Watch You Die by Katia Lief Page A

beautifully manicured fingertip across her neck. “He’ll figure it out.”
    “I hope so. I’m still in my review period and the last thing I need is to bring a complaint to Human Resources before I’ve been officially approved, you know?”
    “Absolutely. And I’ll tell you, the director of HR, Paul Assholedley?”
    “No!”
    “OK, Ardsley. I just can’t stand him. He hit on me big time at last year’s Christmas party.”
    Her expression in the mirror was wide-eyed with recalled outrage. I paused on her eyes a moment before asking:
    “I thought you liked that kind of response. Gives you power, and all that.”
    “Not from guys in HR. That’s just unethical, you know? It crosses a line.”
    I did know. Gender politics at work were tricky and could be dangerous and were best avoided if at all possible.
    “So you think Paul Ardsley won’t think Joe is a real problem, then?”
    “I don’t know, but my feeling last Christmas was that he thought there was a hands-on policy at work.”
    “I could tell Elliot.”
    She considered it. “Not yet. Wait. See if the silent treatment works. I really think it’s better to handle this stuff on our own before we complain to a superior.”
    Complain
being the key word. Every woman knew that men thought there was something wrong with us if we didn’t like them enough or not in the ways they wanted us to like them. If we asked them to keep their distance it was a
complaint
. If we insisted, we were
shrill
. If we raised our voices, we were
hysterical
. My being offended by these close encounters with Joe Coffin could be perceived as
oversensitivity
or, worse,
frigidity
. I knew that. Especially so soon on the job, when Elliot didn’t know me very well yet.
    “You’re right,” I said. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
    “Any time, sister.” She flipped her long hair over her right shoulder and faced me. “Bones, anyone?”
    I laughed. “You need to call Anand for a delivery receipt. Russet Cleanup doesn’t have one.”
    “I’m on it.”
    We left the bathroom together and got to work at our desks. From mine I could hear “Princess” talking with Anand over the phone, chatting, zeroing in on the purpose of her call. I eavesdropped, fascinated with Courtney’s flirtatious interview style, which obviously she deployed selectively. I had heard her interview other people and she could be tough as nails. I still wasn’t sure exactly what to make of this young woman whom I was just getting to know. From a distance she might have both intimidated and repelled me for bringing cleavage into the office; but up close complexities appeared, shades and textures that belied the
Sex and the City
thing she did so well.
    After the call she grinned at me across the space that separated our desks. Then she did something that surprised and pleased me for its intimacy: she wheeled her chair out of the port of her desk until she was sitting facing me, our knees touching. She leaned in and kept her voice low.
    “Here’s why I love Anand,” she said. “The guys who delivered the evidence bags that day didn’t have a bill of lading. Anand knew they weren’t regular city contractors and he refused to accept delivery without paperwork. So they made some up on the spot and guess what?”
    Just at that moment the rattling sound of the mailroom cart materialized in the newsroom. Courtney and I turned our heads in a synchronized movement that caught the attention of the reporter two desks over. His attention glanced off the two-headed joined-at-the-knee creature that was Courtney and me before returning to his work.
    Joe wheeled his cart through the newsroom, deposited mail on about half the desks – not mine – and then wheeled his cart out. For the duration of his presence, about two minutes, I ignored him as planned. I pretended to show Courtney an imaginary document on my laptop screen, pointing and gesturing as I scrolled through a web page I had randomly accessed. Joe also ignored