Whisper Network

by Chandler Baker

(Because we knew this logic: we were always supposed to be thankful when anyone thought we were pretty.)

We dismissed some behavior—we could take a dirty joke. Others—the men who made points to tell us about their open marriages, who followed us into restrooms, who sent explicit text messages and then claimed to be too drunk to remember, who didn’t hear the word “no,” who retaliated when they did, who groped our asses—we couldn’t. We thanked God it wasn’t us. And when it was, we felt a sick sense of comfort that it wasn’t only us, a relief like having just vomited after a hangover.

And then we took it as a compliment when one of the men in the office told us we had balls. So, tell us again how this wasn’t a man’s world.

A flaw in the system. Yes, Grace supposed it was.

She’d have thought that having an adopted child amid a divorce would spare her from the frequent exasperating reminders of You’re-acting-like-your-father, but also no. Michael was Tony in so many ways and it did something to her heart for which she’d never have the right words.

We’d learned the hard way that money predicated success, not the other way around. Money was options. Money was the ability to take risks. To jump to the next level.

So when we said that we would prefer not to have to be asked to smile on top of working, we meant that: we would like to do our jobs, please. When we said that we would like not to hear a comment about the length of our skirt, we meant that: we would like to do our jobs, please. When we said that we would like not to have someone try to touch us in our office, we meant that: we would like to do our jobs. Please.

“You really think that three thousand people can keep a secret?”

We felt guilty if we weren’t feeling guilty enough, so much so that we began to take pride in this ability to function under moral conflict.

Julieta was close to the same age as Grace, with two children of her own and a moderate grasp on the English language—not that Grace could judge, seeing as how she spoke no Spanish at all.

Sloane had once seen a segment on the Today show about how there was an online Facebook group where anchorwomen shared good deals on TV-appropriate dresses and, honestly, nothing had ever made more sense.

Sloane had long ago stopped giving blow jobs in the name of feminism, but she was reevaluating this stance, considering.

Women walked around the world in constant fear of violence; men’s greatest fear was ridicule.

Sloane stretched across the table and squeezed both Grace’s and Ardie’s hands, and Ardie

felt a little sorry for men because they never got to hold hands with each other.

We wanted her to dump that loser. We wanted her to stop worrying about losing five pounds. We wanted to tell her she looked great in that dress and that she should definitely buy it. We wanted her to crush the interview. We wanted her to text us when she got home. We wanted her to see what we saw: someone smart and brave and funny and worthy of love and success and peace. We wanted to kill whoever got in her way.