in? “We would be very glad to see you in the thirteenth-floor conference room from 1 p.m.!”
No, no, no! I have nine fund reports to write by Friday. Plus I have a very important nativity play to attend at 2:30 this afternoon.
With work memos out of the way, I can get to the real e-mails, the ones that matter: messages from friends, jokes and stories handed around the world like sweets. If it’s really true what they say, that mine is the time-famished generation, then e-mail is our guilty snack, our comfort food. It would be hard to explain how much sustenance I get from my regular correspondents. There’s Debra, my best friend from college, now mother of two and a lawyer with Addison Pope, just across the way from the Bank of England and about ten minutes’ walk from Edwin Morgan Forster. Not that I ever get down there to see her. Might as well work on Pluto. And then there’s Candy, foul-mouthed fellow fund manager, World Wide Web whiz and proud export of Rockaway, New Jersey, Candace Marlene Stratton. My sister-in-arms and a woman in the vanguard of the latest developments in world corsetry. My favorite character in literature is Rosalind in
Candy sits right over there, next to the pillar, fifteen feet away, and yet we scarcely exchange more than a few words out loud during an average day. On-screen, though, we’re in and out of each other’s minds like old- fashioned neighbors.
To: Kate Reddy, EMF
From: Candy Stratton
K8,
Q: Why are married women heavier than single women?
A: Single women come home, see what’s in the fridge, and go to bed. Married women come home, see what’s in bed, and go to the fridge.
How U? Me: Cystitis. Too much SX xxxx
To: Kate Reddy, EMF
From: Debra Richardson, Addison Pope
Morning,
How was Swdn & NYC? Poor you. Felix fell off table and broke his arm in 4 places (didn’t think there were 4 places to break). Nightmare. Spent six hours in Casualty. Good old NHS! Ruby announced ystdy that she loves her nanny, her daddy, her rabbit, her brother, all the Teletubbies, and her mummy in that order. Nice to know it’s all worthwhile, no?
Rmbr LUNCH on Friday? Tell me yr not canceling. Deb xxxx
To: Candy Stratton
From: Kate Reddy
Another relaxing few days. Stockholm, New York, Hackney. Up till dawn forging mince pies for Emily’s carol concert — don’t even ask.
Plus Pol Pot has given Ben a hideous Nazi haircut and I daren’t complain because I was away and being away means you surrender all rights to maternal authority. Plus, I have to remind Rod “Task” Master that I need to leave early today for the concert.
Any suggestions how to do this without mentioning the words (a) child or (b) leave?
LOVE K8 xxxx
PS: What is SX? Rings vague bell.
To: Kate Reddy
From: Candy Stratton
hon, U gotta cut domstic goddss crap. look other moms in the eye & say, I’m Busy & I’m Proud or U will be ded.
tell rod task U have major mens2ruashn si2ashn. Ozzies even more freakd by womens trouble than Brits.
CUL8R xxxxxx
I glance across the office and see Candy swigging from a can, which she hoists aloft in a cheery toast to me. Until recently, Candy’s diet was confined to Coke — the Diet kind and the other kind — which left her pencil-thin with prominent breasts; this got her plenty of lovers but not a lot of love. A year older than me, at thirty-six Candy is congenitally single and sometimes I envy her ability to do the most fantastic things like going to have a drink after work or visiting the bathroom at weekends unaccompanied by a curious five-year-old or coming in to work hollow- eyed after being up all night having sex instead of coming in to work hollow-eyed after being up all night with the wailing product of sex. Candy did get engaged a couple of years back to a consultant from Anderson’s. Unfortunately, she was so busy working on a final for a German pension fund that she stood him up three dates in a row. The third time Bill was waiting for her in a restaurant at Smithfield and he got talking to a nurse from St. Bart’s at the next table. They were married in August.
Candy says she’s not going to worry about her fertility, though, until Cartier starts making a biological clock.
To: Debra Richardson, Addison Pope
From: Kate Reddy, EMF
Dear D, so late in this am can’t write much now. no way am i canceling lunch.
Y is truthful Woman’s Excuse always less acceptable than false Man’s Excuse? puzzled, K8
To: Kate Reddy
From: Debra Richardson
Because they don’t want to be reminded that you have a life, stupid.
C U friday. D xx
I decided not to approach Rod Task in person over the question of leaving work early to get to Emily’s nativity play. Better to tag it on casually as a PS to some work e-mail. Make it look like a fact of life, not a favor. Just got a reply.
To: Kate Reddy
From: Rod Task
Jesus, Katie, only seems like yesterday you had your own nativity.
Sure, take the time you need, but we should talk c. 5:30. And I need you to go to Stockholm to hold Sven’s hand again. Is Friday good for you, Beaut?
Cheers, Rod
No, Friday is not good for me. I can’t believe he expects me to do another trip before Christmas. Means I will miss the office party, have to cancel lunch with Debra again, and lose the shopping time I was counting on.
Our office is open-plan but the Director of Marketing has one of two rooms with walls; the other belongs to Robin Cooper-Clark. When I march in to Rod to make my protest, the office is empty, but I stay a few moments anyway to take in the view through the floor-to-ceiling window. Directly below is the Broadgate rink, a dinner plate of ice set in the middle of staggered towers of concrete and steel. At this hour, it’s empty save for a lone skater, a tall dark guy in a green sweatshirt, carving out what at first I think are figures of eight but, as he makes the long downward stroke, realize is a large dollar sign. With the fog unfurling, the City looks as it did during the Blitz, when smoke from the fires dispersed, magically revealing the dome of St. Paul’s. Turn in the opposite direction and you see the Canary Wharf tower winking like a randy Cyclops.
