Isabella can't imagine herself at the Fairmont. She was invited, of course, since she was part of the human backdrop that will be all over the business news pages tomorrow. Cable news is already airing the same four clips in the top left corner of the screen; Isabella and company smiling in the background, while the pundits argue about the impact that Angelo Lord's ascension will have on the stock valuation. Then a cut to an ad for erectile dysfunction.

The reception at the hotel ballroom would have been as informal as formal can be in the world that is Silicon Valley. It would have been quite the experience, she thinks, imagining the who's who of the corporate elite and shining stars of the money making machine called Alpha, all assembled together in an exquisite old hotel. There would have been a jazz band playing for the hipsters, and all kinds of craft beer and cocktails she would never have heard of. She doesn't like to drink anyway. Isabella isn't the cocktail party kind of girl. So, when she saw the shuttle bus back to Mountain View, the vision of her in her apartment, in her jammies, curling up on the sofa, maybe Skyping with mom, maybe reading, those images filled her with a longing for home, she took the step and boarded the bus.

Isabella is content here in the apartment she shares with Francisca. She feels at home. Francisca seems nice enough, though she has only known her a few days. She is older, early thirties probably, but she is pleasant to her. The place is furnished tastefully, decorated conservatively and laid out sensibly. Really, Isabella couldn't think of a better location, given the impossible rental situation in the Palo Alto and Bay areas. The older home in which they live has been divided into three apartments, and her brother, Claude, was able to find a vacant room through an internal company posting. The woman upstairs, an outgoing and charming Filipino named Lucy, owns the house and also is a senior manager in the marketing division of Alpha's Bay Area office. Looking around the apartment, Isabella feels blessed. And glad she left the company shindig for a quiet Friday night at home.

That is when there is a knock on the door.

Francisca yells from the bathroom. "Are you expecting anyone Izzy?" She is getting ready to go out for the night with friends. Although it is still early, Isabella has no intention of leaving her sofa, except to head to bed. She has had enough public performance for one day.

"No, I'm not. I'll ask who it is."

Isabella cautiously opens the door a crack. She sees a short woman, with a bottle of wine in her hand. It takes a moment for her to recognize her landlord, Lucy.

"Hi Ms. Lumalabas. What I can I do for you?" Isabella unclasps the security chain and opens the door.

"Just a little social visit, that's all. I saw that you were home and figured you ditched the festivities in the city. Thought we might have a drink, just us girls. You know, to welcome you to the center of the universe here in the Valley." She smiles a warming grin, and adds, "and it's Lucy. Please, call me Lucy."

Isabella isn't excited about hosting a senior colleague from work, someone she doesn't really know, and it seems to Isabella, someone who looks like she has already consumed a fair bit tonight. It's not like she is smashed or anything, but Lucy looks to be in a festive spirit. Isabella just wants to curl up with a book, then go to bed. But, Lucy is a manager at Alpha and Isabella feels she should probably oblige the visitor. She doesn't like to feel pressured and really, just wants the burning indecision she is feeling to go away.

"Ok, Lucy, that would be nice—but just a short visit. I have had a tiring day."

"Oh yes, with the stage performance and all. I saw you up there. You looked amazing. My God girl, you are beautiful. That is why I submitted your name to be part of the chorus. Anyway, where do you keep your corkscrew?" Lucy flies off into the kitchen as Francisca comes out of the bathroom.

"Top left drawer dear, glasses are over the sink," Francisca yells to Lucy. "I'd love to stay and chat, but my ride is here."

"Have a good night Franny," Lucy shouts from the kitchen as the pop of a cork echoes. "We won't wait up for you."

Isabella looks at the crumpled blanket at the end of the sofa and the novel she was hoping to start tonight. She wonders why that in the last few days here in California, she seems to have lost any sense of self-determination. Like this morning: she was excited to go to San Francisco, maybe walk to Fisherman's Wharf, see some sites. But the moment she boarded the company bus, her day was laid out for her, each step a predetermined move. She had believed that once she was finished school and moved out on her own, she would be able to start making a few decisions for herself. She wonders if perhaps she just needs to accept that, for a while, she really doesn't have a whole lot of free choice.

"Thanks for the wine Lucy," she says as she takes the very full, very large glass of black syrup that Lucy hands her. She doesn't care much for red wine.

"One nice thing about living around here," Lucy says, "is that you'll get to taste some really nice wines. This cabernet comes from a small estate in Alexander Valley. We really should get you on one of our girl's trips to Napa. You'd have a ball."

"Sure, sounds wonderful." Isabella hopes she appears enthused and sips the bitter, sour juice from the fishbowl-sized wineglass. Her lips pucker, reminding her of late summers in the Finger Lakes of New York when she and Claude and the cousins would fill their mouths with ripe chokecherries, and see who could fit the most sour berries in their cheeks and hold them for the longest. She remembers the time that Claude spit his mouthful of half-chewed choke cherries, a cloud of red, spewing towards her, covering her face and eyes and, most upsettingly, her new white sundress. She was only ten at the time, but still remembers her cousins laughing. Tommy, the oldest of the summer lake gang and the one on whom she held a secret crush, laughed the loudest. He called her Carrie after that, but at the time, she didn't know why.

Lucy is good at making Isabella at ease. Before long they are laughing together as Lucy tells of her first days at Alpha, quite a few years ago now, she admits. Lucy explains that how, at that time, there were few women working for the company, especially in the technical side of things. Today there are more girls coming out with Engineering and Computer Science degrees, she observes, and most guys don't seem to have any issue with having a female manager.

"Do you ever feel that you were promoted ahead of a man because of your gender?" Isabella asks.

"Are you kidding me? I know that I am asked to appear with the big boys at certain functions or media events, like today, but this place is all about making money. Screw affirmative action. If you make them money, you go places, doesn't matter what your sex is."

Isabella responds with, "well, that's good, I guess."

As Lucy tops up Isabella's glass, she asks her about growing up in upstate New York. Isabella tells of her family, how they are close, especially her and her mom. She misses home already. She misses their house in the country, the nearby town and her friends, many of whom still live in the Rochester area. It was Claude who encouraged her to try this stint out West, and while she was nervous about the move, two notions made it conceivable: she would have Claude nearby, and this would be a temporary position. One day, she hoped, things would pick up in the Northeast again, and she might be able to find a good job in her field close to home. But for now, she is in San Francisco, which is probably colder than Rochester is today.

"I'm not one for cold winters. I couldn't live up there," Lucy says. "Are you and your brother close?"

Good question, she thinks. Sure, they are close in that they are the only two children in their family, that they grew up in the same household, share the same parents. But they are five years apart, and Claude, the older of the two, was off at Cornell for the entire time Isabella was in high school. He was the science genius, destined for glory and wealth; he had the girlfriends and the fastest fastball in the state, the perfect combination of smarts, good looks, personality and confidence that would lead to his success. Isabella is much more reserved. An introvert, really. A book lover, a sucker for a good Romance, one who believes that a well-placed comma, or two, is as sexy as a man's smile. Claude and Isabella are different in so many ways. Their closeness, to Isabella, is one of nostalgia; when she thinks of him or when she is with him, she is brought back home.

"Yes, we are pretty close," she replies.

"So, you know about Juliet then?"

"Know what?" Isabella feels her heart pound. Claude told her not to say anything about him and Juliet. It was one of his conditions for getting her this job. No one can know about their wedding plans until Juliet could be transferred to a different division, he said. For some reason, Isabella feels that she is being led into a trap by Lucy.

"It's okay hon," Lucy says. "Claude told me about the two of them. That they are engaged and everything?"

"And everything? What do you mean by that?"

"That she is pregnant." Lucy drops the bombshell.

Isabella suddenly realizes maybe they are not that close, after all. "Ah, ah—wow. I didn't know. Really? Are you sure?"

"He told me himself, tonight. After the theater, a bunch of us went to Overdone's for drinks. He was there."

"Huh. You think he would have told me himself. That is great news, though. I am going to be an aunt!"

"Well, there are complications," Lucy says and puts down her wineglass. She turns to Isabella, faces her and places her hands over top Isabella's. "You see, no one in the office knows about their engagement. But they know now that Claude has been sleeping with his Administrative Assistant. That's not good. The company has a pretty strict policy about relations among coworkers, and with this new CEO, the word upstairs is that they are cracking down on this kind of stuff."

"What do you mean, cracking down?"

"Zero tolerance. I think they are looking to make an example of Claude. Use him has the poster boy for sexual misconduct or something." Lucy looks directly at Isabella. "They have fired him. Locked him out of the office, seized all his devices. They are coming down pretty hard on the guy."

"Oh my God!" Isabella is in disbelief. Their family had planned the wedding for that summer. Juliet is from northern Pennsylvania and they were to be wed at a quaint resort in the Finger Lakes. Isabella already had her bridesmaid dress.

"Is there anything that can be done?" Isabella asks.

"I don't know, there might be." Lucy turns back to her wine and takes a sip. "Claude thought that maybe you could get in to see Angelo Lord, and tell him the truth, tell him about their engagement, that this wasn't misconduct at all but was consensual sex between adults outside of the workplace. There really are no grounds for dismissal. He thinks that you could ask him to intervene."

"But why me? I am just an intern—a brand new one, at that. Why would the CEO want anything to do with me?"

"Claude seems to think that you could get his attention," Lucy answers. "And he might have a point. I know people up in the CEO's office. I think I can probably get you an appointment with this Angelo Lord. You know how men are: if you went in there all weepy and played the poor little sister, beg for his mercy, play to his power and position, tell him that he can do anything he wants, that this would be a way that he can show you the extent of his control—I bet you could win him over. Look at you, you are so damn cute. How could he say no?"

Isabella notices her hand is shaking. She takes a sip of the bitter wine and feels it burn as she swallows. A vision plays out: tiny Isabella Measures, young, naive, sitting in the waiting room in front of two massive wooden doors, behind which awaits the most powerful man she will ever meet. The top dog. Sitting straight, her hands are on her lap as she stares nervously at the doors. Then a voice, "Mr. Lord will see you now." No, she can't see this happening, can't see herself in that role.

"I doubt I can do that."

"Our doubts are traitors, my dear. They make us lose the good we might do. If we fear to attempt things, how can we do good? Use the power you have, your youth, your innocence. Men like to feel like they are in control. So you play up to him. He won't be able to resist being generous when he is faced the tears of a crying woman."

Isabella sees the way Lucy looks at her. Her stare is direct and unrelenting, yet still seems polite. This is more than a suggestion; there is pressure. Isabella understands why Lucy has become a successful manager. She can get things done. Isabella sighs. "Alright, I'll see what I can do."

Lucy jumps up. "Great! I'll make some calls and set something up for you, hopefully by Monday."

Isabella, shaking and in disbelief as to what she just agreed, stands and moves towards the door, ushering Lucy. "Hopefully I'll be able to tell Claude that I have gotten him his job back."

As she exits, Lucy turns to Isabella. "Oh, and when you see Angelo Lord, make sure you wear that nice dress you had on today. He'll remember you."