As the former CEO and her unwilling assistant arrive at the investor’s club, he fidgets in his disguise, but then skids to a stop on his heels when he enters the room. Seated at the table is a who’s who of the most influential business matrons the industry as seen. The collective assets of this group alone would rival most nations. His boss gives him the first approving nod he’s ever received from her. At least the younger generation still recognize their elders. She points him over to a side table where other assistants are seated and she approaches the head of the table.
For the first two hours, the women passionately discuss business and global affairs. The assistants furiously scribble notes trying to keep up with the wisdom being shared. As the talk dies down, staff bring out drinks and a lunch service, and then the deck of cards comes out. The second the final card is dealt, the trash talk begins. And there’s no trash talk like angry old lady trash talk. A brutal mixture of gossip, sarcasm, and false well wishes that would wither the soul of a lesser person.
While the games go on, his boss is being particularly hammered by the former founder of a chip company, both in her card skills and her pronouncements of her company’s financial situation. When she boasts of the highest production rate yet, our lead’s ears perk up and he furiously scribbles a note. The assistants look on in horror as he dares to leave the room, but on his way past the table, he surreptitiously slides the note to his new boss. She glares at him before glancing down at the paper and a smile spreads across her face before she goes back to her stone cold card playing visage. As she draws, she casually drops that she heard a rumor that the latest chip production had a manufacturing defect and that the company will likely soon be awash in recalls, refunds, and angry customers. Her rival sputters, practically dropping her cards, and is silent for the rest of the game as she loses repeated hands.
During the car ride back to her estate, the boss is silent. When they enter, she points to the guest room and says he can change back now. She smiles again and tells him he did quite well today.
Following her acceptance, our lead is now invited to smaller meetings multiple times her week. Being introduced to powerful movers and shakers, but being forced to dress up every time. So ingrained in the routine, he now keeps the guest room at the boss’s estate as his own. A closet full of women’s suits and skirts, a collection of heels in different colors and heights depending on how much power he has to project in the meetings, and a rapidly ballooning menagerie of make-up and accessories. The worst accessories are the pads he wears to give him a less suspicious feminine shape when they go out. Made from material he can’t identify, they’re always warm and stick tightly to his skin. Worst of all, they always seem to be dried out when he pries them off at the end of the work day. Whatever chemicals they leech, it always leaves his skin soft and sensitive. He bought his own fabric pads to just slip into clothing, but the boss immediately shot that idea down and claimed that the fabric was unrealistic and his deception would be spotted a mile away! She tore them up and would hear no more complaints. Some swelling versus the decades of business experience he was privy to in these meetings seemed like the kind of trade-off any rational manager would accept.