Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
T
he CS midterm and the O’Hara author event fell on the same day. As soon as I finished my exam in the morning, I jumped into Mia’s car so we could book it straight to New York City to make it to the evening book launch. To add literal sprinkles to my shit sundae, it started raining, which made visibility nearly impossible thanks to the half-speed windshield wipers on Mia’s million-year-old Mazda. Our total drive time shot up an entire hour.
“I have to pee,” she exclaimed as I threw my belongings into the back seat.
“Are you serious? You didn’t go when you were in our apartment?” Mia had spent a lot of time at our place lately, so much in fact that she was now practically living with Beth and me. It was weird going back to the city now: I’d gotten used to a slower-paced, sheltered college-town life. And Mia had gotten used to living with us rent-free and eating Beth’s unlimited pecan bars.
She shook her head. “It just hit me on the drive here. Stay in the car and keep the engine running if you’re cold. I’ll
go in one of the engineering buildings, where there will be plenty of ladies’ room stalls open.”
I pulled down the sun visor to see the damage I’d caused from pulling an all-nighter. On most days, I looked and felt youthful enough to blend reasonably well into the university population, but not at that moment. A hollow-eyed, sallow-skinned, baggy-eyed version of me stared back, the natural light enhancing and highlighting my poor makeup concealment. For me to look fresh and at the top of my game for the evening event, I would need to take a nap in the car and pray that the restorative power of sleep could help repair my fixer-upper face.
Mia jumped back into the driver’s seat and threw a bag of chips at me. “Found a vending machine. I assumed you had water already since you carry around that two-liter bottle of yours all the time.”
I looked down at my XL Hydro Flask. “First of all, it was on sale at the bookstore. And second, I save money by not buying bottled water anymore.”
She harrumphed and put her Diet Coke in the circular drink console. While fiddling with the sound system she asked, “How was the exam? Did you ace it?”
I answered her with what my therapist had helped me to say. “I did the best I could do within my abilities and within my control,” adding, “My nerves hit pretty hard when I read exam problems about interfaces in Java. But then I really hit my groove.”
She looked at me. “That’s the nerdiest thing I’ve ever heard you say. But it sounds awesome.” Mia turned her attention
back to the road, thumping her fingers on the steering wheel as she set the cruise control. “I’m proud of you, girl.”
“Thanks! If it’s okay with you, I might need to conk out for the rest of the trip. I’m exhausted.”
“No problem. I have just the thing to put you to sleep.” She switched the media mode to audiobook and hit play. As I reclined to a better resting position, I heard an annoying, haughty voice come over the speakers.
“
Chapter One
. Being Born into the O’Hara Legacy.” It was Cameron O’Hara, narrating the
You Go, Girl!
book. I bolted up from my seat and Mia burst into laughter.
“I downloaded a sample chapter from the publisher’s website kinda as a joke, but shit, I didn’t know he narrated it. Isn’t it a
female
empowerment book? Why isn’t Mary narrating if they wanted an O’Hara? It’s such a bad look.”
It was. And an interesting potential question for the event, especially if Cam pissed me off and I was feeling punchy. I had skimmed the advance copy of
You Go, Girl!
, and it was clear that there wasn’t anything insightful or groundbreaking that made the book stand out from the other preceding female-focused business books on the shelves. Many of the points in the book were also in
Lean In
,
How Women Rise
, and even in my
How to Be a Work Supernova
. Men already dominated the nonfiction business book market—did we really need them narrating women empowerment business books too?
I dozed off instantly and when I awoke, Mia was paying a toll booth worker. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty. You were out like
a light the entire trip. And you missed a drive-through stop. Your loss.”
My eyes focused on the dashboard clock. We were entering Manhattan with a decent amount of time to spare. She must’ve driven fifteen to twenty miles over the speed limit the whole way.
I sat up. “Thanks for giving me time to get ready. Are we headed to your place?” My voice croaked out those words. I must’ve been sleeping with my mouth open. Wonderful.
She pointed to a bag on the floor. “I bought you a Happy Meal. I didn’t know how hungry you’d be.”
Mia loved her fast food. Her consumption mantra was “organic = worms enclosed,” and honestly, she was kind of right. As roommates, anytime we went on a health food kick and bought organic veggies or fruit from the store or farmers’ markets, we almost always found creepy-crawly things lurking in the leaves. I’d gotten used to washing and de-verminizing my food, but Mia enthusiastically took the opposite approach by deliberately seeking out GMOs and conventionally farmed produce, and finding joy in drive-throughs.
The sun had just descended behind the tallest Midtown skyscrapers ahead of us, giving the city skyline a literal glow-up. A yellow taxi behind us honked as Mia tried to pull into a spot that a black Lincoln Town Car had just left open. She pulled in with expert-level parallel parking, and the taxi driver rolled his window down and screamed profanities at us as he sped away, using phrases that didn’t
necessarily make sense strung together, like “punk bitch ass son of a bitch.”
Mia shifted the gear into park and relaxed her shoulders. “Home sweet home.”
“Thanks so much for driving. I’m sorry I didn’t even switch off with you and do my share.”
She popped open the trunk. “No worries. You can drive back home.”
My notifications alerted me that the event was in two hours. With our roller bags in hand, we ascended the staircase to the top floor of the five-story walkup. It had been a while since I’d made the trek to her apartment, and I had to pause a few times to catch my breath.
“College has made you too soft,” Mia teased as she sprinted up the last flight with her Samsonite roller bag in tow. By the time I made it through her front door, she had already pulled two cans of beer from her fridge.
I shook my head. “No thanks, I don’t like to drink before events. Dulls my brain and the fizz makes me burp.”
The IPA hissed as she pushed in the tab. “These are actually both for me. You can get your own. I’m not your butler.” We both burst into a fit of giggles. It was nice to be back, but it felt a little weird now, having fun without Beth in the mix.
I drank the last remaining sips from my water bottle, then headed to the bathroom to change. The lighting was soft and muted, which made it hard to apply my makeup. A more harshly lit environment meant there were no surprises, and nothing was hidden. In this mirror, I looked too well rested, energized, and even kind of pretty, in a photo airbrush filter
sort of way, so I relocated to Mia’s high-wattage bedroom to get a dose of reality. Turning on her overhead lights, the floor lamp, and the ring light on her desk would let the true Lily emerge so I could conceal, pat, and paint on the image of a successful career woman.
After trying on three different outfits, I settled on a sheath dress with a chevron pattern and a fitted black blazer. I found Mia lounging in the living room and spun in a circle so she could give appropriate feedback. “What do you think?” I asked.
“You look like a smart, sexy newscaster. It’s a good look. Do you still have your black librarian glasses?”
I fished them out of my purse and perched them on my nose.
“Yes,” she agreed. “That’s perfect. You are smart, sexy, and a little intimidating. You’d hardly guess you were but a mere college student taking an exam earlier today!” Mia raised the two beers in her hands. “Cheers!”
I grabbed my bag and the spare set of keys, then headed to the event at Gramercy Bookstore, eight blocks away. It was my choice for venue, and I’d picked it because it was woman-owned and near Mia’s apartment. A crowd had already formed outside when I arrived. If I had to guess, it was mostly friends of the O’Haras. Lots of pearl necklaces, Hermès ties, and Chanel purses. An opening in the doorway allowed me to slip through to the event area to find a bookstore employee or publicity manager hosting the event.
“You’re here!” To my surprise, Mary O’Hara ran up to me and offered a handshake. “I’m so glad you made it. Thanks for doing this event with us. I’m a huge fan, as you already know.”
As she energetically pumped my hand up and down, I studied her face to see if she was being genuine. She wore an earnest grin across her face, which made me believe her. Maybe Mary actually wanted me to be there, and that’s why she’d pushed the publicity team for this launch event. It seemed much more plausible than Cameron being the thought leader when it came to finding an in-conversation partner who didn’t look like himself.
Cameron emerged from the employee back room, as if my inner thoughts conjured evil spirits. He whispered to his sister, “I can’t believe they didn’t offer us craft services. We have to eat and drink out here with the regular people.” He waved toward the patrons of the bookstore, and I could not help but notice that I, too, was included in the area within his dismissive hand swing.
“Cam, Lily’s here, our conversation partner today.”
I reached out my hand, only to have him mutter, “Good to see you again,” as he offered a quick handshake, then beelined past me to a couple who had just claimed seats in the audience. I knew who they were. The Van Sant power couple, angel investors who were on MSNBC, Bloomberg, and CNN Business around the clock.
I offered Mary a tight smile. “Well, I’m sure they’re more interesting than me. Did you get the questions I sent a few days ago? Wanted to give you the opportunity to prepare, and depending on your answers, I might add a few off-the-cuff questions into the mix, to keep the conversation flowing organically.”
“Thanks for sending those early. And your plan sounds great.”
The event drew a predominantly white crowd, but among the more diverse attendees was a healthy representation of Asian American women, many of whom had my book in their hands, on their laps, or sticking out of their tote bags. My heart burst into confetti and mini streamers as the events manager from the bookstore introduced us.
While smiling for forty-five minutes straight, I asked the O’Haras all of my prepared questions, alternating between them. What was it like to write a book together, Cam? How long did it take you to write it, Mary? Cam, did you outline first? Last one, Mary . . . did you write together or divide and conquer?
The remaining fifteen minutes was an open Q&A for the live audience and for the virtual participants streaming the event on the bookstore’s website. The first question was from a guest in the front row: What are you all working on now?
I let the O’Haras speak first and used that time to rack my brain for an answer. Word would definitely get back to my editor, and since I’d been giving Katherine and the editorial assistant, Amanda, vague non-updates the last couple of months while I was studying at Carlthorpe, my publishing team was probably just as eager to hear how close I was to turning in my next project as everyone else in the audience. Mary O’Hara said she wanted to write a new book about philanthropy and was researching foundations. Cameron said he was going to set up meetings with some “buddies of
his in Hollywood” to see if his book had movie potential. The audience didn’t sound surprised by either of their answers.
My turn. “I don’t want to give away too much, but I’ve been spending a lot of time researching the pursuit of dream jobs. It’s taken me longer than I’d hoped to write this next one, and I’ve been distracted with personal matters lately, but I’m hoping to have time in the next few weeks to hunker down and get it all down on paper.” Mia had been updating my social media accounts with generic posts about finding inspiration, replenishing your creative well, and getting out of career ruts. If anyone was following me, they would see those messages aligning with what I’d just shared with the crowd.
The next question was from a former teacher of the O’Haras. “Where’s your favorite place to write?”
Mary offered my typical answer: in coffee shops. Cameron said, not even joking, on his yacht.
I responded, “I love a good coffee shop too. It really awakens all of my senses, and I can’t get enough of that ground coffee aroma. I wish someone could sell this scent as a candle. But I also love libraries, I’ve been spending a lot of time in them lately.”
“The New York Public Library?” Cameron’s thick caterpillar brow quirked up.
I sidestepped his question. “It’s one of my favorites.”
“I’ll have to try it sometime, I guess.” I couldn’t picture that at all. I could, however, picture Cameron building a fancy library, each shelf filled with his own coauthored books, on his yacht.
The event manager chirped, “We have time for one more question from the in-person audience, and then we’ll see if we have time to take a few from the virtual viewers. Feel free to add comments or questions in the chat.” She pointed to an Asian woman in the front row.
“Hi, thank you so much. I’m Haley Cha.” She cleared her throat. “What inspired you to write your book? Or in Ms. Lee’s case, the first book in her series?”
Mary gestured for me to go first, but not surprisingly, Cameron started speaking. “I hadn’t seen anyone write a book from a perspective like ours. Mary and I wanted this to be like a ‘mentorship in a book’ for people just started out in their careers, giving real-life, practical, actionable advice that works, as well as offering perspectives of others who also had to build their careers from the ground up.”
His words hit me like uppercut jabs to the chin. He had said nearly verbatim what I’d expressed to Mary and him in confidence when we met in person. It was low, not only to take words from other people’s mouths and pretend they were your own, but to not give me credit either? This was absolute bullshit. And he wasn’t going to get away with it.
Mary jumped in, her voice wavering. “Just wanted to add that these views were originally shared by Lily, who really is our beacon of light. We’re following the path she already forged with hard work, sweat, and tears, so we really appreciate that.”
“Thank you, Mary. Cameron took the words right out of my mouth. Literally.” I shot a look at Cameron, who didn’t even blink an eye after plagiarizing a sound bite from my
previous conversation with him, pretending it was his own unique insight. “I think we’re nearly out of time, but if anyone would like to ask me follow-up questions, I’d be happy to stay a few minutes after the event to answer them.” My fists shook with anger as I tried to calm my erratic, slightly panicked breathing.
I glanced at my purse. There were prescription pills in the zippered side pocket for emergency use only. Hopefully I wouldn’t need them.
The events manager chirped, “Unfortunately, it looks like we are over time actually. But we have a few quick comments from the virtual event-goers. ‘Good luck with your launch, Cam and Mary,’ that’s from Mrs. Murphy, the chief people officer at the O’Hara Holding Company. Lots of people are saying hi and thank you to Lily, for being an inspiration to women everywhere.”
I blushed. “Thank you!” I responded cheerily.
“One more comment, from Lily’s mom.”
My stomach lurched.
Oh no.
“She says ‘Daebak! Lily, please call home soon.’”
Chuckles rippled across the live audience. I laughed too.
“She also says, ‘Good luck with your studying.’ I’m not sure what she means by that.”
Oh shit.
The crowd noticeably quieted, giving me very little time to think on my feet with an explanation. “Thanks for watching, Mom.” I smiled at the audience. “As usual, she’s trying to keep me on task. I’m sure she’s referring to all the research and writing for my new book. It feels very academic.” My
body temperature rose as I spoke. My skin was burning with discomfort.
The audience clapped as we stood and made our way off the stage. Cameron approached a group of women from London Business School, and as I walked to the buffet table to grab a bottle of water, I heard Cam say out loud to all of them, “I agree, Lily’s latest book is primarily geared toward women of color, but I’d argue that our book could be too. I mean, who better to provide advice on how to make it in a white man’s world than a successful white man?”
Did he seriously just say that to a group of professional women? Cam was like a caricature of a cocky, privileged stock character in a mainstream sitcom, but I knew as well as anyone that these guys really did exist in the real world. I’d encountered plenty of them, and they really did get their way most of the time, both in academia and in the corporate world, resting on their laurels of mediocrity. They delegated work and took credit. They rephrased ideas in meetings and were touted as the smartest ones in the room. Senior-level executives, both men and women alike, in most industries routinely offered the Camerons of the world unlimited chances to shine, but were more rigid and scrutinizing of others who didn’t fit that demographic.
It reminded me of a
New Yorker
cartoon of a man and woman on a date. She stares blankly at him as he enthusiastically says, “Let me interrupt your expertise with my confidence.” That was the personification of Cameron.
The group of young women migrated away from him and gathered around me. One of them tucked a brown, curly
lock behind her ear and spoke. “I am so happy you’re here. I took the train in from Connecticut! I loved your career guide and can’t wait to read the entire series. Are you signing books today?”
My chest swelled with pride. I hadn’t had many signing events, so this was a rare opportunity for me. “Yes, I am! Let me find a table and a Sharpie.”
She smirked. “Can you personalize mine? I’d love for you to write something like ‘Cameron O’Hara is a loser and has no business writing a book about career adversity.’”
I laughed hard. A kindred spirit. “I might need to paraphrase it a little, but I’d be happy to sign your copy.”
A long line formed behind her, and each reader let me know how I’d helped her professional career. One woman asked, “Is your new book coming out soon?”
One of the women in line nodded. “The world needs to hear what you have to say.”
My heart squeezed. “Thank you. I’m working on it.”