“You know, Chris, maybe Baby G Sports wasn’t meant to be. It could be a sign,” Katherine said.
“It’s not a sign. There’s an accident ahead. See those flashing lights?” Christy climbed into the backseat and unzipped her garment bag. “I’m getting dressed. So when we make it, I can run in.”
“Good idea. With this traffic, it could take us half an hour, maybe more.”
Christy shook her head as she unbuttoned the Chanel jacket. “I still can’t believe you made me spend five thousand dollars for this suit.” The thought of the amount made her sick.
The cars started moving again. “Trust me, Chris. You have to dress like you don’t need the money or you won’t get any. Steiner wants to turn us down, just like those other firms did,” Katherine said. She sounded like she knew what she was talking about.
“Do you really believe they’re gonna decide based on our outfits? What if they think we’re wasting money?”
Katherine locked eyes with Christy in the rearview mirror as she spoke. “Chris, very few women ever get seen by these guys. Our performance has to be perfect or it’s over. Could you have won the Olympics in a pair of Hush Puppies? No. This is the same thing.”
“Watch out,” Christy shouted as Katherine barreled into the back bumper of a Cadillac changing lanes in front of them.
“Shit!” Katherine yelled. “Did you see the way that asshole cut me off? He never signaled!” She pulled over to the side of the road, behind the Cadillac, and stopped. A red-faced man leaped out of the luxury sedan and inspected the damage, then began screaming and raging, waving his hands in the air.
“Why didn’t you slow down?” he ranted. “For Christ’s sake, couldn’t you see I was pulling over?”
Christy was overwhelmed by a sudden and profound sadness. Is this it? Is this how the story ends? In her mind, she saw her fledgling company’s life flash before her eyes: the first meeting around the dining room table; the moment Sasha, queen of hip-hop, bounded onstage in a pair of Baby G’s; herself and Katherine collapsing in laughter the next day as the orders poured in.
“I did signal, dammit,” Katherine was saying. “Look! My light’s still blinking.”
As they argued, Christy came to a decision. She stuffed her laptop and a pair of heels into her backpack. She put on her running shoes and slipped out of the car.
“I’m outta here,” she shouted.
Katherine checked her watch. “You have fourteen minutes.”
Back on Track
Five minutes later, torrential rain slashed down against the asphalt highway. Then it grew lighter. Then it poured again. Christy kept moving. A little water can’t slow me down, she thought, imagining herself at the Olympic Trials, her father cheering her on. Christy threw her whole body into the run, head high, chest out, legs burning, heart pounding. She picked up the pace, flying over wet gravel, broken glass, cigarette butts. From the Sandhill Road off-ramp she put on her finishing kick, sprinting the last four hundred meters to Steiner McClane headquarters. Soaked to the skin, she stopped to catch her breath under their arched entry. Her legs were trembling, not used to running hard anymore. She couldn’t believe how winded she was and vowed to add interval work to her training regime. Okay, you look like hell. You feel like hell. But you’re on time, she thought.
Walking inside with less than a minute to spare, Christy caught the eye of the receptionist. The woman was pretty, perky, and athletic, which seemed to be the prereq at these West Coast firms. She gave Christy a look of confused recognition.
“Hi, I’m Christy Hayes.”
“Oh my goodness. The bathroom’s in there,” the receptionist said, pointing toward a door. “In case you want to, ah, freshen up.”
“Thanks.”
“Bill’s running about ten minutes late, so take your time.”
In the bathroom, Christy looked in the mirror. She pulled a brush out of her dripping bag. Doing what she could with her hair, she left it wet and loose. Using Kleenex, she wiped the mascara stains off her face. She blotted her suit with paper towels and changed into her heels.
Christy took a deep breath, and walked back to the reception area. She looked around for the first time. The place felt like a modern cathedral, all glass and soft cream carpets. Unlike companies housed in New York skyscrapers, this was all on one floor. In California, power could spread out instead of stacking up.
Two dozen trim men dressed in office casual took note of her arrival. As Katherine said, not many women made the grade to get a meeting with this legend of venture capital. And Christy was a girl you couldn’t help but notice, even soaked through—a trim brunette, shoulder-length hair, long defined legs. So far, she hadn’t met a man who could quite deal with her looks, her obsession with work, and her athletic notoriety. Everyone assumed that men were falling all over her, but in fact, the only ones she ever saw were her employees and accountants. A few weeks shy of her thirtieth birthday, though, she remained hopeful.
Christy was sure that her future husband wasn’t among these timid gatekeepers. She had imagined venture capitalists as adventurers, but from what she had seen, they were more like sheep. Nobody wanted to say yes until the guy down the block did, and then they got into a competitive feeding frenzy. So far, no one was willing to take a chance on Baby G, and now it all came down to this last hour to make Steiner McClane believe in them. Her. She realized she would be alone today. No Katherine with her brilliant mind and intimate understanding of the numbers.
“Bill will be ready in five. Would you like something to drink?” The receptionist walked Christy over to an open kitchen full of yogurt, fruit, candy bars, and bottled iced teas with Zen-looking labels.
