Free Hot Properties by Rafael Yglesias Page A

dollars a year to remember to say, ‘He’s in a meeting,’ and you can’t even do that right! Get in here!”
    Her mouth quivered as she entered, closing the door behind her so no one could hear his ranting.
    “What do I have to do!” he yelled, standing up at his desk. Behind him was a view of Fifth Avenue swarming with tiny cars and insect people. “Do you know what that asshole”—he pointed with contempt at his phone—“screamed at me? I had to listen to a nut call me a liar and a thief because you don’t pay attention! When I tell you not to put someone through, listen to the name! Remember it!” he shrieked at her. Though his voice was basso, the attitude— his arms waving in the air, his eyes scanning wildly—was hysterical and shrill.
    Tears spilled from her eyes. She put up no struggle against either his accusations or her shame. She thought and felt nothing but shame, appalling shame at her uselessness.
    “I’ve warned you over and over. How often can I make the excuse to myself and to the other editors here whom you repeatedly screw up with your incompetence, how many times can I say,” and now he transformed himself into a mincing pose, holding his hands up in front of him, like a puppy begging for food, “ ‘Oh, poor little Patsie. she’s so silly and helpless, but we don’t mind ’cause she can bat her eyes so pretty.’ ”
    Later, of course, she could answer this abuse. Later, she wouldn’t agree with his evaluation of her work. But while he yelled, there was no Patty inside her to step forward and argue back. She thought it the most peculiar thing about her, the sickest thing about her, the one trait she wished she could be free of forever: she accepted any role that people cast her in. The more Jerry Gelb claimed she was a ditsie blond, the more she became one. Only when alone could she be herself. But she loathed being alone.
    However, these periodic fits by Gelb were always followed by weeks of pampering. He would take her out with clients, praise her to agents, buy her a trinket, behave, in a word, like a repentant lover.
    Eventually the tantrums became less frequent. Gelb selected a new assistant to yell at. Patty was grateful for this neglect and thought it was a victory. At last Gelb had recognized her worth.
    And then, one day, he summoned her to the office without there having been a fuck-up.
    “How are you?” he asked. This time, he was the one who closed his door for privacy. It was five o’clock. The insects below were heading home.
    “I don’t know,” she said, staring at him with a look of shock. This formal question about her health was unusual, and so she took it seriously.
    “You don’t?” he looked distressed by her answer. “I thought things were going well. You have a boyfriend.”
    “I do?”
    “I thought so. The actor.”
    “Oh, him. I haven’t seen him in months. He was never a boyfriend. I’ve been dating someone else.”
    Gelb smiled encouragingly.
    “I just broke up with him,” Patty added.
    Gelb again looked as if this news were a great blow to him. “I’m sorry.”
    Patty smiled at him languidly. “It’s all right,” she said, and then laughed. “Sweet of you to worry.”
    “Are you busy tonight?”
    “A friend at Rockers has tickets to a screening of Raging Bull.”
    “Oh, good.” At last an answer he wanted. He smiled nervously, cleared his throat, and said, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but I think a direct approach—”
    Even at this moment, Patty had no suspicion that she was about to be fired. Gelb’s reputation was one of ferocity. He fired people on the spot. No leisurely hand-wringing chats in the office. Besides, he never let her feel that she was vulnerable to being fired. She was the ditsie blond, not a young turk who had to either produce or die.
    “—but I’m going to have to let you go. We’ve had a ghastly year. One of the worst in publishing history. We overprinted on Gold Search and underprinted on