Girl Tracy

By Nerissa Martin

"...a gripping, emotionally intense novel..." - Farzana Doctor, Author of Seven
"...hard to put down." - Rosalyn, Black Woman Reading
"It wasn’t what I expected in the best possible way." - David Bester, Writer and Editor

***
*About a woman who has the grit and gets the nerve.*

Tracy June Leonard needs money now.

She's sending out applications and doing what she's supposed to, but her résumé is full of lies that she can't keep straight.

And it's hard to concentrate at the interviews with Gemini in her head, a loud and brutally honest alter-ego that won't shut up.

It's been years since Toronto legalized sex work. After the last disastrous job interview, Tracy takes weeks to prepare to become a contractor at Rosado House. With her alter ego and the perfect wig she plans to leave everything behind and start again.

But Gemini has their limits. When Tracy's worlds collide in the worst possible way she will discover just how much she'll need to sacrifice for the security and the life she wants.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nerissa Martin
• Release date: Mar 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781999226237

Nerissa Martin

From Toronto. I write.

Book preview

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Rina, thank you for being on my side. My brother, Stephen Martin, and cousins, Michele Johnson and LaToya Simpson. Thank you to my critique group; Esme Allen-Creighton, Sarah Nakamura, Angela Wright, who let me know Tracy's original alter ego name 'Tracee' was an absolute no. Encouragement and support from Lauren Bunting, Jyoti Minhas, and Kelly O'Hara. Thank you to the editors who helped turn Other People's People into Girl Tracy: David Bester, Kia Thomas, Laura Cameron, and Teela Woosen.

Thank you Beth Parojcic, Julie Burns, Charlotte Alexander (Oracle6), and Stefania Baresic.

Thank you to my Spirit team.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Girl Tracy was written and is based in Toronto, a city built on the traditional territory of numerous nations, including the Mississaugas of the Credit, the Anishnabeg, the Chippewa, the Haudenosaunee, and Wendat peoples. The city is now home to diverse First Nations, Inuit, and Métis people and is covered by Treaty 13, which was signed with the Mississaugas of the credit, and the Williams Treaties signed with multiple Mississaugas and Chippewa bands.

I want you to be aware that this story either deals with or touches on some sensitive topics. These include: slutshaming, being exposed and shamed on social media, anti-Black racism, displays of drunkenness, abusive relationships and physical violence, anxieties related to finances and potentially losing a job, a separation and cheating in monogamous relationships.

DETOUR

It was a simple game at first. Press start: be still. Don’t think, don’t move or blink. Calculate the gap between safe and danger. Then perform: laugh, respond with some wit. Or smile. Lie out loud.

Sorry … Could you repeat the question?

Brock King’s left hand curves around his pen as he writes.

thats a big left—

Not now. This is not the time to play. I need to remember three thousand, two hundred and seventy-five dollars and sixty-seven cents per month.

His right eyebrow goes up. Either a tic or an unspoken observation about my listening skills.

No worries! He pauses, finishes writing. I was asking about what you thought your biggest challenges at the bank were.

I would say bureaucracy—at times it was difficult to get decisions made and move through all the levels of process. It could be a real … test of patience.

My voice trails and dips at the last sentence, for the small mock punchline.

Ha. I bet. He laughs but doesn’t smile, keeps his eyes on the résumé.

$3,275.67 per month.

Savings: $7,000.

$7,670 to be exact. $4,990 after rent … phone … metro … food …

one night … two … a repeat maybe

The paper he’s looking at is a careful patchwork of employment history designed to suggest that I am a fit for the associate position on the corporate and public affairs team at Fentleman PR. This is the second interview. Brock and the human resources manager at Fentleman haven’t seen the thirteen or so additional companies I worked at over the past two years, the freelance work, contracts, and side gigs. Public relations is all about messaging.

My time at Nomad was great, for me: six months. If I wasn’t sitting across from Vice President Brock with the big left hand right now I would have stretched those six months to a year, but he and I met at a networking event at Nomad, just after I was promoted. He knows other people who work there. He’s too close to the truth, so that information has to stay consistent, even though two months after I met him, I was out of a job. Instead of saying I was promoted, I put on my résumé that I was in the higher position for the whole time I was there. With the other jobs on that piece of paper, it tells a story that my career is progressing, and I’m willing to bet he won’t check that detail. It’s a dangerous gamble, but desperation does that.

What about accomplishments?

At the bank or overall?

Out of the corner of my eye I see something move. Long hair.

Let’s start with the bank.

I launched a programme to start book clubs led by branch managers. The objective was to promote the books Government Bank had funded among middle-income women between the ages of twenty-four and forty-five. This was around June … sorry … May, yes. May.

Really? He looks up. I think I remember seeing something about that. It launched in May?

That’s when we did the kick-off.

Nice suit, tailored almost too close to his body. He wears just the vest and matching pants, with the lining of the vest slightly darker than the dress shirt. Very on-trend. He’s also sniffing around for something, but I can’t quite figure out what. My hand scratches at a faint ketchup stain on my pant leg, but that makes the stain worse, lighter against dark grey fabric.

A term like kick-off temporarily edges me toward safe for now; it’s a term types like Brock know well.

That’s impressive. Especially considering, as you say, how difficult it can be to move approvals through at a bank.

The truth is, the idea for that program came from me but my manager took it over, because the same week I brought it up, I was out. It was one of those last-ditch efforts, a desperate attempt to prove my worth and keep the danger away. The game was just starting back then. Losing that job was almost a good thing, for Gemini. She wants complete freedom, to set all the boundaries I live by on fire. Over time the danger of being unemployed became safe, for her. The game was overused, the stillness redundant. She levelled up.

I nod at Brock and force a tight smile. His complimenting my false accomplishment doesn’t mean safe. It was just a polite thing to say.

Entry-level. All this for a basic, entry-level job. I haven’t even been offered the position and am already distracted by how much money I’m not—

Stop.

Focus.

The hair moves again.

"Tsst." Brock looks over at the thing beside his desk, a dog, I’m sure of it. The side of my body closest to the animal tenses up. I uncross my legs in case I need to run. Gemini takes the opportunity to egg me on. She’s loud, but my answers are rehearsed enough. It’s fine that I can’t hear myself speak over her.

How are you at working on teams? he asks.

i really dont work well on teams i prefer to work from home so no one comes over to my desk and thinks they can just talk to me whenever they feel like it because of course i am not doing anything important

I love working with others. I slow down, say every word with care. Brock doesn’t seem to notice. Brainstorming is at the heart of any successful PR team.

Cool. And it says here you’ve had experience managing people?

why do you care are you going to pay me to manage people you know what brock dont answer that yes i have a month of experience managing people

im great at it as long as they dont talk to me

"Yes, while at Nomad I managed a team of three employees—one intern and two senior account executives. At the time we were also looking for a junior account executive, but I

was fired

left before someone was hired for the position."

It’s too much information, but the more I talk, the longer I can hold off on that question. The inevitable question:

So you were a senior account manager. I’m curious why you would apply for this position. It’s more than a couple steps down from where you were before.

cause she needs the fucking money dumbass!

I shift in my chair as if that could stifle her, just in case Brock hears. The dog gets up. My heart freezes.

Hey!

Its face is obscured. All I can see is the side of a tail and body, expanding and contracting quickly. Brock’s head is turned; he stares, widens his eyes and points to the floor. He turns back to me and smiles.

I’ve done a lot in my career, but I’d like to work in a job where I can gain experience doing what junior executives are doing now. He blinks but doesn’t respond.

It will be important for me to stay confident, speak clearly.

"I’m kind of embarrassed to

actually say this out loud

admit this, but there’s a lot that junior execs do that I’ve had no insight into for a while. I’ve sharpened my management skills, but I think getting more tactical experience, you know, talking to reporters and influencers, social media monitoring, creating content. I think relearning the basics will help me move forward in my career."

So does that mean you don’t plan on staying in this role for long?

Well, does anyone stay in a role for more than a year? I think that’s the norm for most executives at this level. Ultimately I am looking to stay somewhere long-term, but I also want to further establish my on-the-ground work experience.

Uh-huh.

Uh-huh. Again, I’ve spoken too much. I should have stopped at long-term.

The dog starts to whine.

Frank!

It breathes in sharply through the nose and stops.

Are you a dog person? He smiles at me again, small, in case I say no, but he’s barely hiding his enthusiasm.

More of a cat person, to be honest. Another rehearsed lie, only used because it’s better than an honest, flat no.

Ah, yes. Ant and some of the peeps here bring their cats in for our ‘bring your friend to work’ days. It can get kind of mad around here. He chuckles.

god he thinks youre like him he thinks youre an Ant a peep

i think this is poop

Ah, I see you worked at Lamb as well? He’s looking back down at the résumé, has it flipped over from the blank side where he was making notes.

Yes, great experience.

Why did you leave?

It was nice of him to assume that. At the end of my probationary period they told me it had come down to fit. I just wasn’t a fit. Ironically you can’t train for fit. I’ve tried.

Well, Lamb is consumer-side, as I’m sure you know. I’m looking to make the switch back to corporate.

Ah, so you worked with Marsha.

Fuck.

At Lamb?

Yeah, Marsha Gordon? It says here you worked at Lamb from … He peers down. August to May of last year? She started in that time as the VP of your team, like around January, so … ?

I open my mouth to say something, but there’s nothing to say. Close it.

She’s … His voice softens; he clears his throat as if embarrassed. We’re engaged actually.

Fuck fuck.

Options race through my mind: the dates are wrong on the résumé, I was in Cuba when she started. Oh, yes, of course! Marsha! Embarrassed laugh! But I didn’t know Marsha. If I pretend, he will catch me in that lie.

No more moves.

Gemini throws the controller down, takes a stretch.

She’s won.

Well, I … I left Lamb in November. I bend down and reach for my bag to avoid his eyes and buy some time. Frank’s head lifts off the floor in alert, but my body is already tensed.

So … you worked there from August to November?

The senior account manager position … yes … sorry. I act confused, an attempt to interrupt his thinking, but his eyes are fixed on the résumé with a blank look.

That was a mistake, I tell him.

I look at the copies of the fabricated résumé on my lap, trying to find a way out, but I can’t focus to read the words on the page. The only thing keeping me from sprinting away is the open-concept design of this office. The eyes and bodies out there that would see me, possibly recognize my face from somewhere, or recognize me at some future networking event.

now you know thats not going to happen

There’s still the possibility I can recover from this. If he likes me, he could ignore the lie I’m trying to cover up as a mistake. We could still laugh it off.

Gemini savours the win.

She doesn’t give a fuck about recovering, she likes that this game is dangerous and that I get tripped up with my rehearsed answers and falsified work history.

That’s kind of a big mistake to make. Brock’s eyebrows go up, but he still has that smile on. It’s either meant to be kind or mock me, I can’t tell. I clear my throat and mumble an apology, but my voice is still hoarse. I say something about being confused. His eyebrows lower and the smile fades. My face and neck burn. Recovery isn’t going to happen either.

In the thirty minutes it took for the interview to happen, Fentleman PR’s Toronto office has undergone a bad renovation. On my way in I absorbed every detail. Heavy magazines printed on thick, glossy stock paper. Air filled with natural light coming in from floor-to-ceiling windows throughout the office. Soaps and lotions, colognes, perfumes, and precious, precious coffee in the air. Fresh flowers on the reception desk. Light-grey marble, silver and gold accents. Concrete floors. Pictures of families, babies and parents on desks. Tailored, fashionable bodies clacking boldly by, on the phone and doing the things these types did. Gemini had been silenced by my hope, my thirst to be one of these types, to be made safe by an insurance plan.

I open Brock’s office door, and now the natural light is glaringly sharp. My nose crinkles at the smells in the air; adrenaline stops a sneeze. A few of the eyes that I wanted to avoid turn and look in my direction when I close the door. Gemini makes eye contact. She lets a split second go by, but the employed strangers don’t give more than a passing glance. Brock’s closed door must signal to them something I know already: that I am a nobody, and will not be showing up at the office to occupy an empty desk in a couple of weeks.

Fuck your Follow your dreams screensavers, your matching polka dot pens and notepads, your company-branded merchandise. Fuck your levels and team structures, fuck your red-bottomed heels at top-level and fuck your capsule wardrobes at mid-level. Fuck your end-of-year bonus payouts. Fuck your personal and company cell phones and tablets. Fuck your meeting rooms named after Canadian cities. Fuck your head office and fuck your wall murals. Especially fuck your take-your-fucking-pet-to-work days.

Gemini and I are in unison. Now she lets me use her words. Now, on my way out, the details are reminders of how misguided I must have been about this place.

Who

the fuck

would want to work here?

Where I would attempt to sink into the floor, Gemini feels good. She uses the full length of our leg to stride out. She’s useful in this moment, when I have to go down a set of stairs to the first floor, walk through more desks and office spaces and get my coat from the reception area.

If the interview had gone well and Brock had liked me he might have asked if I could stay to meet the team.

see?

she says with our back straight.

arent you grateful to not have to monkey for the part, eagerly hover behind these well-dressed professionals while they interrogate you? isnt it a relief to not have to constantly try

(emphasis on that try)

to make conversation with anyone and everyone so you seem like a nice girl? Try to cover the parts of your brain turning over bills due and anxiety with everything else so you can meet everyones gaze with a nice smile?

She’s right, but she’s also just trying to make me feel better. Polite thoughts of another job opportunity somewhere, anywhere, would have soothed me a couple weeks ago, but the possibility of finding a job in this industry, in this city, without someone knowing me from another office is slim.

In the closet, under my jacket, a basket of black umbrellas catches my eye. Government Bank had one of those baskets with the exact same umbrellas. For clients who visited the office and might have needed one on their way out. Each one cost $180 on average. I know, I’ve seen the receipts. One week of expensive groceries, two if I use my points and shop at the right places.

Go ahead, take an umbrella, the basket screams. Bring it back and we have a solid business relationship. But it’s okay if you don’t. We have the money to buy more.

The elevator doors open. If I don’t get a job, soon enough the apartment will be gone, along with my savings. The only thing I’ll build is more debt. And I will still be breathing.

Exhausting, uninterrupted breathing.

###

Have a great day!

The bus driver’s teeth are white, almost too white. Well taken care of; he sees his dentist regularly.

My mind had been swirling with calculations and anxieties in the hour and 13 minutes it took to get home from Fentleman’s office.

The driver’s voice, loud and clear, knocks me back into the present. A long sidewalk stretches out in front of me at the bus stop; cold air blows on my bare face and hands. Beyond the line of sight is darkness, unknown territory, even though I’ve lived on Alexander for a year.

Everything feels different though it’s the same: the last time I step off this bus, the last time I go to the financial district downtown, the last time I wear these clothes, go out job hunting. I can’t stand here at the bus door gazing out onto the avenue forever. People are watching.

I turn back to him. You too.

###

At home the research is close at hand. Rosado’s website is already open in one tab, articles and research in seven or eight other tabs around it. The Apply Now button is in the same place. I can’t be bothered to fill out a whole form right now and wait for someone to get back to me. I need to act, do something to make sure the decision is final. I dial the number under the button and anxiously listen to the ringing on the other end of the line.

Rosado House.

A woman’s voice answers and I freeze. Hands shake. The phone nearly falls.

Gemini is steady; she knows what to say and how to say it.

Hello, good afternoon. I’m calling about openings to be a contractor?

Sorry, no openings, the voice says.

Ok, thank you.

The line disconnects. A conversation that lasted less than thirty seconds. The voice on the other end wasn’t confused at the question, didn’t laugh at her—me. As Gemini I must sound like any other woman calling the house to ask about openings. As Gemini I could be a fit.

At Rosado House online, I stare at the photos of the current contractors. What are these women like? How did they get here? I search my brain for any evidence of how long contractors usually stay at Rosado, but I can’t remember anything from my research from before. I wouldn’t have been looking for that back then. Before today I visited the website out of curiosity. Now my motivation is changed.

Eight women are featured. Today I look at their pictures more closely. At first I took note that there was more than one woman of colour. Now I need more details.

They’re all shown in different scenes to suggest some personality, but it’s clichéd stuff, except for one: Adrienne in a Darth Vader mask, with the cape on and thigh-high black boots.

Then there’s Momma: thick, long brown hair, in a man’s button-down shirt with thigh-high socks, her hand and leg wrapped around a pole set up on a stage—a photo with a distinct Instagram filter.

Hawaii is Asian and poses with a wide grin in a cheerleader uniform. These names must be fake.

Kelis Parker is on stage with a microphone, in a red dress, chest out, stomach in, behind out. A black Jessica Rabbit.

Laralee, who somehow looks mature and young at the same time in a maid’s outfit.

Keisha wears glasses and is presumably a librarian, even though she’s giving a suggestive look to the camera instead of doing something with the book in her hand.

Lee-Anne plays a generic office employee in a tight pencil skirt and high heels and using a computer monitor to hide that she’s not wearing a top.

Jeannie, a teacher with an extra-long ruler.

Their faces don’t tell me which one is planning to work somewhere else or leave the business altogether. Website updates are never reliable, especially when it comes to things like current employees, but after making phone calls every day, looking at the website is the next best thing.

Gemini starts to think about how we could have more fun with this, recreate a movie poster or pretend to be a late-night TV host.

There will be time to think about that later, I tell her.

With the call out of the way, I concentrate on a new plan.

First, no more freelance work. Employment insurance payouts will end in January. I’m sick of playing a chasing game with the payments every month, even though there won’t be any freelance jobs over the next couple months anyway, with the holidays approaching.

Back in January when I was fired I reduced all expenses to the bare minimum: cancelled the gym membership, all the media subscriptions and unessential services. Cut back on groceries and the monthly meal service. Took debt repayments down to minimums; of course I stopped saving money. Expenses and bills are squeezed down to just under $1,000.

So second, reduce expenses more, especially now that I know I’ll be living on $1,800 a month and savings. There are free coffee cards. I dash around the apartment to find each one in every bag, pocket and purse. Vouchers for sub sandwiches and lunches at all the places I’d carelessly spent money at in the years before; use the points I’d collected on credit cards and loyalty programs to pay for groceries and meals. I stack everything up. Make sure the programs are still active and the points I’ve collected aren’t expired. If I’m careful, focused, I can hold out for a few months. Just a few.

dont get distracted

My birthday is tomorrow. Then there’s Christmas and New Year’s. I’ll have to use my credit card for any purchases. January, savings will go down to just under $3,500, which means the drop-dead date is March 1st. If I can’t get a position at Rosado or any other brothel by then, I’ll have to submit my two months’ notice to move out of the apartment. There’s pressure, but I can handle it.

breathe

stay calm

focus

The phone vibrates: a text asking how the interview went, from Aimee. Someone I met while working at Government Bank. She’s still there, but always has her eye open for opportunities. So yesterday, she interviewed for a senior account manager position at Fentleman.

Another text shows up: Well???

Damn it.

I know what she’s like. If I don’t answer her soon enough she will call, especially about something like this, but I can’t figure out what lie to tell. Gemini’s advice to

fuck her tell the truth

is tempting and not helpful. The problem is, Aimee knows other people I know. My default is to lie. Lies adjacent to the ones I tell about my career history. She gets tired of waiting for me to respond. I watch the phone light up; The Price is Right music fills the air.

Hey, Aimee.

Did you get my texts?

No, sorry. I was away from my phone. My eyes float around the room and land on a piece of mail on the side table beside the door.

How did the interview go?

Ah, it went okay.

Really? Well, what happened? Who did you meet with?

It always amazes me how she doesn’t even try to hide that she doesn’t actually care.

I met with Brock—

Isn’t he hot? she asks in a low tone. Based on the sound in the background she’s walking around in the PATH, an underground network of shops and restaurants in the city’s financial district, probably getting a third coffee.

Meh. Not my type.

What is your type anyway? I met him for, like, five minutes. But my interview was with Linda Borshestein. She pronounces that last name perfectly. Or confidently at least. You know, she is so much nicer in person than I thought she was? But yeah, we met for, like, half an hour? Then she introduced me to some of the other folks there.

Oh, Aimee is a perfect fit for that office. Going back to an agency would be the ideal move for her career right now, a nice step up.

And her dog, Lil Homie, and Frank would have cute little mutts. I let out all the breath I’ve been holding in, but she doesn’t hear over the sound of her own voice. I saw her name on my phone and panicked, as if she would be able to see or feel what I was planning. But I forgot how worked up she gets over stuff like this. One of the little things she inflates to full-on drama so she can add spice to her secure, bland life.

So are you interviewing anywhere else? she asks.

Not for now. Just gonna take a break for a while.

Ok, well let me know how things go!

Yeah, you too.

Our conversation can’t sound unusual in any way, even though I don’t want to invite her to contact me again.

I go over to the table to open the mail. It’s so rare to receive a piece of paper for anything, so it must be important. The envelope is thin, nothing hard in it, so it’s definitely a letter, some type of notice.

I read it three times before it sinks in.

… to inform you that your monthly rent will be increasing to $2,034 starting in January.

I would have moved to a cheaper apartment when Nomad fired me, but this apartment is considered cheap in Toronto. There is nowhere for me to go. If I move it would have to be outside of the city.

Fuck.

###

A chime rings through the air.

My eyes open.

Happy birthday, Tracy! Helpr says in a cheery robotic voice.

My phone shows a bright and happy birthday notification. By now it knows my habit is to spend five minutes on Twitter for the news, then an hour between YouTube and Instagram, then a few minutes on the hook-up app of the moment, Tinder.

It chimes again, the second alarm. All of my favourite apps are open and ready for my attention. This day is slightly different than the other days, but not because it’s my birthday. Because of Gemini. But my phone doesn’t know that. It thinks my habits are still the same. I turn over in bed, already exhausted at streams of posts and videos and new singles. I close my eyes and breathe in deep instead of picking it up.

Gemini has a morning routine that doesn’t involve a phone at all. She gets up, stretches, changes her clothes. Today her eyes land on each item around the room, the phone being the last. She can feel my automatic anxiety start up, that my hands itch to go to the blinking thing on the nightstand.

But my habits aren’t her habits. She straightens up the room after immediately noticing that things seem out of place. Of course. I placed them there, not her. She removes all of the résumés on my makeup table and throws them in a pile outside my room for shredding. She gets rid of a few sweaters and dresses I haven’t worn in years. She looks through a pile of my books, picks up