“Wasn’t your sister’s engagement party held here just a few months ago?” I sweetly reminded him, smiling as I stared into his hazel eyes.
His already present frown deepened as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Don’t remind me. Jonathan and his family justhadto pay for the best,” he scoffed.
“You know, for someone who supposedly doesn’t like the well-to-do, you talk a lot about what other people do with their own money quite often,” I noted out loud, while unfolding the white linen napkin and placing it in my lap.
Truth be told, Cohen’s family wasn’t poor by any means. His father had inherited his grandfather’s luggage company, and while the company had taken a turn for the worst in recent years, Cohen had grown up in Williamsport’s upper-middle class circles. But now, as a student teacher of economics at Williamsport University, he spent a great deal of his free time railing against the rich and elite society. And while the commonality of our views on issues of discrepancies in socioeconomics, education, and poverty in our society had originally drawn us together, I didn’t need to hear about it when all I wanted to do was enjoy an hour-long lunch with my boyfriend. Especially, when I was in the middle of a hectic work day.
“Thank you,” I lifted my head, telling the waiter who’d brought out our food.
Cohen waited until our waiter left to respond to my earlier comment. “I merely talk about the inequalities as I see them in society.”
I lifted an eyebrow as my gaze dropped down to the sirloin steak on his plate, as he sliced through it before lifting it to his mouth. He talked a big game about hating disparity, poverty, and loathing everything he calledhaughty,but he had no problem indulging in those things when it suited him.
“You used to agree with me on these issues,” he casually reminded me as he lifted a forkful of steamed, seasonal vegetable to his mouth.
I sighed. “I still agree.”
“But you come to places like this for lunch.”
“Like I already said, it’s close to my job and I have to get back in …” I lifted my right wrist, peering at the time, “thirty minutes.”
“Of course, your job,” he muttered, but I heard the sneer in his voice.
“What’s wrong with my job?” My hackles were up.
He shrugged, looking down at his plate. “Nothing. It’s just that ever since you got that promotion and big raise you’ve changed.”
I rolled my eyes but continued chewing the steamed trout I’d ordered for my lunch, before wiping my mouth with the napkin. I briefly debated on whether or not I should even respond. Ever since I’d been promoted six months prior to the supervisory role of heading up my own team in the finance department at Glamour Cosmetics, Cohen had been making little digs at every opportunity he could. At first I just shrugged it off as minor jealousy. I was moving along in my career while he was still working toward his PhD and teaching freshman-level macroeconomics classes. I didn’t begrudge him his annoyance, in the beginning, but now it was getting real old.
“The only thing that’s changed is my title at work.”And the amount of money in my paycheck, and the responsibilities of my job. But I didn’t feel like I needed to add that in.
“Exactly,” he came back with. “Yourtitleis oh so important now. It’s like you feel like yourtitlemakes you better than everyone else. You’re becoming one ofthem.”
I didn’t have to ask who “them” were. When he said it in that tone, with that irritated expression on his face, he was referring to wealthy people.
“How so?” I questioned, needing him to give me an example of what he meant.
“Like the other night. We were supposed to go out to that jazz club you like but you stood me up.”
“I didn’t stand you up. I called you well ahead of time and informed you that our company’s CFO personally invited me and a few others out to dinner. There was no way I could turn that down. He’s the man who has the ability to influence my career for years to come.” Standing up implied that I’d just not shown up … at least, that’s what it meant to me. That hadn’t been the case at all.
“See what I mean? The Deborah Tate I met four years ago would’ve told the CFO to go screw himself.”
I frowned as I stared across the table. Cohen and I had been friends for a couple of years before we started dating. I’d gone to an economics seminar on Williamsport University’s campus about a year after moving to the city. I’d been invited by a work colleague. And while Cohen and I shared similar beliefs on inequality, I don’t know what ever had given him the impression that I’d tell the head of my department to go screw himself.
“Maybe we just see things differently,” I said, raising the glass of sweet tea to my lips, sipping from the plastic straw.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” His tone was defensive, and while I hadn’t meant to put him on the defense, I wouldn’t back down from it either.
“Exactly what I said. I happen to like my job. And yes, I want to succeed in it and grow with my career, and increase my salary. Women throughout history did not fight for the right to vote, better work opportunities, and more equitable pay … hell, things we’restillfighting for, just for me to be ashamed of my ambition.” Unlike Cohen, I wasn’t born with life handed to me. He was five years older than my nearly twenty-seven years. He’d been able to take time off between college and graduate school to backpack through Europe. From the moment I left Stanford, I’d hit the ground running, and as a result, had received two promotions within the last five years, and the salary increases to match. I would never be ashamed of my accomplishments.
“You’re becoming one of them. Following the crowd.”
I pushed out a puff of air, knowing this conversation was leading us nowhere. “Let’s change the topic before we both end up saying something we don’t mean. How is your research for your dissertation coming along?”
Cohen had finally gotten his dissertation topic approved and had begun formulating studies to carry out the necessary research to complete it. Obtaining one’s PhD seemed like a grueling process, and he had at least another year to go before it was completed.
“It’s taking too long to find the subjects for the study. Why these people won’t just take what’s being offered to them is beyond me,” he responded, disgusted and pouting. He continued on, complaining about how all of his research participants were just looking for a hand out and therefore couldn’t be trusted with his precious study.
