Determined to behave like a good sport, she smiled at him.
“Well, I guess I’ve had my fun,” he said.
“I am glad to be of service.”
“So, Casey, let’s dance,” he said, getting up from his chair, his voice still whimsical. “Though you must be somewhat disheartened at not seeing your Mr. Currie today, looking so spiffy in your new suit.” He stared at her suit jacket. “Aren’t you hot in that? What is that? Wool? It looks warm.”
“It doesn’t feel very warm. In here.”
Earlier that morning, she’d thought of Jay as she got dressed. In case she ran into him, she’d checked her makeup carefully on her way up to Ted’s. After seeing his mother at the sandwich shop the day before, she’d longed to call Jay. He was a jerk; that was established. But she missed him intensely. He’d already tried to get her number from Tina, but under Casey’s orders, Tina hadn’t yielded to his pleas. So Jay had no idea where she was. But he was better off, since she knew where he was, and it was she who had to restrain herself from contacting him, when restraint was the very thing she was weakest in.
Ted walked out of his office, and Casey followed behind. She wished she could talk to Jay. He would’ve found it amusing that she was applying for a sales assistant position—basically, office manager work with a secretary’s salary—because it was such a random thing for her to do. And Casey would’ve liked to joke with him. She missed laughing, and they’d always been good at laughing at themselves.
This was Casey’s first time on the trading floor. It vibrated with activity. Seeing all these men in their crisp white shirts with their neckties swaying with their bodies was oddly thrilling. In contrast, Ted looked ridiculous with his Tiffany cuff links and silk braces crisscrossing his back like an X, marking him as a target. Rows and rows of men were positioned opposite computer terminals, talking, shouting, standing, and sitting down—their faces intense and kinetic.
The trading floor was nothing like a classroom or a library, an exclusive clothing store, or even the back room of a dry-cleaning shop—places Casey natively understood. There was no space for quiet reflection or planning. Energy bounced off every surface: Lights flickered across screens, fingers dashed across phone keys and computer keyboards. Here and there she spotted a woman, but the vast majority of those who filled the football-stadium-size room with its concert-hall-height ceilings were men: white, Asian, and a few blacks—under forty and presentable. Everyone sat side by side in long, parallel rows—a white-collar assembly line with Aeron chairs. It was hard not to feel propelled by the swirl of masculine power, and for the first time, Casey wanted this job. Suddenly it no longer mattered that being a sales assistant lacked prestige, money, and purpose, since she was likely going to law school after this year. Before this moment, her thinking had been that if she got the job, she’d still look for another position, then quit this gig （the very idea of remaining in Ted’s debt and dominion had been offensive to her）， but now she didn’t want to consider her next move, and the thought of even plotting the next step seemed absurd. She’d stay for a year, then law school.
Ted remained beside Casey near the elevator and scanned the floor for Walter Chin, his pal from HBS. Reflexively, he crossed his arms over his chest, hating the noise and locker-room feel of two. He made a point never to go down here unless he had to. Even the smells bothered him—the cloying scent of street cart coffee and the lingering aftershave of the traders, whose way of talking reminded him of the men at the cannery. The guys on the trading floor seldom wore jackets. Ted disdained the untucked shirttails, the stained neckties, and the cheap haircuts. Junior analysts could look like shit since they rarely had time to shower, but brokers and traders, the company’s front line, should look much better, Ted thought, as a man who cared a great deal about his appearance.
Ted wasn’t budging from his spot of carpet, and Casey wanted to know why. He was taking in the scenery, too, but his face revealed contempt more than wonder. In all the busyness of the second floor, no one took notice of them. At the sight of Ted’s profile, his square jaw tilted upward, his face so cleanly shaven, looking like a man who knocked down his fears on a daily basis, Casey felt humiliated having to wait for his move.
In life, it seemed that the ones who talked less, ate less, and slept less usually won. She’d picked up a factoid somewhere that said that sharks didn’t sleep. Did winners have fewer needs or did they have greater desires than the losers? Ted’s obvious advantage and ease in this room reminded her of what she’d once heard at a football game at school, that Harvard always won because Princeton thought they were too good to fight, and she thought, Yes, Harvard was winning again.