Sorry, ma'am, I can't

Katye shoots her a look.

“Are you going to be there or aren’t you?”

Elena looks out over the towering skyline, taking her time. If she takes her boss up on the offer, there’s no telling where her career might wind up. A stint at one of the big publishing houses maybe. She may even make agent, a sharp rebuke to the adults back home who once insisted snidely that she’d never make anything but babies. From working class to one of the industry’s queen makers, the hidden hand behind the literary world’s greatest talents. And it’d all start right here, in this very office, at this very moment.

She lets out an exhausted sigh.

“It’s a nice offer, ma’am. But I can’t.”

Katye’s eyes grow wide, indignant at Elena’s refusal.

“Are you sure?”

Elena nods.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Chance of a lifetime…”

“Believe me, I know.” Elena puts her hands on her hips. “But do you know what my life has been like for the last month or so? All that running around, fetching coffee for some thirty year old legacy that makes twice as much as you do, reading other people’s crap, my face buried in reams of paper, and not a word of thanks?”

Katye straightens herself.

“You knew that first day, when I took you aside? I told you what to expect, didn’t I? How time-consuming it would be…”

“That’s not it.” Elena shakes her head. “I love what I do here. Even when I feel like giving up, I always find a reason to come in every morning. But I’m only human, ma’am. All of us are. We get tired, we get fatigued. You’ve seem to forgotten that, in between your—“

Katye cuts her off.

“You don’t have to remind me.”

She looks away.

“I just hoped this would be an opportunity for advancement for you.”

“I know…” Elena trails off. “It’s just not the right time, that’s all.”

“Well then.” Katye feigns a smile. “I guess this is no.”

“That is correct, ma’am.”

“The day’s still young. If you change your mind, just buzz me and I’ll—“

“Trust me, I won’t.”

Elena walks back to her cubicle, feeling spent from the long discussion. The rest of her day passes as one might expect, filing stories in the transom, taking calls on behalf of her boss from editors, book critics, and the occasional crank who thinks he’s the next Hemingway. Those she enjoys the most—she’s always had a soft spot for lost causes.

As she rides subway, breathing in the distinctive odor of sweat and refuse synonymous with the Big Apple’s transit system, she doesn’t give her choice much of a thought. Besides, she could use a little free time, may be hit some of the city’s nightclubs for a little booze and boy fun. No time like the present, right?

Yet as she settles down to eat at her kitchen table, a sudden stabbing pain attacks her stomach. At first she thinks it’s gastroenterological. But not even Pepto-Bismol would help this. She lays down on her bed and tries not to think about it. Only hours later does it occur to her that it might be something else.

Regret.

She quickly gets over it. Walking into the PPI building the next morning, she puts on a happy face and sits down at her cubicle to begin her day. Only when she glances at the desk diagonal from her that she realizes that something is off. Diane, the blonde twentysomething straight out of graduate school, hasn’t shown up for work. It strikes her as odd that someone who she’d known as prompt and businesslike—a woman more to her boss’s liking than she would be—would leave without giving so much as a two week’s notice.

Sipping her latte, Elena buries herself in manuscripts, forgetting about her missing co-worker. Soon enough Diane is out of sight and out of mind. Only the work remains.
Within a week there are flyers plastered over the building with Diane’s likeness, pleading for any information about her. Elena even has the unfortunate luck of catching an appearance by the woman’s parents on NY1, tearfully begging her captor or captors to let her go. Yet as the summer grows hotter and stickier, her concerns for her acquaintance’s life are outweighed by her enormous workload and fight against the sweltering heat.

Only years later, out of the literary business and living a second life as a secretary for a Fortune 500 business, does she learn the awful truth, first through PPI alumni and then through friends and acquaintances. The whispers are little more than rumor, yet even in middle-age, it doesn’t take much for her to shudder. The image of her friend, screaming in vain for help as strangers ravaged her, is hard to forget.

They never did find Diane.

Standing under a cold shower, Elena stares at the tub under her feet, feeling helpless herself.

If only she’d been able to help her friend, perhaps save her…

But who knows what may have happened. It could have just as easily been Elena, suffering in silence. Oh but for the grace of God, go she.