“You know,” he says, “what these women could use is sensitivity training on appropriate workplace conduct.”
No shit, I want to say. But I keep silent instead, still glaring.
“We don’t have a specialist on staff currently, but we could get one to come in. It might take a while, though.” He pauses in this fake, considering way. “Or, ifyouwanted to lead a seminar, you could make sure to get in everything you want them to understand. I’m sure we have some manuals on hand to help.”
I keep glaring. I do not for one single fraction of a second think this idea is about anything other than the drama he hopes to get from me leading a sexual harassment seminar for the entitled women who harassed my boyfriend. Which alone is temptation for me to tell him to go to hell and while he’s there, send back someone from the HR department to handle this.
But I do want to ensure—to the best of my ability—that I get my point across to these women. And I can make a damn good PowerPoint presentation.
I try to ignore the look of barely-restrained glee on Rich’s face when I agree.
Fourteen
Jason
I’m not sure what I expected the result to be when I walked away from that climbing wall today, but it wasn’t the privilege of watching Emily try to give sensitivity training to a group of women who care as much about whether their behavior is harassment as they do about learning Emily’s skin and hair care routines.
I agree to attend the meeting, even if I am feeling a little shaken after the photo shoot and the conversation with Emily. It was good, the stuff I told her about my dad. I know she’s wanted me to admit that for a long time, but it’s hard to admit even to myself. Which lends credence to her theory that I might haveotherfeelings I’m not willing to admit to, ones about her and me.
She didn’t totally admit to believing that I’m not subconsciously checked out of the relationship, and I know we’re going to have to talk about that more later.
Today, though, it appears this sensitivity training is taking the place of our therapy session, and I can’t say I’m entirely sad about that.
The crew have set up a bunch of white folding chairs in a circle at the edge of the camp that’s nearest the dirt parking lot.The chairs have obviously been recently washed—nothing stays white for long in Utah red dirt—and the soil sticks to the legs where they dig into the ground. Rich invites me to sit between him and the Not-Wives, who are now changed out of their lingerie and into regular clothes—theirtype of regular clothes, I should say, because leopard print sundresses with matching heels or white silk blouses with pearl buttons aren’t things normal people wear camping. But they all appear to be clothed. Except Calista, who is wearing a fluffy bathrobe.
I pray she isn’tonlywearing a fluffy bathrobe.
Emily approaches with one of the screens they use to review the show footage on a table being hauled along by Geoff andTim.They set this up between my chair and Emily’s, and I realize I’m seated much more front-and-center than I want to be, and maybe I should have refused to attend this thing at all.
The Not-Wives, for their part, have been giving me some breathing room since I came back to camp, so at least there’s that.
Geoff plugs the screen into one of the long, thick cables that the cameramen use to charge their equipment with power from the generator, and then plugs in Emily’s laptop. She spent the last few hours combing through Rich’s policy binder and putting together this presentation. She grumbled about how they should have an expert up here, but she’s been to enough of these things that she should be able to pull together something halfway decent. Knowing Emily, it will probably be a hell of a lot better than that.
I still don’t expect it to survive contact with the enemy.
Emily did manage to convince me that maybe I’m being harassed, and that’s why I’m upset. I still feel like an idiot for being upset about it when I know that women have it much worse. I wonder how many ofthesewomen, with all of their money and privilege, have been on the other side of that harassment. I don’t think many of them are used to people telling them no, but that doesn’t mean they’ve never been mistreated, especially working in television.
If they have, their ability to realize they’re doing the same thing to other people doesn’t seem to be among their many talents.
“All right,” Emily says. “We’re here to talk about workplace sexual harassment.”
“Workplace?” Calista says. “Why are we calling it that?”
“Because we’re all here to work,” Emily says. “We’re all being paid, so this is our workplace.”
“Who wants to work at a wellness retreat?” Calista asks.
Emily takes a very deep breath during which I’m sure she’s deciding whether or not to tell Calista that even if this was a wellness retreat, all of the people giving her treatments would be here to work. “We’re here to talk about some inappropriate behavior that’s happened on set.”
I notice Kate looking very purposefully wearied, studying her nails like she couldn’t care less about whatever behavior Emily is talking about.
“Who behaved inappropriately?” Calista asks. I’m not sure if she wasn’t paying attention today at the photo shoot, or if she just doesn’t see a problem with what Kate did. From what I know of Calista, it could be either. “Was it Destyny?”
“Well, it wasn’t me,” Monroe announces, sitting tall and primly. Her red hair—or should I saycoif—has a shiny quality to it, like it was very recently sprayed with more product. “I would never behave inappropriately.”
Destyny snorts. “That’s not what your pool boy said.”
Monroe turns to her with a look of exaggerated shock, but Emily wisely starts the discussion.
