The Training of Cecelia

"But...?" I said, waiting for the zinger.

"You're right, there is a but. It still seems a little bland for someone in your position."

"Then what should I wear?" I asked. "A sexy gown like last night?"

"I have to admit you looked amazing in that," he said, finally giving me an actual compliment, "but no, that wouldn't send the right message either."

"And what would send the right message?" I asked, annoyed, yet kind of curious.

"Full honesty?" I asked.

"No, lie to me," I said sarcastically. "Yes, honesty between us at all times, please. Even if following that policy often has me sounding like a bitch."

"Thanks for mentioning that, because I don't want my next point to come off as sexist, but it probably will, since there's definitely an unfair difference in the standards expected from men and women."

"Tell me about it," I said with a sigh, one of the reasons I dressed as I did... my all black attire an attempt to somewhat replicate a man's standard business suit.

"And I can tell you've attempted to fit into the masculine code in your fashion choices," he said, as if reading my mind. "But...."

"I'm really beginning to hate that word," I said.

"But," he smiled, even as he stressed it this time, "but you are a woman and not a man, and you'd never convince anyone otherwise even if you wanted to. So don't try to be like us, be yourself."

"I am being myself."

"So you're saying you're a bland woman?"

"Excuse me?" I asked, insulted by the question and shocked he'd even asked it.

"Your clothing choices, even today's, are bland, boring, and they don't let anyone see who you really are. They don't have any personality," he said, "and I know that underneath your conservative exterior lies a very different woman."

"You do, do you?" I asked, curious to know what he thought he was seeing, and whether it was at all accurate. Was he seeing my natural submissive nature and my desperate need to find a man who'd treat me like a cheap slut, just like I read about in erotica and watched in porn, or was he just saying something generic, knowing the assertion was true in general?

"Yes," he said, not saying anything more helpful than that.

"What exactly do you see?" I asked bluntly.

"Honestly?" he asked, that particular question really beginning to annoy me. I'd already answered it, and with a certain amount of flair, I might add.

"Yes, dammit," I cursed, letting him know how frustrated I was becoming with this conversation.

"This answer is less about my role in helping you to remain CEO here, although likely it will help, and it's more about your accepting who you are as a person."

"I don't even know what that means," I said; he was speaking in riddles.

"Cecelia, you're an intriguing woman."

"Thank you," I replied, finally getting from him something somewhat akin to a compliment, and I was rather desperate to receive compliments from him. (But don't ask me why because my head was spinning!)

"But," he said, smiling widely, "I really do use that word a lot."

"Yes you do," I agreed, his eyes and mine locked into their own conversation... one that appeared only slightly linked with our verbal exchanges.

"You're hiding your true self," he said. "Not only that, but you're hiding it completely. At least you're hiding it from other people; I suspect you're not fooling yourself, at least not completely."

"I'm hiding my true self?" I asked, knowing he was correct, but still wondering what he was seeing beneath the surface.

"Do you enjoy dressing like a man so you can be accepted around here?"

"No," I admitted.

"Do you enjoy acting like a man so you can do your job?"

"Um. Give me a minute." I really had to ponder that one, since until he'd asked the question, I'd never considered I might be doing that... yet as I did ponder it, I realized that was exactly what I'd been doing for years! I'd been doing everything I could to blend in... and be careful what you wish for... I'd succeeded all too well and had become one of them.

"No, I hate it," at long last I said sheepishly, swimming in a sea of guilt for betraying what had been my original purpose all those years ago, and for betraying the young woman I once was. I'd once been the woman who would make a major difference for other women. I'd thought I had broken the glass ceiling by being the youngest CEO of a major corporation in history, yet I had done absolutely to open any doors for other women. The majority of the employees I'd placed in positions of power were men... men that I personally had hired. The majority of the women here were performing the stereotypical jobs that maintained mankind (as opposed to womankind) in their traditional positions of power. My sisters played the roles of the secretary, the researcher, the services.

"Then why do you do it?" he asked, still looking deep into my soul, and at least for the moment, not at all unkindly.

"Until you asked the question, I never realized I was," I said, needing to look away from him because of my intense guilt, and the brimming tears threatening to run down my cheeks.

"Then the first thing we need to do together is to rediscover your young Cecelia and to bring her back to life," he said with extreme gentleness.

"I wouldn't even know where to start," I said forlornly.

"Well..." long pause... "for starters, you can go and fetch me a coffee," he said, all of a sudden very brisk. "You may also fetch one for yourself, if you like."

"Excuse me?" I demanded, a rhetorical question I was asking a lot in the last couple of days, and all because he was continually saying things that shocked me; things no other man or woman would ever dare to say to me.

"Yes, until you can tell me the name of the girl who usually brings you coffee, and tell me some more about her life, then you'll fetch your own, and mine as well," he said, and then added offhandedly, "Cecelia, no kids, no pets, a husband named Joseph."

"You're serious?" I asked.

"Yes, and get Karen a coffee too," he added. "And say something gracious when you deliver it. If you don't know how she takes it then ask her beforehand, and when she offers to go get them instead, insist you're really in the mood to get it for her, and don't back down."

"But..." I began.

"Just do it," he ordered, his tone stern and firm, which made my pussy tingle, which was something else frustrating me. His treating me like an errand girl also infuriated me. I wasn't his or anyone else's servant! At least not at work.

"Fine," I said, in a tone that was anything but fine.

"And chat with Karen a little, find out something about her you don't know."

"I don't know how she takes her coffee," I said, standing up.

"Well, that's a decent start," he said. "I like mine black."

"Tell me something else I don't know about you?" I said.

"I enjoy having an occasional beer at a sports bar," he said. "Or sometimes two, but never more than that."

"I was hoping for something a bit more personal," I said, looking down on him, yet unlike most times not finding it a position of authority.

"Ask away," he said.

"Have any kids?"

"No," he said.

"Favourite colour?"

"Green."

"Mine too," I said, although I almost never wore it.

"I bet you look great in green," he said.

"I do," I agreed, then turning and walking away, feeling I'd gotten a win there.

I walked out and asked as casually as I could manage, which wasn't very, "Karen, I'm going on a coffee run, what can I get you?"

"Pardon?" she blurted out, so astonished by my question she wasn't sure she'd heard it right. Her instinctive reaction told me all I needed to know: Paul was right. I didn't lead this office, I controlled it. Fuck!

"I'm going to get coffees for Mr. Stevenson and myself; may I get you one as well?" I asked.

"Oh, yes, that would be great," she said, obviously still shocked by my offer.

"How do you take it?" I asked.

"Oh, right," she said. "Two sugars and two creams, please."

"Same as mine," I smiled.

"Yes, Mrs. Durden," she said stiffly.

"Karen, unless we're in a professional situation, you may start calling me Cecelia if you like," I offered, a familiarity I'd never before offered anyone who worked for me, although that's the way I was usually addressed by members of the board.

"Okay Cecelia," she said tentatively. It felt weird hearing her call me by my first name, yet it also felt kind of right... even liberating, somehow.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," I said, heading to the elevator.

There was a coffee shop down on the main floor where the coffee delivered to me always came from. Around here I'd never waited in line for coffee. Not ever. I sighed as I walked to the foot of a line with seven people in front of me. Then I felt guilty for minding it as much as I did.

Fifteen long minutes later, I was handing Karen her coffee.

"Thank you so much!" she gushed as if I'd bought her a new car.

"You're welcome, Karen," I said. After a pause I asked, "May I ask you a question?"

"Sure," she nodded, clearly a little worried what I might ask. Did she think I was setting her up with kindness so I could deliver some bad news? Was that the aura I'd created for myself?

"What's your little girl's name again?" I asked.

"Carissa," Karen answered, obviously surprised by the question. Mrs. Durden never asked personal questions.

"She's two?" I asked, suddenly realizing I actually wanted to know, as I glanced at a picture on her desk showing her holding her tiny daughter.

"Three tomorrow," she answered proudly.

"Oh my, how quickly they grow up," I said, recalling how annoyed I'd been when I learned she was pregnant and going on maternity leave... she'd been a great pussy pleasure for a couple of years by then, and the prospect of finding a replacement had exhausted me at the time. At the time, I now realized, I'd turned her wonderful news upside down and made it all about me. I really was a bitch!

"Tell me about it," she said.

"Then why don't you take tomorrow off and spend it with your birthday girl?" I offered. "Paid time off, of course."

"Really?" she asked, stunned by my offer.

"Yes, you and Carissa deserve it," I said. "Mr. Stevenson is working with me on my leadership skills, which frankly I resented at first, but one valuable thing I'm learning is the importance of getting to know my employees, since we're all a team."

"Thank you so much," she said, genuinely thankful, and not only for the day off I thought, but even more for my remarkable change in attitude.

"You're most welcome," I said, although now unsure whether I could ever again use her for sexual release like I had for years. Damn that Paul!

I walked back into the office and Paul was still working at my desk.

I reported, as I walked towards him with his coffee, "Karen's daughter's name is Carissa."

"Good start," he said, nodding approvingly as he accepted his coffee.

"I also gave her tomorrow off, since it's Carissa's..." I paused as I stressed the name, "...third birthday, so I felt she should spend it with her daughter."

"That was very thoughtful," he nodded as he sipped his coffee. Then after a pause he asked, "How did it feel?"

"How did what feel?" I asked, even though I knew what he was asking.

"Having a friendly conversation and doing something unnecessary but nice for an employee of yours."

"Good," I admitted, before giving a sigh, "yes, I'm beginning to see your point."

"And what point is that?"

"That for this company to be successful, I need to erase the hierarchy that's been established," I said. "By me."

"Not the hierarchy itself," he said, shaking his head no. "The hierarchy is crucial. People occupy the positions they do because of the skill sets they have. And your Marketing Director for example, needs to exercise his authority over his staff."

"But isn't that what you wanted?" I asked. "For me to get to know my employees better?"

"Yes of course," he nodded. "But the hierarchy is a business structure, and that won't ever change except for some details, but the way the people higher up in the established hierarchy treat the people beneath them is completely under your control."

"Right," I nodded.

"And what we're discussing isn't just about you. It's about many women who aspire to such positions of power."

"Just women?"

"No, no, definitely not," he said. "Men do it too, but for different reasons. For women, their rise was a lot more troublesome than it was for any corresponding men."

"Ain't that the truth," I agreed, thinking of how many men had tried to obstruct my rise for reasons totally unrelated to anyone's competence.

"But once you get there, you've been conditioned to need to prove yourself at all costs, and in so doing, you become cold and distant to the people you were originally trying to inspire and to advocate on behalf of," he elaborated.

As I heard that, I knew it was true. And like before, it felt like a punch in the gut.

He then threw in the knockout punch.

"How many women have you hired to serve in administrative positions?"

I was speechless! The answer was horrific! It would have mortified the young, ambitious, change-the-world me. And this answer was also a key to almost everything else I'd done wrong.

"Just so you know, you're not alone," bringing out his very welcome gentle side again.

"What do you mean?" I asked, feeling guilt unrelated to my sexual leanings for the first time in a long time. I'd become the kind of person I'd always resented, and I hadn't even realized I'd become that person!

"Most women in positions of power have a few common traits," he said. "Not all of them, but most."

"We do?" I asked, avoiding being sarcastic, which was my tendency. I'd always hated being lumped into being seen as a type of person or a member a group I hadn't deliberately joined.

"Yes. For starters, and please keep in mind this will be a little stereotypical and overgeneralizing, but it's usually true, or at the very least somewhat true," he said, as he pointed for me to sit down in the chair opposite my desk, since he was still occupying my chair at my desk. This imposition should have infuriated me, yet realizing what I had become, I was ready to listen... even though I sensed I'd hate what he had to say.

I sat down and said, "Go ahead. I'll keep all those disclaimers in mind, and I know I need to hear this."

"Well, for starters, women in positions of power that they've actually earned, as opposed to been handed those positions on a silver platter, are generally hardworking, determined, and stubborn."

"Check, check and check," I smiled, having gotten to the top through sheer hard work and determination, as well as the stubbornness to find a way past anyone who tried to stop me from getting where I needed to be.

"They also tend to be feminists, although not in the traditional sense."

"The traditional sense? Meaning?"

"Yes, they're not standing in front of crowds to lead rallies or ranting on social media," he said, "but they inherently believe in the concept of feminism, of equality between the sexes, and during their journey to the top, those principles have been part of their motivation, especially during challenging times when they might briefly question whether it's all worth it, or whether they actually can break through the glass ceiling."

I couldn't believe how well he had me pegged! I hated it! Was I that transparent? Yet it was also heartening to hear that other women in roles similar to mine were faced with similar thoughts and challenges.

He looked at me, and perhaps inside of me, during this entire conversation with those piercing, soul-unearthing eyes.

"But, once a woman gets to the top, she often changes," he continued. "Not overnight, nor does she even notice it while it's happening."

"How so?" I asked. So far everything he was saying rang with a lot of truth to it, enough to make me question myself as a leader and as a woman, yet I couldn't pinpoint exactly where I too had gone off the rails. When and where I'd deviated from my plan of changing the world for my generic sisters... yet as he spoke, I was beginning to realize that very much like Margaret Thatcher, I'd become a man in all ways but appearance... and even that was debatable, based on the way I'd normally dressed for work.

"Well, for instance did you rise to the top with the goal from the beginning of only hiring men for positions of authority, or to unwittingly demean your fellow women?" he asked, not in a condescending way, but in a blunt, compassionate even, way of coaxing me into recognizing some truths that were already lurking inside me.

"God, no," I said, feeling yet another invisible punch hammering my gut at his words, which again weren't accusations, but became ones once I'd recognized the truth of them, and then all by myself stacked them up against my growing guilt.

"Yet that's what transpired over time," he said. "And I know right now you're feeling overwhelming guilt, and you're questioning every decision you've ever made."

I didn't need to say a word, since his eyes could read my inner thoughts and bore witness to my personal devastation at what I had undeniably become.

"But there is some good news," he said.

"I hope so, because I'm not feeling too good about myself at the moment," I admitted. "And that twentieth storey window over there is looking a tad too inviting." I was only half joking.

"Most women in positions similar to yours are faced with the same challenges," he said. "The balancing act of being a woman who's true to herself, but still finding the necessary power to excel within a predominantly man's world."

"That is the rub," I smiled ruefully.

He smiled back. "Exactly. As we speak, you're experiencing your own 'To be or not to be' moment. Thankfully yours isn't about deciding whether to live or die, so I sincerely hope your quip about the window wasn't particularly compelling, but your choice is whether to begin leading the way just like you imagined doing when you were still at the bottom, or to maintain the status quo."

"Well, the status quo isn't really an option anymore, is it?" I pointed out, since that's why he was here in the first place. But it was also because after absorbing the harsh reality of what I had become, I couldn't even bear for it to continue.

"No, it isn't," he agreed gently.

"Are there other similarities between women like me?" I asked.

"Yes, but those are more like personal viewpoints, and ones I don't know enough to attribute to you personally yet," he said, "although I have noticed a few anecdotal quirks about you... enough to consider my beginning to assemble a theory, but not nearly enough to expound upon it with any confidence."

"Which are?" I asked.

"I don't want to present a hypothetical assessment on you without sufficient evidence."

"But you said you've already observed some anecdotal evidence," I pointed out, curious to know what else he might have to say. Everything he'd explained so far was personal anyway, so I said as much. "Plus everything you've said so far, regardless of whether I think it's true or not, has been personal."

"Yes and no," he said.

"Excuse me?" I asked, my apparent go to statement whenever he said something either I didn't like or didn't quite understand.

"Well yes, everything I've said has been personal, but it's only been about your job or your leadership role. And the other typical correlations between women of power are very personal matters."

"So you're talking about sex," I said bluntly.

"Somewhat."

"'Somewhat' is not an answer," I said, always hating to hear such words just to avoid any meaningful response. "Either it's about sex or it isn't."