The Jinx by Jennifer Sturman Read Free Book Online Page A

bridge.
    I pressed my nose against the glass for a closer look.
    There was a crowd surrounding the Weld Boathouse, home to several of Harvard’s crew teams. A bright stripe of yellow crime-scene tape held back onlookers, while uniformed policemen clustered in front of the building.
    I wondered what could have happened. Some sort of crew team prank, perhaps, gone awry? One never knew what sort of hijinks rowers could get up to. I’d had the misfortune to date a rower my freshman year, and I’d never been so bored in my entire life. Our relationship consisted of lots of long, tortured conversations about his rowing, usually conducted over dining-hall meals with his teammates. I would watch in awe as they consumed enough food to feed small developing countries. I still vividly remembered my boyfriend commandeering an entire loaf of bread, loading it onto the toaster, slice by slice, then using up two sticks of butter, packet upon packet of sugar and a shaker-full of cinnamon to make cinnamon toast. He’d eaten it all in one sitting. And later that night he’d ordered in pizza. He was the only guy I’d ever gone out with who made my eating habits seem birdlike.
    I pulled my attention from the view and my gluttonous ex-boyfriend and gathered my coat and purse. It was time to get going.
    Â 
    Winslow, Brown had set up its recruiting headquarters in a suite identical to my own but one floor down. I arrived a few minutes before the meeting was to start. Cecelia Esterhazy, the administrator from Human Resources, was already there, setting out name tags and schedules on a side table. While I was the titular head of the recruiting effort, most of the actual work fell to Cece, who had the unenviable job of liaising with the Career Services office, scheduling information sessions, reserving blocks of hotel rooms and cajoling unwilling bankers into showing up to interview eager students. Fortunately, she had an unflaggingly sunny disposition, and her fresh good looks ensured that most of my male colleagues were easily persuaded to do their part.
    â€œHi, Cece. How’s it going?”
    She gave me a look that managed to be both harried and good-natured at the same time. “The usual. Three interviewers have already canceled on me. But I overbooked, so everything should be okay.” While recruiting was vital to Winslow, Brown’s future, it didn’t generate fees, and fees were the lifeblood of the firm. It wasn’t uncommon for bankers to decide at the last minute that whatever deals they were working on took precedence over a commitment to participate in recruiting.
    â€œI’m sorry. I’m not making things any easier for you by cutting out this morning.”
    â€œYou, at least, have a valid excuse.” I’d told her about the memorial service earlier that week, and she’d been sympathetic.
    â€œYou’re doing great,” I reassured her.
    She rolled her eyes.
    â€œCourage,” I said. She rewarded me with a smile.
    Colleagues from Winslow, Brown began trooping in, descending upon the breakfast buffet like vultures, most of them simultaneously talking on their own voice-enabled Blackberries. I helped myself to a bagel and cream cheese and another Diet Coke and found an empty chair. We needed to wait for a quorum to get things started, so I used the downtime to scroll through the accumulated e-mails on my own Blackberry before pecking out a quick message to Peter, wishing him luck with his pitch. Scott Epson was among the last to arrive. Today he was wearing a tie that put yesterday’s to shame—green silk dotted with little red golf tees. If he had been anyone else, I would have suspected sartorial irony.
    When the room had filled, I cleared my throat and called the meeting to order. “I’d like to thank you all for being here. I know how busy everyone is, but we have an ambitious hiring goal this year, and your participation is very much