Eye of the Beholder
Being unattractive has been central to everything I am and everything I’ve done. I realize that doesn’t excuse me in the eyes of the law. Nor will it earn me God’s forgiveness, because I don’t regret what I did. I’m not even a little bit sorry. If you’ve ever felt terribly wronged by someone, maybe you will sympathize with my journey of retribution.
My name is Callista. It means “most beautiful” in Greek. Unfortunately, my face is composed of mismatched and exaggerated features. Even as a baby my features were more gargoyle than Gerber’s. In grade school someone nicknamed me “fugly,” and it stuck. I think they liked the way the word rolled off the tongue, like a train gathering speed for an upcoming hill.
For some reason, people seem to assume that my appearance is somehow my fault. After all, it’s who I am. But only on the outside. Inside I’m just like most people—a bit insecure, vulnerable, and desperate to be loved.
After finishing my PhD in math, I landed a great job. For once my intelligence seemed to be more important than my looks. It felt like a new beginning, a chance to be part of a team, an opportunity to prove my worth. I poured myself into my work. I was there earlier than anyone else and stayed after everyone had gone home. If someone needed assistance on something, I was there for them. I became the “go to” person when there was a glitch or a problem that needed solving.
At long last I felt like I was coming into my own. I was hardworking. I was smart. I was creative. Most important, no one contributed more to the bottom line of the company than I did. It was all there in black and white for my powerful and handsome boss Dane Weaver to see. I was convinced that someday soon, everyone would “see” me differently, my accomplishments would overshadow my unattractiveness, and I would get the recognition and acceptance I longed for.
Based on my life to that point, I should perhaps have kept my optimism in check. If I’d dampened my enthusiasm with a splash of reality, I might not have been leveled by the wave of disappointment I was about to experience. But I let my desire for acceptance and recognition drown out the inner voice that was urging caution.
When the huge and profitable Landberg project reached its conclusion and a meeting was scheduled to celebrate our success, I bought a new suit and got myself psychologically ready to accept the kudos that were about to come my way.
Then there was the incident.
Chapter 2 – The Incident
You may be wondering if I resemble either of my parents. The answer is “no.” They are average in every way, from their looks to their lives to their brain power. But as soon as I was able to understand verbal and nonverbal communication, I knew they were embarrassed by me. When I was a junior in high school, they decided I should get braces to straighten my crooked teeth. The braces weren’t all that bad, but the kids started calling me Jaws, the character from the 007 movies. Anything for a laugh. After a very long year, my braces came off. My teeth were perfect. But my face hadn’t changed. My parents seemed disappointed.
The only thing I had going for me was that I was smart. I completed my BS in under three years and got a full scholarship to go straight into a PhD program. Although I was sharper than most of my peers, I couldn’t help but notice that students with lesser abilities got more kudos for their efforts than I did. More office time with professors. And more job offers after graduation. But in spite of these slights, as soon as I completed my degree, I landed my dream job at Keller and Eaves, a large prestigious company. And now I was about to be rewarded for my business acumen.
Everything about me isn’t unattractive. My shoulder length, straight auburn hair is my best feature. On occasion in the past, I’ve draped it over the edges of my face, like a femme fatale from a movie classic. But I know it doesn’t really hide what’s underneath, so I usually settle for comfort and tuck it behind my ears. But because of the celebratory nature of the meeting I was about to attend, I fussed with my appearance more than usual. I used a curling iron on my hair to create loose, outward waves before deciding the fashion wasn’t right for me. I put on lipstick, took off the lipstick, penciled on eyeliner, took one look and wiped it off. I also attempted to camouflage a mole with some liquid concealer but found it only served to draw attention to the dark lump. I finally gave up. What I had accomplished on the project was far more important than my physical appearance.
My new suit was lovely though. It was dark green with a traditional cut that suggested my curves without overstatement. I chose a light green blouse with subtle yellowish flowers to complement and brighten the forest green theme. The jade in my gold ring was the perfect final touch. From the neck down and from the back, I looked terrific.
I was ready.
Adriana, another project member, was coming out of the 3rd floor bathroom as I started down the hall to the conference room. She was wearing a short pencil skirt that clung like a second skin and a V-necked blouse that left nothing to the imagination, her round breasts elevated by a very efficient push-up bra. Appealing eye candy but not a particularly valuable project member. She’d performed liaison duties with management, busywork that the hardcore worker bees hadn’t wanted to deal with. She’d also ordered our lunches and brought us coffee. Chatty and flirty, she was popular with everyone. Unfortunately, I seemed to always be the last person she served and had to force myself to refrain from complaining when my coffee was invariably cold. Still, it wasn’t hard to warm up coffee in our microwave.
I didn’t try to catch up to Adriana but trailed her down the hall to the conference room. My boss was standing next to the entrance and started smiling when he caught sight of her. He opened the conference room door, his hand on her back as they disappeared inside. I told myself he hadn’t seen me and that was why the door practically shut in my face.
Fifteen team members had worked on the project full time for almost eight months. I had quickly become the unofficial leader because I was the one who came up with the plan to accomplish the ambitious but initially vague goals. I was also the troubleshooter for the problems that arose. Without me the project would not have met the desired parameters nor been implemented on schedule and on budget. This was my moment to shine, my chance to be recognized for all my business prowess and management abilities.
It was a large room, surrounded on three sides by beige walls, with tall windows overlooking the city across what was considered the front of the room. For this kind of meeting, they always pulled the vertical shades to provide a backdrop for whoever was speaking and to keep people focused on what was happening in the room instead of staring at the skyline. The shades were beige like the walls, and most of the men were wearing neutral or dark bland colors. Only the trendy attire of the women present provided a touch of brightness to the otherwise vanilla scene. Including Adriana’s hot pink blouse.
The room was bursting with animated voices and wall-to-wall people. I saw a few of the Landberg executives talking to my boss near the front of the room. Adriana was still at his side, looking very pleased with herself. At the back there was a long table filled with pastries, fruit plates and drinks. As I glanced around, I noted various Landberg team members chatting with each other or with other company elites. They all looked happy, pleased to be in the spotlight for a successful project. One of the leads looked over and waved at me. I smiled back and headed for the food table to get a cup of coffee.
There was a silver urn labeled “coffee” next to another silver urn labeled “decaf.” There was also hot water and a selection of teas in a fancy wood box with a brass clasp, each section labeled so you didn’t have to sort through to find what you wanted. After putting some cream in my coffee, I eyed the pastries. My stomach said “go for it,” but I didn’t want to get caught with my mouth full if someone came over to talk with me, so I resisted.
I might as well have filled my plate. No one approached me. The chatter level had increased in volume and people were smiling and laughing as if the coffee was liquor and they were at a party. After taking a few sips of my coffee, I joined a small group of colleagues and stood near a tiny gap in their tight circle. They were fully engaged in conversation, and I felt like I was hearing the punchline without knowing what the joke was about. Although I had worked closely with them on the project, they weren’t personal friends, so I felt out of my comfort zone with casual conversation. I was relieved when there was a squeal from a microphone and everyone turned toward the front of the room.
“Please take your seats,” my boss announced.
After dropping my coffee cup in a waste basket, I found a spot at the end of a row about two-thirds of the way back, straightened my jacket and smoothed my skirt as I sat, then tucked my feet with their low-heeled shoes under the folding chair. I wondered if my boss would ask me to stand when he acknowledged our success. Maybe he would have all of the team members stand. Then my heart almost stopped beating as I saw him looking around, his eyes settling on me as he waved me forward. I was so excited I almost tripped over my own feet as I hurried to the front of the room.
Dane met me at the end of the front row of seats and said, “Ah . . .” Then he hesitated as if . . . as if he couldn’t remember my name. “I forgot to bring the chart with the timeline projections. Could you run to my office and get it?” He turned and headed toward the microphone before I could ask any questions.
As I left the conference room and made my way to his office, two competing thoughts fought for attention. Maybe he wanted me out of the room so he could say something about me before I returned. Or maybe he had simply forgotten the chart and needed someone to fetch it. The latter seemed the more likely. If only he had referred to me by name. And said “thanks” or “I’d appreciate it” before dismissing me like an errand boy.
I took the stairs to the sixth floor rather than wait for the elevator. The chart was on the table along the north wall of his office. I rolled it up and headed back to the conference room. When I arrived, I noted that the team members had apparently been standing and were just taking their seats. Adriana was at the front of the room with Dane. He saw me and urged me forward. I half expected him to ask me to stay when I handed him the chart, but he didn’t. Confused and uncomfortable, I headed back to my seat, but someone had taken it in my absence. Not wanting to disrupt anyone by trying to slip past them to get to an empty chair, I went to the back of the room and stood next to a table filled with company brochures. I was the only one standing.
“Now that you’ve met the team,” Dane said. What? His statement felt like a physical blow. I put my hand on the table to steady myself as he continued. “Let me remind you how quickly this incredible project was completed. Adriana, since you were instrumental in making it happen, why don’t you summarize for us.”
Adriana stepped over to the chart and began her summary. I heard her voice but was having a hard time listening to what she was saying. All I could think of was Dane saying “now that you’ve met the team” and then referring to Adriana as being “instrumental in making it happen.” Was this some kind of joke? Did he honestly not understand the inner workings of the project? My mind darted back to the few conversations we’d had in the past. Shouldn’t he have realized I was the only one on the team with the knowledge to turn unclear goals into reality? Did he really think Adriana was smart enough to have performed a vital function? And why were my colleagues sitting there grinning and applauding as if what Dane had said was true? They all knew that I had been the unofficial person in charge and that Adriana had been little more than a flunky.
I continued standing at the back of the room, my mind awash with contradictory thoughts. I wanted to protest the injustice of the situation while at the same time I wanted to run away, to leave behind the smiling toadies and the unworthy Adriana. This wasn’t the first time I’d been ignored or overlooked, but I still hadn’t seen it coming. I couldn’t bear to listen to what Adriana was saying. Nor was I able to pay attention after the applause for her ended and Dane began giving his closing remarks. Instead, all my mental energy was focused on trying to corral my chaotic thoughts and decide what I should do after the presentation when everyone started milling about, eating, chatting and congratulating themselves for a job well done. Should I pretend the slight was nothing and attempt to blend in? Given the blow to my bruised ego, was that even a possibility? How could I remain silent about the injustice I’d experienced? How could I overlook Adriana’s betrayal and my boss’s arbitrary dismissal? How could I look colleagues in the eye knowing they had supported this charade?
When the final applause died down, I slipped out the door and went back to my cubicle.
It wasn’t unusual for me to be the only one at my desk in our designated team area, but everything now felt different. I had assumed all of my hard work would eventually pay off; but I’d been duped. Deceived. Still, I was uncertain what my response to being overlooked and disrespected should be. I couldn’t think of anything I could say or do that could make me feel okay about what had taken place.
When I heard someone coming, I panicked. I wasn’t ready to talk to anyone yet. But it was too late to leave, so I looked down and pretended to be studying some papers on my desk. James, one of the people who had sometimes stayed late to work on the project, stopped at my desk and waited for me to look up. When I didn’t, he said, “I didn’t see you in there when Dane introduced us.”
I glanced at him and struggled to keep my voice neutral. “He sent me to get the timeline chart.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.” James paused, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, like he wanted to say more but didn’t know how to say it.
I wanted him to go away, but I couldn’t resist asking, “Were you surprised he gave so much credit to Adriana?”
He hesitated for a moment. “Yes and no. She was the liaison and she’s, well, she’s very pretty.” A pink tinge flooded his pale complexion as he added, “Maybe he’s sleeping with her.” He said it quickly, as if he was embarrassed for even thinking it. Then he gave me a weak smile and went to his desk.
Perhaps I should have accepted his explanation and moved on. But after that conversation I began having dark moments filled with black thoughts. Past slights mingled with inner rants about unfairness. When other team members returned and stopped by to say they were sorry I’d missed being thanked for my role in the project’s success, my anger was fueled rather than mollified. I appreciated that they were trying to be kind, that they were acknowledging that I should have been recognized for my work. But no one had stepped up to name my contributions in public. Even though realistically I couldn’t imagine how that would have been possible, I found myself wallowing in self-pity and felt my heart grow cold, slowly contracting into ice.
Then Adriana returned to the hail of “well done” and “kudos” and “way to go” even though everyone knew she hadn’t made any real contributions to the success of the project. Even so, if she had said something kind to me instead of walking past without so much as a glance in my direction, what happened next might never have happened. But she chose to ignore me. And that was the point at which self-pity turned into an overwhelming desire for revenge. Dane would pay for the wound he had inflicted. And so would Adriana.
