Sarah Mlynowski - Monkey Business

She stands next to the window and looks outside. “I don’t get it. Is that what you think of me? That I’m such a slut that I go home with everyone? Do you have no respect for me at all?”

“Well, I…” I trail off. I’ve been a total ass. How could I make her feel like that? I’m the one who seems to go home with everyone. I’m the slut. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to insult you. You’re right.” I wrap my arms around her waist and feel how tense she is.

“I am right,” she says, and then turns around so we’re eye to eye. “Don’t ever make me feel like that again.”

My heart feels so heavy and all I can do is kiss her. No, not all I can do.

I lead her to the bed.

Friday, February 6, 3:00 p.m.

“Can you pass me another application?” I ask Dennis.

He shuffles through the papers. “Sure, Layla. So did you hear from any of the firms yet?”

“Yup.” I stick the end of a piece of licorice in my mouth. “I got a few offers.”

“You did? From Manhattan or Silverman?”

“Both.” Plus a few others, but I don’t want to brag.

He gives me a thumbs-up. “That’s fantastic. Which one are you taking?”

“Silverman.”

We sit and read more applications. After a few minutes, I ask as casually as possible, “Dorothy, when do acceptance letters for prospective students go out this year?”

She looks up from whatever she’s reading. “I think they’ve already started going out.”

“I’m curious if some of the applicants we reviewed were accepted.”

“You can check if you’d like.”

“I can?” I wasn’t going to ask, but if she’s offering…I have to know if he’s coming next year. “I’m just curious.” I finish reading the application on my desk. I don’t want to appear too eager.

Twenty minutes later I stretch and slowly make my way over to the main computer. I add a yawn to show how not excited I am about checking my prince’s status.

I’m still furious with myself for freezing up in Manhattan. I should have forced myself to meet him. What in the world was my problem? I won’t let it happen again.

I perch on the computer and lean into the screen. No need for everyone to see what I’m looking at. Maybe I should search one of the other applicants first. Whatever happened to Tom Price? The guy who claimed he would be thrilled to go to Stern?

I type in “Tom Price.” He’s been…rejected. He must have felt awful when he got the letter. The thin envelope in his mailbox. Poor boy. How could I help destroy someone’s dreams? I type in Bradley Green. A letter was sent to his apartment, informing him that he’s been…accepted! Accepted! Yes! Next year he could be here with me! In the Zoo! That would be amazing. Let’s see-if I remember correctly from his application, he applied to four other schools: Columbia, Harvard, Wharton and Stern. Let’s say he got accepted to three of them. That means there’s a twenty-five-percent chance he’s coming here next year! Of course, LWBS is ranked lower than the other four. If both my parents weren’t alumni, I might not have come here.

Let’s say there’s a ten-percent chance he enrolls here. Ten percent. I can’t wager my future on ten percent.

“I can’t believe I might never see him again,” I whine to Kimmy later that afternoon. I’m lying on my bed, and she’s sprawled on my rug. We’re studying for Monday’s Marketing quiz.

Smack.

“Ouch! What was that for?” I ask. There’s a red scratch on my leg from where Kimmy just hit me.

She rolls her eyes. “How can someone so hard-core in class be so lame when it comes to getting a guy? Just call him.”

“I can’t call him. I have no reason to call him. I’m not supposed to fall for an applicant. What reason would I possibly have to call him?”

She appears deep in thought. “What you need is a plan.”

“And I’m not lame with guys. I just don’t like to play games.”

“You don’t like to play at all. Are you sure you even like men? You wouldn’t flirt with Professor Jon, you wouldn’t go out with that guy who’s on the application committee with you, who’s adorable. What’s his name?”

“Dennis.”

“Right. And you’re not even going after Bradley. What’s your problem?”

I feel my cheeks flush. “I don’t have a problem. I like men. I just don’t like wasting my time with guys who won’t end up being good enough.”

“But you won’t know who’s wasting your time unless you play the game.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll play the game. Let’s get Bradley.”

She swings her legs around so she’s sitting cross-legged. “Time to use the marketing model.”

“Glad you’re finally finding a use for class.”

“About time, huh?” She rubs her hands together as though she’s setting them on fire. “These are the five Ps: product, positioning, price, promotion and packaging.”

“Perfect.”

“Okay, listen up. You’re the product. Now according to the textbook,” she says, flipping through the pages, “we’re supposed to figure out where you are in your life cycle. The choices are introduction, early growth, late growth, maturity, decline. Let’s say you’re in your late-growth phase.”

“Hold on. Am I the product, or is the relationship between Bradley and me the product?”

“You’re the product. We’re selling you to him. Let’s plot you on a perceptual map.” She draws a cross on her paper. “Let’s make the X-axis represent sexy versus pretty, the Y-axis studious versus fun. I would put you somewhere in the studious/pretty quadrant.”

“Hey,” I say. “I’m fun.”

“More studious than fun.”

“And what quadrant are you in? The sexy/fun quadrant?”

She examines her drawing. “Yup. Cool. If we were both products in the same company, we would totally avoid cannibalization for the company.”

“Yeah, because no one would want the pretty and smart one!”

She hits me on the leg again. “Are you crazy? Who doesn’t want a pretty and smart girlfriend?”

“This is the most absurd argument I’ve ever had. And why can’t I be both pretty and sexy? What’s the next P?”

“Pricing.”

“Perfect,” I say. “I’m free.”

“Yeah, right. What about fancy dinners? Jewelry? Roses?”

In relative terms, I’m no longer the insane one. “Next.”

“Promotion,” she says. “The most important thing about an ad campaign is that it catches the attention of the target audience, communicates key information and is memorable.” She looks up at me. “We can work with this one. How should we advertise you?”

Definitely crazy. “I’ve always wanted to be on a Times Square billboard.”

She rolls her eyes. “Can you be serious for a second? Our key message is that you’re smart, pretty and available. Our target audience is Bradley Green. Obviously. The positioning…”

“Can I be on top?”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s always about sex with you, huh? We should position you as smarter and better than the average girl. The best catch. And now placement. Hmm. That’s the toughest one. Where will he see you?”

“He’ll only see me if he comes to LWBS next year. That’s the problem. See? It won’t work.”

“Can’t you see him in Manhattan anywhere? Don’t you know where his job is?”

“Yeah. But I’m not taking the Manhattan Group job. So we’re not going to be in the same building. I suppose I could stalk him where he lives…his address is in the application.”

She shakes her head. “Not a good plan. You’ll be depending on his coming and going, and you need to be the one in control. And there are laws against annoying doormen. Maybe he can have an interview with LWBS? And you can interview him?”