Baker's Dozen Page 5

  The pristine pillow mocked her.

  No one had ever slept there. Gabriella couldn’t take the chance—not given her deformity, as well as her demanding job. It wasn’t in her future, no matter what Papa had told her about love and forgiveness, or had tried to convince her that her condition was a birth defect, her feet merely bifurcated, not hooved.

  Yet, sometimes, Gabriella wished things were different. She tried to imagine a face to put with this desire, but none ever came. Gabriella remained alone in the dark.

  * * *

  Gabriella interrupted the developer giving the presentation. “Could you go over that last point again?” How they ordered their data intrigued her. Either they were exaggerating, or they’d come up with a unique solution to a large dataset problem. Why hadn’t this part of their business been listed in the initial assessment of the organization’s assets?

  “It’s a little technical,” the developer said, swallowing nervously. The light of the projector made his skin seem even paler in the darkened conference room.

  Gabriella raised an eyebrow and waited. These idiots obviously hadn’t done their homework if they thought they could snow her. Her master’s wasn’t in business, but computer science.

  Andrew, Gabriella’s assistant, shifted in his seat. She made a mental note to talk with him, again, about being prepared for meetings. The only reason he was bored was because he didn’t know enough to ask interesting questions.

  “This might help,” said Lee, a technical consultant on loan to Gabriella’s department from R&D. The specs and graphics he slid across the table were clear and concise. They explained the exact points Gabriella had wanted more detail on. They were even printed dark enough to be easily seen in the half-light.

  She made another mental note to find out why this page hadn’t been in the information packet Andrew had assembled for her. Of course, she’d done her own homework, but she worked with a team for a reason.

  After the presentation and the engineers from the potential acquisition had left, Gabriella asked everyone to stay. “Gut reaction,” she said as she made her way slowly to the head of the oblong table. Her hooves itched inside her boot-socks today, making walking more difficult. “Lightning round,” she added as she finally got into place, pointing her cane at Wu, their senior financial consultant.

  “I think we need more data,” Wu equivocated. His dark eyes darted around the room, seeking support.

  Gabriella refrained from grinding her teeth. “Yes or no.”

  “No,” Wu said slowly, pushing his lips together and no longer meeting Gabriella’s eye. He was very good at his job, but more risk-averse than Gabriella had patience for.

  The next man, Stevens, volunteered an opinion, as did the remaining members of Gabriella’s team. The only one who surprised her was Lee, who said, “Yes. We’d be fools not to.”

  After the meeting, Gabriella pulled Lee to the side. “What did you mean?” She was glad he didn’t hesitate in his reply.

  “They don’t know what they have.” Lee’s hazel eyes burned with bright intelligence. “Their very large dataset solution is elegant, and if I’m reading between the lines of code correctly, they also have some indexing efficiencies that we could make good use of.”

  “Interesting,” Gabriella said, thrilling to the prospect of better data mining. “I’d really like a report—”

  “I was hoping you’d ask,” Lee said, pulling out a few pages from his folder.

  “E-mail them,” Gabriella told him. She didn’t carry anything with her: too difficult with the cane, and a backpack was unprofessional.

  “Of course.” Lee stepped back. “If there’s ever anything else, let me know.”

  For a moment, Gabriella found it difficult to look away. Lee appeared to be looking at her with fondness, wide lips curled into a smile under sharp cheekbones, curly brown hair frizzing at the temples.

  Obviously he didn’t know her very well.

  * * *

  Gabriella had been five or six the first time she’d read a Bible. One of the maids had slipped it to her. As a child she’d been careful to hide her deformity, but she’d trusted the adults around her to keep her secret.

  Mama had taken it when she’d found it, and fired the maid.

  Satan wasn’t presented as someone with cloven feet, at least not in the Bible. But only unclean beasts had hooves. Gabriella wondered if that was why the housekeeper always crossed herself when she saw Gabriella and was alone (she never did it in front of Mama or Papa). Father Marino never came to their house either, though from beyond the walls of their compound she saw him on his bicycle, traveling down the dirt road to one house after another.

  It was the first time Gabriella read of her namesake and how he’d announced the coming of the prophets. She wondered, when she’d grown older, if she was the exact opposite in every way—female, human, announcer of a company’s imminent death, and marked by the Devil.

  * * *

  Over the next two weeks, Lee continued to anticipate Gabriella’s requests for more data, code examples, and now lunch.

  “Mind reader,” Gabriella accused Lee as he stood at the door of her office, takeout bags in hand. She stood and made her way around her desk, cane thumping, indicating that Lee should put the bags on the side table. She dimmed the overhead lights with her remote and turned up the lamps on the credenza: not so much mood lighting as more comfortable. The pale wood of the table no longer shone, but glowed.

  “Just hoping you were hungry,” Lee disclaimed, shaking his head and giving her that warm smile of his.

  Gabriella forced herself to merely return his smile, instead of allowing the grin that threatened to escape. For the first time she felt as if she might be making a friend at the office, someone who witnessed her brilliance and drive yet hadn’t turned away or felt threatened by them.

  After discussing the next possible acquisition Gabriella had found, the conversation grew more personal. He confessed to a fascination with British punk while she admitted to liking classic rock. Their tastes in food overlapped, as well as their favorite European cities: Gabriella had spent her first years in Spain and had returned there every summer for years.

  Lee told a story of his latest travels, when he’d taken a bicycle trip through Versailles and the ducks that had chased him. While Gabriella still chuckled, he casually asked, “Have you ever ridden a bike?”

  “No,” Gabriella said, understanding the real question. “I was born this way. No proper feet.” She didn’t explain more.

  “Ah.” Lee continued with his story, not censoring himself, talking of the wild chase up a set of stairs, herded by an angry flock of geese.

  Gabriella appreciated how Lee spoke with her. Some people grew embarrassed talking about a long walk, as if somehow they shouldn’t mention those types of things in front of her.

  Finally Andrew poked his head through the door, reminding her of her 1 P.M. meeting.

  “Thank you for lunch,” Gabriella told Lee as she pushed herself up.

  “The pleasure was mine,” he replied sincerely. He held himself as if he was about to say something more, then shook his head and started clearing away their plates.

  “Andrew can—”

  “Go. You have a meeting. If won’t take me a moment. And I’ll e-mail you the new project reports by the end of the day.”

  “Thank you.” Now it was Gabriella’s turn to pause. She didn’t know what to add. Thank you for the distraction? For the beginnings of a friendship? For treating me like a person, not merely an asset?

  Gabriella said nothing, though, just walked away, pushing all thought of Lee out of her mind as she focused on the next meeting and her immediate plans. No future personal plans were allowed, not for her.

  * * *

  Gabriella wasn’t as successful at not thinking about Lee later that evening. From the security of her locked bedroom she slid off the boot-socks as she stood in her closet. Tasteful pine cupboards surrounded her on all sides
of the walk-in. Here she had a plush red rug over the hardwood, soft but firm, that wouldn’t show hoof prints.

  The racks held business clothes, all of it rich, tailored, and flattering. Most of it was dark or muted colors, though she had a few special suits: the lavender one when she wanted to be underestimated, the blood-red one for when she wanted her opponent to feel threatened.

  Without the boot-socks, Gabriella had a more plausible walk. It didn’t look right, not like a normal person’s gait. But in just her cloven feet, she could walk much more easily.

  Gabriella fetched a stool, stood as tall as she could to reach the top shelf, far in the back, where one shoebox lay hidden. White tissue paper curled around a pair of sleek, black heels. Without too much difficulty Gabriella slipped them over her hooves, then, stumbling, walked out into her bedroom, stepping in front of the mirror.

  Of course, she looked ridiculous. Bare human legs stuck out from her pelvis, to mid-calf, where the brown fur coat started, tufts of hair growing thickly, down to complicated ankles hanging over black high heels.

  As much as Gabriella might wish otherwise, she could never wear heels like the other women in the office, could never look or dress like them. She didn’t even own a skirt. No matter what Mama said about God having a plan for her life, it didn’t involve normalcy.

  Gabriella slipped the shoes off and then stood, holding them, looking in the mirror. She almost looked like everyone else. Almost. With a sigh she put the heels away and stored the box back in the rear of her closet.

  It was time to put her daydreams away as well.

  * * *

  Lee didn’t stop by with lunch again, and Gabriella told herself that she was relieved. They remained close, but their conversation took on a strictly professional tone. He was the most rounded engineer she’d ever met—articulate, well-travelled, and knowledgeable enough about computer design that she wondered why he hadn’t gone into business on his own.

  However, Lee was still only on loan to Gabriella’s department. She intended to fix that. She couldn’t have him in her personal life, but she could be close to him in her professional life.

  Late that Thursday, Gabriella set up a meeting with Lee in her office. She placed herself at the side table, with fresh coffee and cold cream on the tray, just the way Lee liked it. She had all the numbers of her very generous offer in her head, but she also had printed copies waiting in the blue folder she kept to the side. At first she dimmed the lights, then turned them back up, all the way to bright: Lee needed to see her and know where he stood.

  She might also have wanted to see him clearly as well.

  At first they talked about the latest company Gabriella had started investigating, arguing the technical merits of their social networking software.

  After they’d finalized their plan of attack, Gabriella told Lee, “One last thing.” She pulled the blue folder in front of her. “I’m very impressed with all the work you’ve done. I know you’re only consulting for my group—”

  “I don’t want to work for you,” Lee said, standing abruptly.

  “Oh,” was all Gabriella could say. She pulled the blue folder closer to her, wishing she could hold it over her chest. “I apologize. I misunderstood.” Gabriella examined the smooth wood of the table, ashamed to look up. She felt like such a fool.

  “Gabriella,” Lee said softly. “Please. Let me explain.”

  “You don’t have to explain.”

  “Yes, I do. I’m leaving the company in two weeks. I’m turning in my resignation on Monday.”

  “What?” Gabriella said, her head snapping up.

  Lee smiled warmly at her. “I’m joining the Patterson Group. It’s a think-tank—”

  “I know what it is.” It was perfect—Lee would have the chance to evaluate many different types of companies and technologies, and not just for acquisition.

  Gabriella’s heart still hurt. She hadn’t bound her dreams up tightly enough, it seemed.

  “Now, in two weeks, when we no longer work for the same company—or even longer if you’re worried about appearances—you should call this number.” Lee slid a business card across the table.

  Gabriella raised one eyebrow but didn’t reach for the card. Was Lee trying to blackmail her?

  “That’s my personal number,” Lee explained softly. “My personal e-mail address. Because I would like—” he paused, then pushed on. “We should go to dinner. Out, some place. Away from here. When we no longer work together.”

  Gabriella had never blushed before. Yet, she felt her cheeks grow warm as the implications of what Lee was saying sank in.

  He wasn’t rejecting her. He was asking her out.

  “Yes,” Gabriella said, nodding, finally finding the courage to reach out and pick up the card, sliding her finger across the raised black ink. “I think—I think I should make that call.” Then she sighed. “It’s going to be hell replacing you.”

  “For every loss, there is a gain,” Lee teased. “It’s part of the plan.”

  Gabriella thought about that the rest of the evening. Normally, it was her loss, or the company’s gain.

  Maybe, though, for the first time, it could be the other way around.

  * * *

  Gabriella remembered the last time she’d stripped off her boot-socks and showed someone her feet. She’d just turned nine. She’d slipped away from her English tutor upstairs in the hot, stuffy classroom and clambered down the back stairway that only the servants were supposed to use to slip outside. She didn’t stay in the back garden where she was expected to go. Instead, she slipped around to the front.

  The wrought-iron gate stood wide open to the road, but Gabriella didn’t leave the compound. Instead, she sat on the stone lip of the fountain in the center of the wide, circular front. Water splashed down the sleek center column. The joyful sound bounced off the walls and the narrow brick drive.

  At first, Gabriella merely dipped her fingers under the water. She caught the drops and spread them over her bare arms, lifting her braids and sprinkling water along her neck.

  Gabriella was too afraid to take off her boot-socks—even though her ankles sweated and the edges of her hooves constantly scraped against the material. Still, she zipped down one just an inch or so and dribbled the water inside, trickling it down her calf, cooling her briefly.

  Maybe Gabriella would have unzipped more, but the next thing she knew, Mama had grabbed her arm, forcing her to stand.

  “What are you doing?” Mama yelled, shaking her. “Anyone could see you!” She pulled Gabriella inside the house, closing both of the large front doors, then dragged Gabriella into the front sitting room.

  Papa sat on the overstuffed sofa, reading his paper. The remains of the afternoon coffee service sat on the low wooden table. A large ceiling fan spun lazily above, not cooling off anything.

  “She was removing her socks in public!” Mama announced, thrusting Gabriella in front of her.

  Papa folded his paper and put it beside him on the sofa. “I don’t understand—”

  “She shouldn’t show anyone!”

  “It’s merely a birth defect—”

  “It is not,” Gabriella said firmly.

  Mama looked guilty, while Papa asked softly, “Did one of the maids say something again?”

  “No,” Gabriella said. “But people aren’t born like this!”

  “With feet that are split, like yours? Normally not, no. We’ve explained, sweetheart—”

  “This isn’t just a defect,” Gabriella announced as she unzipped her boot-socks and showed her parents what she saw: the fur now growing on her calves, how her ankles bowed, and the hooves that had formed on the ends of her feet.

  Gabriella pulled herself up straight, balancing delicately on the cool stone floor. She even walked in a circle to show them, clomping like a horse with every step.

  All she needed was a tail.

  When Gabriella turned back, Mama sat with tears streaming down her face. “She’s right.�
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  Papa insisted, “It’s just a birth defect.”

  “There’s surgery—” Mama said.

  “No.” Gabriella and Papa said together firmly. No one was touching her feet, or even looking at them again.

  Gabriella gathered her stocking boots and walked out, clomping loudly, through the house and up the main stairs to her room, holding her head high.

  The next week Papa and Gabriella moved to New York. Mama stayed behind in Spain. Gabriella knew it was her fault, no matter how much her father denied it. She tried to be everything to him, graduating from high school when she was thirteen, following his plans, graduating from law school though she never took the bar, then following her own plans and studying computers as well.

  She still wondered sometimes about God’s plans that Mama had told her about, before Gabriella decided His plans didn’t matter at all.

  * * *

  Gabriella hadn’t been to the restaurant Lee picked out. Heavy velvet, navy blue curtains sectioned off the front alcove from the tables. Lee stood next to the hostess, wearing a formal suit. He looked young and beautiful: How could he be waiting for her?

  “It’s good to see you,” Gabriella said, standing awkwardly before him. They’d never hugged, had rarely shaken hands, even. And her cane was in the way.

  “It’s wonderful to see you,” Lee said, reaching forward and squeezing her elbow.

  Gabriella froze. No one had touched her like that. Ever.

  “Shall we?” Lee asked, holding open the curtain.

  Gabriella followed the hostess, who walked slowly enough for Gabriella to stay close. Off-white linens covered every table, and the places were set with crystal and heavy silverware. Waiters stood in white suit jackets with black bow ties and pants. Beautiful flower arrangements lined the room, the only spots of color, brilliant red roses and orange tiger lilies. Many of the guests wore retro outfits: women with pillbox hats, sheath dresses, and pearls; men in suits and garters.

  The hostess seated them in a private booth that was also partially curtained. “Open or closed?” she asked.