“This is where Chase has found his last five clients. He’s meeting the next ones as we speak. Who do you think the boys are?”
Jo couldn’t see what lay at the top of the stairs. “Where did they go? What’s up there?”
“The roof deck,” Harriett told her. “No one admits it, but it’s men only. I’ve never been invited, and I’ve never seen another female guest go up there.”
“You’re saying women aren’t allowed?” Jo asked.
“Of course we’re allowed,” Harriett replied. “Women are allowed everywhere these days. Golf courses, nudie bars, the Racquet and Tennis Club. It would be scandalous if we weren’t allowed. So instead, we’re just not invited.”
The fact that this wasn’t news to Jo made it no less shocking.
“The truth of it is, I don’t think most of them really question our intelligence or abilities—though they don’t mind us believing they do,” Harriett continued. “We’re just turds in the punchbowl. We spoil their party. They don’t want us hanging around.”
It was true, Jo knew. Every word of it. Over the years, she’d trained several smarmy young men who’d gone on to become high-ranking executives. At the time, Jo had assumed it was her fault she’d never risen any higher. The men they’d promoted weren’t juggling a job and motherhood. They never had to scramble when the day care was closed or the babysitter called in sick. So Jo had watched as men who weren’t as smart or diligent or trustworthy as she was worked their way past her toward the company’s C-suite. And she did her best to be satisfied with rising profits, stellar reviews, and performance awards. The day after she was fired for assaulting a VIP—who had turned out to be the CEO’s golf buddy—Jo had dumped those awards out onto her lawn and set the pile on fire. But still, even after the success of Furious Fitness, she’d wondered if she’d ever really had what it takes to succeed in corporate America.
Now all those nagging doubts had gone up in flames. The truth was, she’d never had a chance. Jo felt her entire body throbbing with rage. She thought of all the late nights she’d worked on presentations she’d been certain would make a difference. She remembered how, despite her name tag, she’d been repeatedly mistaken for a desk clerk by big shots from the corporate office. She imagined the tens of thousands of dollars she’d wasted on her hair and makeup, hoping that would somehow make them all see her. Most painful of all, she mourned the time she could have spent with her daughter. She’d tried so hard to prove she was good enough. And now, with a few simple sentences, Harriett had explained it so plainly. Jo had been good enough all along. They’d made her feel like a failure, when the truth was, they just hadn’t wanted her around. There was nothing she could have done.
Jo had stopped in the middle of the massive living room. Harriett was already at the glass doors that led out to the beach. “That anger’s like rocket fuel,” she told Jo. “Either it pushes you forward or it burns you alive.”
Jo got moving. She joined Harriett at the doors, and the two of them stepped out into the sunlight. When they reached the edge of the deck, they could finally see all the women and children. From the deck, a wooden walkway over the dunes ended at the stairs to the house’s dock. Beside them, the beach sloped down to the water’s edge. Rows of white chaises stretched out beneath blue-and-white-striped umbrellas. Most of the women were gathered in pools of shade, their hair tucked under dramatic straw hats that made them look like characters in The Great Gatsby and their eyes hidden behind big, dark glasses. They sipped brightly colored concoctions and chatted in small groups of three or four. Their children frolicked in the surf while a squad of lifeguards in Baywatch-red tank suits watched over them.
“They seem like regular human beings.” Jo wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting.
Harriett leaned toward Jo’s ear as if whispering a secret. “Because they are,” she said. “These are guests. Let’s see if we can spot a few of the residents.”