The Black & The White (24 page)

There was a direct correlation between
the number of people I entertained and the amount of trades flowing
to Andrew’s desk. Old clients became new ones. Existing clients
became better ones. Andrew gave me a corporate American Express
account “to encourage client entertainment.”

“
You’re my bait for the
clients,” he said. “We’re partners that way. You get me in the door
and I’ll keep them there,” Andrew said, somehow unaware of how
offensive it was to me. “You’re the beauty and I’m the brains.” His
constant attention to looks and physical attributes was starting to
wear on me. His perverted, degrading comments didn’t help things.
He was creepy—despicable actually.

With the new corporate account, I was
able to maximize going to dinner and ordering expensive bottles of
wine at liberty, both with clients and with friends. I abused that
liberty and no longer cared. To spend carelessly, without reserve,
on anything and everything I wanted was one small way I was able to
make myself feel like I could assert my power over him. But he
didn’t even notice.

After Vegas, Andrew grew even more
brash and cocksure, directing more foul sexual comments toward me
than ever before. The man I once thought to be a family man, had
grown into a beastly, adulterous person of lax morals. It was hard
to see him as a respectable boss, and certainly not a friend.
Friends wouldn’t say some of the things he had said to
me.

“
The Vegas trip was
successful,” he said. “This is our year, Isabelle,” he told me, as
indicated by the large trading activity. We had become Wall
Street’s liquidity provider, providing large amount of securities
in great volumes to buyers or sellers without a significant change
in the price of the security.

It was hard for him to be unaffected
by management’s new attention toward him. He was rumored for
year-end promotion and was even more celebrated as an employee. As
a result, he became even more pompous as well as a glutton for
material excess.

One day, when the clerk at the end of
our desk stopped by to ask a question, he commented on Andrew’s new
purchase. He seemed to just make small talk but Andrew appreciated
the attention. “Oh, you mean, this watch? It’s about eleven
thousand dollars.” Andrew smirked as he pointed to my wrist. “More
expensive than yours, Isabelle.” I had no watch.

During one slow trading day, he turned
to me and said, “Hey, I just bought a Porsche. Eighty grand but
don’t tell anyone, okay?”

I smiled and turned back to my work.
Yet he kept the picture of the car up on his computer screen as if
to encourage questions about his new purchase.

“
I’m bored. I’m going to go
shopping for houses or apartments in New York City, just in case I
need to sleep in the city. Right, Isabelle?” He winked. “No one
will know what happens. You know…I’m well hung.” He winked again. I
thought about Carin’s story of him in Vegas and was revolted all
over again.

Andrew’s constant chatter about his
money soon garnered disapproving stares from his colleagues. The
stares made me feel uncomfortable for him.

“
People get jealous around
here if you work hard and make a lot of money,” Andrew said. “We
all start somewhere, Isabelle. You’ll get all of these things one
day. Sleep with me and maybe you’ll get more, faster.” He winked. I
thought, Stop winking at me, you abominable freak! Remembering the
comment Raj made to Zach when I first came into New York, I next
thought I wish you to be a louse on the hair of an elephant’s anus,
so you can be shat upon.

I recalled when I was constantly
teased in grade school. My mother had always told me, “Ignore what
they have to say, Isabelle. You just keep quiet. Do your job. Don’t
cause any problems.” At work, it was no different. He was my boss.
I couldn’t tell him what I really thought. I wanted to keep the
job. The last thing I wanted was to create friction. It was easier
to ignore what I didn’t like than to create a
confrontation.

It wasn’t long after Vegas that my
role with him started to change.

“
They’re down, like,
forty-five basis points from last week.” I pointed to the Excel
spreadsheet on my computer. The comprehensive statement suggested
most of the clients had posted some sort of loss. “Maybe we suggest
they cut back their risk. What do you think?” I asked.

“
I think you shouldn’t
fucking worry about it. It’s none of your business. And don’t you
say a damn word about this to anyone. You hear me?” he snapped.
“I’ll tell you what—from now on, don’t tell me what I should or
should not do. Just send me all of the mark-to-market information
before you send it to the clients.” Andrew looked at the computer
screen that highlighted the client’s losses. “It’s a matter of
discretion, Isabelle. Just be sure you keep taking clients out.
That is your job as a junior trader, not mine.”

The next day as I was confirming and
reconfirming trades, I found that the Excel spreadsheet I had
always used now required a password. I said nothing to Andrew. He
clearly wanted to make a point by taking away some of my
responsibilities. I wanted to retaliate passive-aggressively. Then
I thought that was exactly what he wanted me to do, so I felt
stuck.

It was a tense week for our desk as
well as for the five-year desk. I watched the five-year trader, who
sat next to me, surreptitiously do continuous lines of cocaine at
the edge of his desk. Everyone turned a blind eye.

When the storm subsided later that
week, Andrew decided he wanted to play a game.

“
Alright, Isabelle, I’m
bored, let’s make a bet.”

“
Bet on what?” I was still
agitated by his recent behavior. Betting was culture on a trading
floor. People bet on anything—the number of zeroes on the serial
number of a dollar bill, someone’s age, the color of shirt someone
was going to wear, anything.

“
The Non-Farm numbers
tomorrow. Higher or lower than consensus?” Andrew asked. “If you
lose the bet, you have to sleep with me.”

I looked at him in disgust. “Yeah,
okay, Andrew,” I said sarcastically. I wouldn’t dream of it, you
swine, I thought. Why was I constantly harassed? What had I done to
instigate this? I wondered if Carin went through this with her
boss. Or Kim. Did anyone else but me?

“
Higher or lower,” he
persisted.

“
Fine. Lower.” Annoyed, I
answered knowing nothing I said would be appropriate.

“
Then it’s a deal. There are
lots of hotels in the area. How about the St. Regis? Maybe you
prefer The Four Seasons?”

I picked up the phone and called both
Kim and Carin to meet up after work, more so because it was the
only way I knew how to cope with his constant badgering.

“
All okay?” Kim asked. She
could tell from my voice something was amiss.

“
Yeah. Let’s just meet up.
Need to talk to you about something. I need your
opinion.”

“
Too funny. Well, if
opinions are what you want, pumpkin, I have tons of those.” She
laughed. I giggled at her truism.

We all met at a Chelsea restaurant,
Bottino. The crowd was predominantly gay men. Kim liked to go
there. “I’m a fag hag. You get to flirt with men as much as you
want, and you don’t even have to worry they want to fuck you,” she
once explained.

I asked both Kim and Carin how they
had been able to deal with harassment for so long. “You either play
the game or get out,” Carin said before Kim expanded. “But if you
think of it, we have more power because we can get these morons to
do anything we want by teasing their penis.” They both
laughed.

“
These assholes can’t think
beyond their dicks,” Carin continued. “Fuck, I should write a
book.”

“
Watch the divorce rate
rocket after that gets published,” Kim said. “Plus, who ever said
sleeping with your boss was a bad idea anyway?”

“
Human Resources,” Carin
answered with a sly grin.

Kim rolled her eyes. “Baby, you think
these Human Resources people will help you over your boss, a man
who makes money for your firm? You’re like a cost center to
them.”

I wanted to think that Andrew was a
vehicle to get me to where I wanted to be professionally, but it
didn’t seem likely. Kim and Carin gave me no hope for change. I
wondered what I was doing differently than they were. My situation
seemed worse. How was it that they could handle it and I couldn’t?
Did I dress provocatively? No, I thought—I couldn’t be worse than
Kim. Was I suggestive in speech? No. Certainly, not more than
either Carin or Kim.

Before we left, Kim got up to go to
the bathroom. “Can you get my credit card out of my wallet when the
waitress comes, Isabelle?” I agreed. I searched through her Gucci
clutch and saw a small bag of cocaine. I surreptitiously took it
while Carin was busy searching her wallet for money. I stuffed it
immediately in my purse.

The next day, Andrew continued talking
about his bet. “Okay, twenty more minutes before the
numbers.”

I concealed my nervousness by focusing
on my spreadsheets and interpreting data. Then I remembered the
cocaine in my bag and excused myself to the bathroom, where I
snorted a line.

As the deadline inched closer, the
volume of securities exchanged grew. The volatility of the market
ticked as fast as my heart beat. The volatility indicated that
perhaps someone knew something others didn’t, which happened on
occasion. Then I wondered whether Andrew knew I had done drugs at
work. I grew paranoid.

The payroll numbers came out stronger
than the consensus estimate. I had lost the bet. “Alright, you
lost. So when are we going?” Andrew asked. “You are allowed to
leave early to buy the condoms. I’m large, so you better get the
Magnums.”

I didn’t know how to respond. “Ha-ha.
Funny,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“
I’ve already booked a room
at The Four Seasons. We can go there for fifteen minutes and no one
will have to know about it.”

“
Would you please stop? I am
not going to sleep with you.”

“
Well, you have to. You made
a bet. It’s just the rules.”

I imagined biting his arm, kicking his
groin, and spitting on him. But instead I said nothing.

“
Let’s see what everyone
else thinks.” He turned to his computer and then proceeded to write
an email for mass distribution:

“
If you had a bet and lost
it, would you pay up, even if it were for an ungodly amount of
money or do something that you would never otherwise? Yes or
No?

“
That’s not fair. Andrew, I
would never sleep with you. If you said to someone ‘If you lose
this bet, you have to jump off a bridge to kill yourself,’ you
can’t expect someone to jump off the bridge. Outrageous contracts
like that don’t hold up in court, anyway. Your bet with me is too
far-fetched. Be fair. Come on. Plus, I didn’t really bet with you.”
I was nearly begging. I knew he sensed I was upset, but he didn’t
care and continued to send the query to clients.

I wondered if Stephen had told Andrew
I kissed him. Perhaps that was the reason he thought I would
consider sleeping with him?

Stephen’s light flashed on the direct
line. Andrew and I simultaneously picked up the phone. I stayed on
the line to eavesdrop, pretending I was off, working on my
spreadsheets.

“
Dude, what’s this message
about?”

“
I’m teaching Isabelle that
good traders pay up for their bets.”

“
What’s the bet that she
wouldn’t do?”

“
Nothing. Anything that she
wouldn’t do?”

“
Well, what is it she
wouldn’t do? Sleep with you?”

“
That’s a possibility.”
Andrew laughed.

“
I get it, dude. I would
follow up on a bet I lost. But sleeping with your assistant is
another story. I think I know Isabelle enough to know that she
wouldn’t touch you, dude.”

I was happy Stephen was defending
me.

“
I’m just trying to teach
Isabelle to never make a trade you can’t follow up on,” Andrew
retorted.

“
I don’t want to be involved
in this potential lawsuit,” Stephen said.

“
She’s not going to do
anything to me,” Andrew asserted with confidence as he looked at
me.

I left work that day without
addressing the bet and walked thirty blocks in heels to Jeffrey’s
restaurant. Andrew saw me leave. Neither of us said
goodbye.

After that, Jeffrey became more and
more my source of comfort. Although I never was explicit about the
happenings at work, his presence was consoling.

“
All okay?” he asked, seeing
my somber mood.

“
It will be,” I said before
he reached over and gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. I loved
nestling into his arms. Later, he offered me alcohol. That too made
me feel better.

Several weeks later, Andrew and I
stood at the bar of a midtown restaurant as we waited to be seated
with a group of clients. Andrew reached over and opened the flap of
my jacket to expose a new camisole I had bought while shopping with
Kim.