Ivy Chronicles

1. The Girl from Park Avenue Konrad insisted that everyone be at his desk by 7:45 a.m. No exceptions. It would be sexist, he said, to cut the mothers on the team any slack. Easy for him to say. He had a stay-at-home wife and two full-time nannies to handle his family's morning drill. You know, we each have one. In my case'walk the dog, dress the kids, make breakfast, rinse the dishes, supervise brushing, flossing, and bed-making, look for lost homework, load up backpacks, while at the same time getting myself out of bed, showered, dressed, made up, and out the door. The race continues on the street: grab a cab, drop Sir Elton at doggie day care, and deliver the girls to their overpriced early-bird program. If I've gotten this far by seven, I'll have just enough time to sprint to the subway at 86th and Lex and shoot down to Fulton Street. Finally, jump off the train, drop a dollar into the please feed me i'm hungry lady's cup, zip into the building, dash toward my elevator bank after a quick stop at Starbucks for coffee light, two Sweet'n Lows, and a bagel to go, and declare victory if my butt hits the chair and the clock hasn't struck 7:45. Technically, my unemployed husband could have handled the morning routine. What I mean is, it would have been physically possible for him to manage it if he didn't insist on sleeping until 9:00. Yeah, I know. I should have been tougher. But trust me, it was easier to handle it myself than fight the battle. Cad had been unemployed for eight months. A derivatives trader at Bear Stearns, he was fired after betting wrong on Russian government debt. Still he persisted in living like nothing had changed. He would have hired someone for the a.m. job, but given our financial state and the fact that neither of us spends enough time with the girls, I couldn't agree. Plus, let's face it, what man takes charge of the morning marathon? Yes, of course, there are exceptions, perhaps in a parallel universe, but not in my world. On this particular day, I just wanted to snuggle back into my warm Duxiana bed with its heavenly feather duster and yummy down quilt, the bedding I'd acquired at ABC Carpet and Home for the price of a small car. Mmmm, that would feel delicious. Already I'd completed the usual routine while also swinging by Duane Reade for the glitter hairspray Skyler and Kate wanted for Chanukah. It was 7:47 when I arrived at the twenty-first-floor offices of Myoki Bank, where I was a vice president of some stature. It felt like I'd already put in a day. The lights turned on automatically when I walked into the office. Hanging my coat on the hook inside the door, I recalled the sacrifices I'd made to earn the privilege of a door instead of a mere cubicle. For the past six months, I'd been assigned a critical project, code name ?Bull Chip?which had me working until 9:00 or 10:00 p.m. through the week and several hours a day on weekends. I skipped my six-year-old's birthday party to supervise systems testing. I spent half my vacation solving Bull Chip problems that no one else could handle. I missed my fifteen-year business-school reunion because two team members quit suddenly and Konrad insisted I stay in town to hire replacements. But this project would turbocharge my career and land me the promotion I deserved, so it would all be worth it. As I took the buttered bagel out of its brown paper bag, a flash of white and pale yellow centered squarely on my chair caught my eye. It was a memo with a Post-it attached, placed where it was sure to get my attention: see me asap'konrad. Konrad was my profoundly ambitious, chemically depressed boss. One of those golden corporate boys with a professionally choreographed smile, a speaking coach, a driver, and an assistant for his assistant's assistant'all paid for by the company because Konrad's time was so valuable. Unlike his peers, who were merely soap-opera-star handsome, Konrad was so stunning he took your bQuinn, Karen is the author of 'Ivy Chronicles', published 2005 under ISBN 9780670033812 and ISBN 0670033812.