Is That a Moose in Your Pocket

CHAPTER 1 ex marks the spot six months earlier The e-mail arrived in my in-box as I was killing time adding books and CDs to my Amazon wish list that I would never buy. Starting a Dialogue with Your Inner Child's Child and The Best Latin Dance Party Hits of 1980-1990 ring any bells? To: Carl Hanson From: Nancy Teason Subject: Department changes C, I've been giving the changes we talked about some thought, and the topline is, Jen's just not ready for this kind of responsibility. She has tons of talent, and with the right kind of mentoring, I think she could be a managing editor in a year or two. Irregardless [sic] of the current budget freeze, I think we need to look out of house on this one. We can talk about it more but this is really my gut call. p.s. Steve and I have tickets to the Giants game on Sunday. Interested in making it a foursome? Nance Nancy Teason, Director of Product Development Technology Standard / TechStandard.com I read it through several more times, heart pounding. My college roommate, who is now a practicing personal coach with two homes (Laguna Beach, California, and Old Saybrook, Connecticut) and two ex-husbands (both in L.A.), says that the important thing in times of stress is to isolate the thought attack and put it away in your "negativity closet." I have tried this method several times and have found that it is nowhere near as satisfying as imagining backing an SUV slowly over the backstabbing turncoat who has wronged you. For about six weeks now, I've been going through the humiliating process of applying for my own job. Why do I think it's mine? Well, for one, my former boss, Jem Abbott Pierce (yes, that's really her name--Mayflower forebears), had the temerity to go have a baby and leave me stranded with her work. Not that I mind, since her job is infinitely more interesting than my own, what with the trips to L.A. in spring, New York in fall, and free shwag up the wazoo. It just stands to reason that I, Jem's Fully Anointed Protege, am supposed to take her place when she invariably decides that darning pashmina shawls, painting landscapes of rotting barns, and nurturing her blue-blooded progeny are more important than covering high-tech news in Silicon Valley. One Internet hiccup, and a message I was never intended to see found its way to my in-box. This happens, what, once every five years or so? Twenty? As there was something omenlike about this, I grabbed my spongy carpal-tunnel wrist ball and squeezed obsessively while staring out at the parking lot, hoping for a divine or at least everyday revelation. I considered my options: Forward dreaded message to Carl and cc Nancy Teason (Treason?) with a kind fyi at the top, and pretend ongoing ignorance while conducting a quietly dignified job search, which would hopefully offer me 387,000 instantly vesting stock options and an all-straight-male staff? Delete dreaded message and sublimate my rage into therapeutic massage and book club? Reply to dreaded message using colorful expletives, stomp over to Carl's office, urinate on the copier, and fling my meager belongings in a box? In the end, I did what I always do when I'm panicked--I called Robert. He answered before the first ring ended. "O'Hanlon." Robert always sounds incredibly butch on the phone. "It's me. You are not going to believe this." "Try me." Keyboard clacking. "Somehow an e-mail from Nancy to Carl was misrouted to me. They're not going to consider me for Jem's job." Tears at the back of my throat threatened to choke me. This only happens with Robert and my mother. "Holy shit." "Yes," I whispered. "Hang on." I can hear Robert ordering his minions around in a charming, drill sergeant-esque kindGreen, Kim is the author of 'Is That a Moose in Your Pocket' with ISBN 9780385337175 and ISBN 0385337175.