked the books into neat piles. “Don’t forget to stop by Ami’s: she wants to prep you with negotiating tactics for your meeting with Rose Adams.”

If by “meeting” Ami meant lots of red wine and probably tears and maybe shouting (Rebecca didn’t know what to expect) at the neighborhood Italian place near Mimi’s, then by all means Rebecca would take notes on negotiating tactics. But somehow she didn’t think tonight was the time or the place. There were still too many unanswered questions about the relationship between Jane, Rose, and the Lion’s unpublished work. In fact, all her questions were still unanswered! What was happening right now at the town house? Across the room, she saw Mrs. Singh spritzing her plants and most likely trying to eavesdrop. “Looking forward to the meeting, Rebecca?” Mrs. Singh called over. How did Mrs. Singh know about her dinner? What kind of sorcery did she practice? Rebecca gave her a thumbs-up.

“Oh my god, did you know that Mrs. Singh’s mother-in-law is famous ?” Chloe asked breathlessly.

“What do you mean?” Rebecca turned her back in case Mrs. Singh was lip-reading.

“Yeah, her mother-in-law has, like, millions of followers on TikTok. She makes Indian comfort food.”

Rebecca knew that TikTok could sell books and make her feel uncoordinated when she watched viral dances. But an old lady with millions of followers? “Does she have a hook? What’s her thing?”

“Just making the food. CookTok is all about sassy old ladies in the kitchen right now. Let me show you TikTok Nani.” Chloe pulled out her sparkly phone and found Mrs. Singh’s mother-in-law, a.k.a. #nanicooks #indiangranny #tiktokgranny and #indiancooking, who was wearing an apron over her sari and flipping chapatis. Nani wasn’t even particularly sassy, Rebecca thought. She already had over twenty-five thousand views and rising as Rebecca watched.

“This is insane!” If Nani, why not Mimi? Mimi and Stella together—they were kicking ass on Instagram; why not the next frontier? Rebecca was wary of TikTok, mostly because as a person whose job was reading and who actually loved reading, she had more than a few times found herself innocently checking out a hilarious snippet of stand-up and coming to, disheveled and wild-eyed, hours later, her respectable novel untouched next to her. But what if, instead of becoming ensnared in the web of TikTok, she made the platform work for her? She would do research and figure out how to get Mimi and Stella TikTok famous and then actual famous.

“Alice Gottlieb wants to meet you at that coffee place next to the subway? The nitro cold brew place?” Chloe, a matcha tea drinker who traveled with her own frother like a tiny pool cue, wrinkled her adorable nose.

“Ugh, that place. I don’t think they even serve food there. And everyone seems so mean!”

“Well, I hear they’re really committed to sustainability.” Chloe found the bright side, as always.

“Fine. Will you let her know I’ll be there by noon? I’m going to see Ami first, and then I have a quick check-in with Lady Paulette and Gabe.”

“Of course!” Chloe attached her headset and got to work.

Ami had assured Rebecca that she had confidence in her ability to manage Rose Adams, and that Rebecca should certainly mention that Ami would love to get on a call with everyone, and that it would be great to start talking about the possible deal. Then Lady Paulette complained that Liberty’s Meow Organic pattern in goldenrod made her look sallow, and Rebecca could only marvel at how Gabe, invoking Princess Margaret, Posh Spice, and Anna Wintour, convinced Lady Paulette that Meow Organic lit her from within. It was a relief to grab her bag and arrive early to the meeting with Alice Gottlieb.

Rebecca spread her things on an empty two-top and waited for Alice, quickly texting Alice’s agent, Trixie Carter, her favorite in the business and a good friend.

Rebecca:

alice wants to “think outside the box” and “is not feeling beholden to the marketplace” for next book

Trixie:

i know WTF

Rebecca:

we are in agreement that she should feel beholden to the marketplace right?

Trixie:

love her but she should be absolutely beholden to the marketplace yes

Rebecca:

the marketplace does not want her sci fi does it?

Trixie:

get her talking about her great aunt flora—think there is a story there

Rebecca:

just want to confirm we are on the same page

Trixie:

next book should be a slam dunk

Rebecca:

unless it takes place on mars

Trixie:

exactly

Rebecca:

kk will see what i can do and you do the same on your end

Trixie:

project keep alice inside the box!!

drinks soon

Rebecca hearted the last text as one of the very serious employees cleared the table next to her in obvious annoyance. “Excuse me, but you need to order something if you’re going to sit there.”

“Oh, of course. I will as soon as the person I’m meeting arrives. I’m just a little early.”

The employee wore a large button that said “Ask Me About Nitrogen Infusion.” Rebecca would never dare. “Yeah, you need to order if you’re at a table.”

“Okay, no problem. Can I have a decaf oat milk latte with cinnamon?”

“No.”

“Excuse me?” Rebecca felt her face flush.

“We don’t serve decaf.” The employee gestured to a large sign above the cash register.

“I’ll take a regular?”

“You have to order at the register.”

Flustered, Rebecca ordered the smallest possible size, was denied oat milk, given a short lecture on “nitro cascade,” and paid out eight dollars for the privilege. By the time Alice arrived, Rebecca’s heart was jittering.

Alice was short and round, with severe bangs and a whinnying laugh that made Rebecca smile. She had spent untold hours soothing Alice’s anxiety, pumping up her ego, drawing from her sentence after elegant sentence with patience and respect, if she did say so herself. Every July, she made the trek to Alice’s summer bungalow on the Jersey Shore where they ate corn on the cob and strolled the boardwalk with Alice’s wheezy bulldog. Years of success, and now Alice wanted to “switch gears” and “push the envelope.” For someone whose books resisted cliché, Alice did love her platitudes.

“Rebecca! Thank you for meeting me here: I’m resetting my metabolism.” Alice ordered a large cup and plunked down. “I drink coffee for breakfast and lunch, then an enormous green smoothie for dinner. I’ve never felt more clearheaded and my skin is luminous. Look!” Alice’s skin was indeed luminous. “It’s been two whole days, and I will never go back.”

“What? Never go back to solid food?”

“Never go back to the tyranny of appetite!”

“My appetite is a benevolent dictator,” Rebecca reflected. “Now, tell me about your new book. Have you written anything, or is it just in the planning stages? I’m looking forward to reading it.” Rebecca didn’t add: unless it’s science fucking fiction .

After twenty minutes of interjecting neutrally while Alice professed her belief that change was growth, Rebecca decided that she was going to have to let Trixie handle Alice. Would anyone who had enjoyed a trilogy of “quiet tales of poignant family drama and menopausal woes,” as Gabe had so aptly put it, rush out to purchase a book described by Alice as “a royal Anna Karenina meets underwater Iron Man in a doomed interplanetary romantasy”? Also, Rebecca’s phone had buzzed about a hundred times, actually moving her bag on the table in its insistence.

“I’m so sorry, Alice, I have to check this; it might be work.” Rebecca fished her phone out of her bag at the same time as her shaking hands knocked the last of her cold brew down the front of her white shirt. Rebecca gasped. It was cold and wet and at least three dollars’ worth of dark stain. Alice handed her a wad of environmentally friendly napkins that disintegrated as Rebecca used them to blot ineffectually at her chest. Her phone buzzed again. Rebecca swiped up to discover about a hundred texts from Mrs. Singh and Chloe. Skimming, she realized that she was missing the Cooperative Community Group Committee meeting on desk sharing that she had been volunteered to attend. Fuckety fuck! Apparently Frank French was “dropping by” the meeting. Rebecca didn’t have time to get back to the office and would have to Zoom on her cell phone. From the coffee shop. Without turning on her camera. Now. “Oh, Alice, I have to take an urgent call from work.”

“I hope everything is all right!” Alice looked concerned. Rebecca didn’t blame her. Who knew what was happening in publishing? Maybe Frank French was announcing a Hunger Games situation wherein Rebecca would have to fight Ben for the desk. He was a giant! She had no skills but her wits and, frankly, even those were a little scattered these days. She could use his cactus as a weapon against him! Rebecca tried to still her caffeine-addled brain. Frank French was neither calling his divisions to war nor was he closing up shop. He was just checking in to see how desk sharing was going. Calm the fuck down , she hissed silently to herself. “I’m sorry, what?” Alice was looking at her strangely.

“Did I say something?” Had she said that out loud? Why did she ever drink coffee? What if she had a heart attack at the nitro cold brew place? She would die having disappointed Mrs. Singh and surrounded by disdainful coffee snobs. “It’s fine! Everything’s fine! I just need to hop on this call!”

“No problem at all: I have some shopping to do before I head home. I’m buying parsley in bulk. I’ll send you the completed draft tonight. I wrote the entire thing in three weeks. I can’t thank you enough for your support.”

Trixie was going to kill her. Rebecca gave Alice an arm’s-length hug so as not to press her cold, wet chest against her. Frantically swiping and tapping, Rebecca finally got the meeting pulled up on her phone, jammed in her headphones, and hoped to attract no notice as the dark screen emblazoned with her name popped up. If only she had an up-to-date professional-looking headshot to upload but it was too late for that now. Please, god, just let me lurk and be counted present , she thought.

“Excuse me? You’ll need to order a coffee if you’re sitting there.” It was a different employee, a louder one.

“Are you kidding? I have coffee all over me!” Rebecca gesticulated at her wet shirt and shook the empty cup with such vehemence that the employee backed away warily.

“Welcome, Rebecca! Now we are all accounted for! A reminder to mute yourself unless you want to speak, and of course, we welcome all speakers.” Mrs. Singh’s kindly face filled Rebecca’s phone and Rebecca read its unspoken message: MUTE YOURSELF.

A private chat from Chloe popped up:

Chloe To Me (Privately)

everyone heard you ordering coffee LOL

Rebecca felt lightheaded from the caffeine. She posted a quick message to all fifteen participants.

Me To Everyone

sorry i’m late—had an author meeting that couldn’t be postponed. so glad to be here!

Harry To Everyone

Welcome, Rebecca!

Carlotta To Everyone

She toggled over to private chat with Chloe.

Me To Chloe (Privately)

did i miss anything? FF?

Chloe To Me (Privately)

everyone had to go around and say their favorite thing about desk sharing

Me To Chloe (Privately)

good thing i missed that

Mrs. Singh’s face looked directly at Rebecca. “Why don’t you tell us your favorite thing about desk sharing, Rebecca?”

“So many things?” Rebecca said.

“You’ll need to unmute now, dear,” Mrs. Singh reminded her patiently. Sweet Jesus, had Rebecca become SUSAN?

Chloe popped up again in private chat:

Chloe To Me (Privately)

you should turn on your camera?

Me To Chloe (Privately)

trust me NO

Rebecca hit “unmute,” but before she could open her mouth, Frank French’s face filled her phone screen, his prized mustache never a more welcome sight.

“Just stopping by to let everyone know how much we appreciate your dedication to facilitating this desk sharing project as we utilize our workspace effectively and foster collaborative colleague communication.” As always, Frank French preferred the royal “we” and as much toothless jargon as could be crammed into every sentence. He smoothed his mustache down on either side. “Leesen has hit the ground running in the world of dynamic seating, and that is due in large part to the efforts of Mrs. Singh to get all hands on deck. I’m going to turn this meeting back over to her. Again, hot desking, in all its forms, is a key focus for us, and we urge all of you to open the kimono so we can make it as successful as possible.”

“ ‘ Open the kimono ’? What?! ” Rebecca made a face, reveling in the anonymity of her turned-off camera. Who the fuck says “open the kimono”? Was that an actual thing that people said?

Chloe To Me (Privately)

MUTE

Rebecca startled and muted.

Me To Everyone

wait did i just say that out loud

and can we admit “open the kimono” is wildly inappropriate?

chloe what did you hear? i’m supposed to be a black hole of silence on this call!!!

Harry To Everyone

I for one didn’t hear anything but Frank French

Susan To Everyone

I find it more professional to stay muted until I want to speak

Richard To Everyone

Rebecca you are texting the whole group so stop being cheeky

Rebecca’s face flamed. She private-chatted Chloe.

Me To Chloe (Privately)

CAN FRANK FRENCH SEE GROUP CHAT???? DID HE HEAR ME??

Chloe To Me (Privately)

don’t worry he’s gone now

fwiw i agree about kimono

Me To Chloe (Privately)

OH MY GOD it’s the phone it’s because I’m using my phone now i’m going to get fired also TOO MUCH COFFEEEEE

Rebecca hoped against hope that Mrs. Singh could later be persuaded to destroy all evidence of the group chat.

“Let’s pull up the Office Life Inbox, shall we?” Mrs. Singh resumed. “There are some pressing and not-so-pressing concerns raised here that we can examine. I’ll share my screen.” Rebecca made sure she was muted and tucked her thumbs into fists. She watched the inbox insanity issue forth as Mrs. Singh scrolled through. “What jumps out here?”

“Just to be clear, I resolved my questions about scheduling,” Harry from Hawk Mills said.

“It would be helpful to have links to request forms as suggested,” Mrs. Singh said. “I will look into that. And perhaps a more official way to assign empty desks when necessary.”

Rebecca’s screen went to black with the name Ben Heath. “Is anyone else a little concerned about Anon?” It figured that her nemesis took the meeting with his camera off. She was hiding the sneering employees of the nitro cold brew place and a dark wet stain ruining her white shirt. What was he hiding?

“While we do want the Office Life Inbox to be a safe space,” Mrs. Singh replied, “we must certainly be mindful of any posts that cross the line to create a hostile workplace environment.”

“I also wonder about how best to enforce the Clean Desk Policy,” Ben Heath was saying. Was he fucking kidding? Rebecca couldn’t help herself. Finally, she was forced to engage directly with the enemy. She double-checked it was private, then sent him a message.

Me To Ben (Privately)

NARC

Ben To Me (Privately)

your language is creating a hostile workplace environment

Me To Ben (Privately)

srsly? what about make it rain??

Ben To Me (Privately)

water the plant

Me To Ben (Privately)

YOU water the plant

Ben To Me (Privately)

and you’re supposed to clear the desk every night

Me To Ben (Privately)

YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO CLEAR THE DESK

Ben To Me (Privately)

I know you are but what am I is your defense?

Rebecca sat back, blinking. Well, that had escalated quickly. Mrs. Singh was engaging in what sounded like a metaphysical dialogue with Richard about “Paul” versus “paul.” Ben, who could apparently do two things at once without erroneously texting the group chat, made a comment about balancing privacy with safety and followed it up with another dig at Rebecca regarding desk cleanliness.

Me To Ben (Privately)

KMarx? more like Inspector Javert

you are really sowing the seeds of the cactus right now

also kind of a suck-up tbh

Ben To Me (Privately)

thought you were supposed to be a black hole of silence

Me To Ben (Privately)

better than white man talking

Ben To Me (Privately)

just trying to foster collaborative colleague communication unlike some people

Rebecca had started furiously typing a reply when her phone flashed a photo of Jane, who was calling her. Could everyone see the message “MOM CELL CALLING”? Of course not, right? Rebecca hit the red “deny” button, then somehow inadvertently logged herself out of Zoom. She looked at her phone in despair. Was her mom calling with an all-important update about her meeting with Rose? An employee (“Ask Me About Nitrogen Infusion”) began aggressively wiping up the spill on her table. “Mop at table four!” they shouted.

“You hardly need a mop!” Rebecca protested. “It’s mostly on my shirt. And I’m sorry, I tried to clean it up, but your napkins don’t work.” She hastily snatched her bag from the table as the employee got closer with a wet rag.

“You can order another one at the register,” they suggested, with a hint of menace.

“It’s okay, I’m leaving. Sorry about the spill!” Rebecca began gathering her things. A text from Chloe lit up her phone.

Chloe:

???

Rebecca:

so sorry! phone died!

Chloe:

you are texting on your phone right now LOL

Really , Rebecca thought, now Chloe is a detective? She smiled apologetically at the unimpressed employee and left the chilly din of the coffee place.

Rebecca:

i mean please tell everyone that my phone died even though it obviously didn’t—i have to head back to office and will join from there ok?

Chloe:

meeting will be over but

Then thank the lord for small mercies , Rebecca thought. Should she nip into the Gap and buy a shirt or should she show up at work wearing the stain as her excuse for botching the meeting? Which was worse, looking like a total mess or having to listen to Gabe rant about fast “fashion” (air quotes most decidedly his)? She bought a cute black T-shirt for $11 and changed in the store. After texting and calling back Jane with no response, she gave up in frustration. You would think her mother would do her the courtesy of telling her everything immediately! You would think her mother would want to share the suddenly very pertinent details of her life. Wait, had Rebecca BECOME her own mother, passive-aggressively disappointed in the level of communication between them? No, Rebecca decided, there was nothing passive about it. Her career hinged on what was going on between Jane and Rose. Was she being dramatic? Maybe! She glared at her phone. Nothing.

Rebecca headed back to the office and the desk she shared with an unhinged bully. She would get to the bottom of his photo of the Lion and its obvious provocation. She would get to the bottom of the mystery with her mom and Rose if she had to stay at the restaurant all night. She didn’t care for mysteries! She had crammed her old shirt into the Gap bag to recycle later. No amount of soaking or bleach would save it, and she told herself to remember that she would never wear white again.