On Top: A narrative from Ms. Gimply's collection.
I rolled my wheelchair into the board room. It was the first meeting since I had been appointed Chief Executive Officer of the company. I was elated. Since the appointment I had been secretly practicing the words. "CEO," I said to myself, "Laura Brackett, CEO. Hi. I'm Laura the Chief Executive Officer."
The board had selected me in the wake of the accounting scandal that had toppled the previous top management and led to the criminal indictment of Harry Mueller, the former Vice President for Finance. He was facing several charges of fraud and a whole list of other things. It was an especially sweet victory to see Harry fall from grace.
My spirit was especially soaring because I had just opened the Christmas card from Paul and his family. Their picture smiled out at me and, as usual, they melted my heart. There was dear, sweet Paul, older but still youthful, still thoughtful and reserved. His wife was a beautiful woman and was beginning to look just a bit matronly. Then there were their three lovely children - the children who called me Aunt Laura on the rare occasions that I saw them. Paul, their letter said, was now chief attorney in the public defender's office. I smiled. That was typical of Paul who had forsaken business for the law.
Inevitably, I thought about the office holiday party all those years ago. It had been almost exactly a year since the accident that had cost me my legs. I was fortunate that it did not cost my life as well. I had no memory of the night I spent in my overturned and demolished car before they found me the next day. I recovered from the concussion over the next few days. Broken arms and ribs as well as my broken pelvis were treatable and I healed slowly.
But the first few weeks were a series of progressively higher amputations trying to save what remained of my legs in a futile battle against gangrene and infection. The end result was their complete removal at the hips (a procedure that the surgeons call Double Hip Disarticulation). There was nothing left to accommodate prosthetic legs.
I had lost six months of work in the hospital and in rehabilitation. Not only did I lose the time but when I returned I sensed that I had lost a part of my hard earned status in the company.
Before the accident, I had relied on my tall and slim presence to quietly dominate and get my way. I had dressed just a bit sternly with lots of black and austere tailoring. I augmented my height with heels and could command most any situation. I was confident that my star was rising. When I came back, I was sure the tables had been turned
I was in a wheelchair and, by definition, shorter than everyone else. I didn't seem to be a threat to anyone or even an influence on them. Some people pitied me in a condescending way. A few actually teased me.
Harry Mueller was especially obnoxious. He started calling me ‘Shorty.' When I objected, he claimed that he was only being affectionate and that I should be able to take a joke. I hated the bastard and longed for revenge. I couldn't think of a way to get it.
Paul was the only bright spot in the first six months after I returned. He was assigned to me for a semester as a full time intern from the business school. The school believed - correctly, I think - that practical experience should be a part of education.
Paul had a quiet charm and didn't seem to assert himself until you watched him closely. For one thing, he was unfailingly considerate and respectful to the secretaries and file clerks. The result was that they looked out for him. His reports were always flawlessly typed. He had all the information in the firm at his fingertips. I learned by watching him that people on the bottom can help you (and hurt you) even more than people on top. It is a lesson I never forgot.
Paul had uncanny powers of observation. He could see infallibly who was in trouble in the firm and who was ascending. He could intuit the dynamics of relationships and use them to get things accomplished without seeming to manipulate. I came to appreciate his skills gradually during the semester.
What surprised me the most was the ways that he protected me. First there were little ways. I never had to juggle coffee and bagels from the cafeteria. He always timed his appetite to match mine and did my carrying as well as his own. If we left the headquarters for a meeting with a client, he always knew in advance where the ramps were as well as the accessible restrooms. We never spoke about it - it just happened.
More important, he found ways to postpone my decisions when I was not at my best. I was not at my best much of the time in those days as I was often angry, confused and conflicted. He would plead that he needed to provide me with more information or would uncharacteristically delay reports that he owed me.
Sometimes, when I left a meeting and returned to the office, fuming because I had not had my way, he would listen to me for a while and then say, "Let it go, Ms. Brackett. Tomorrow is another day." Then I would laugh and unwind a bit.
Much later, I figured out that he never let me make important decisions in the two days before my menstrual period. Long after he was gone, I actually set my logs and my personal diary side by side to compare them. Sure enough, from his second month on the job, he seemed to have my cycle pegged. Of course, we have never spoken of it.
His last day at the office was the Friday afternoon of the annual holiday party. I remember that I was in a particularly odd mood that day. For one thing, Paul was leaving the company. Another thing was that I was dreading interacting socially with all those people who didn't respect me. I especially dreaded talking to that son of a bitch, Harry.
I began the festivities by visiting the punch bowl more often than I should. It made the afternoon a bit more bearable, but my self control suffered. I could see Paul hovering nearby.
As the alcohol warmed the occasion, the joking began. Inevitably, some of the secretaries were coaxed to bare their bottoms and sit on the photocopier for portraits of their nether parts. None of them complied. I marveled at the seeming good humor in enduring the harassment.
The most insistent was Harry the swine. I knew that the secretaries called him "Dirty Harry" behind his back. After the secretaries managed to escape, Harry turned to me. "Hey, Shorty," he said, "Take off your undies so we can take your picture. I'll bet that with your legs gone we can get a really spectacular view."
In a sudden insight, I realized how I had handled him and those like him in the old days. I would draw myself to my full height and press my legs together in a symbolic resistance to violation. Now, I wasn't tall any more and I had no legs. And I was mad as hell.
Harry, the asshole, had found my limit. I didn't give a shit anymore about my future in the company. I only wanted to lash out at the prick. I drew back my arm to throw my drink in his face.
Before I could act on my impulse I heard Paul's uncharacteristically loud voice. He made a strong disparaging remark about the New York Yankees. Harry was a sports nut and a diehard, obnoxious Yankee fan. His attention turned from me to Paul. Harry began a diatribe about lowly interns. Paul remained calm with a little smile on his face as he absorbed Harry's drunken abuse.
Paul had saved me again I calmed down a bit and wheeled back to the punch bowl. After that, every time I spotted Harry, I found that Paul was standing somewhere between us. He didn't make a show of it. He was just there and protecting me. It felt good.
Harry and his cronies had left. I had outlasted the jerk - at least at the party. I picked up my coat in my office and headed to the elevator and the parking garage. Paul intercepted me. "Ms. Brackett," he said, "Let me drive you home. I'll bring you back tomorrow to get your car." I knew he was right. I was more than a bit tipsy. I was still getting used to the hand controls and driving sober was challenge enough.
I said, "I'll let you drive me on one condition."
He looked at me quizzically.
"You have to call me Laura." I pouted. It was the stupid company rule that everyone below my level - like Paul and the secretaries - were not allowed to address top ranking superiors by their first names. At my level and above, we were allowed to do so for one level above us. That is how I could call Harry by his name and Paul had to call me Ms. Bartlett.
