(Click the footnote to skip story and go straight to the bottom for comedy news)1
Nepo Baby
It doesn’t matter what it is, if I’m doing it, I want to be good at it. Work, school, personal life, swing ball. If I’ve decided it’s something I’m going to do - it’s something worth doing and if I think it’s something worth doing. It’s something worth being as good at it as you can possibly be.
No-one ever dreams of becoming the deputy managing director of an investment fund when they’re a little girl. Maybe CEO, I suppose - if they’re a bit odd. But that wasn’t me. I found out about the company when they came and visited my 6th form on careers day and gave me a leaflet then applied to their training scheme that evening almost on a whim. I wasn’t entirely sure what I wanted to do after school, so when the offer came back, I stared at it for almost a full ten minutes before I ran downstairs to tell my mum. She asked me whether it was paid and when I said it was; she said I should think about it.
I think about that moment when I walk to the office on days like these. The company rewarded hard work, and I’d quickly risen through the ranks since I finished the training programme. A meeting with Mr Wexler, founder, and CEO signalled each promotion, who took great delight in moving his employees up the ladder in person.
A meeting with him in your calendar, therefore, was always good news. Especially when your boss, the managing director, had just announced they were signing off with stress.
I nodded at the receptionist, David. He smiled back. I could never tell if David fancied me or whether he was merely the kind of conventionally attractive person who just always looked like that. The type with a face so perfect they merely look at someone and the recipient mistakes it for desire - not a totally facile projection. I often thought it would be easier if men acted like they did in cartoons when they thought someone was attractive. It’s obviously problematic, but I wouldn’t mind it if occasionally the pupils in attractive, available men’s eyes could turn to love hearts, for steam to shoot out of their ears until their head explodes.
I’m just saying it would be easier.
I don’t think I’m wrong about David, though; I thought as I entered the lift and pressed the button for the top floor. That sort of thing could come later. When I’d got where I wanted to get to.
The lift doors opened, and I stepped into Mr Wexler’s office. He sat at his desk and held out his arms in greeting.
‘Anna!’ he cried. ‘Come in, sit down!’
I smiled and, once I’d traversed the 20 metres of luscious cream carpet between the lift and his desk, positioned myself in the chair opposite the desk.
‘Anna, Anna, Anna.’ He started. ‘Bet you didn’t think you’d be back in here so quickly.’
‘Well…’ I flushed. ‘It is a pleasant surprise.’
‘Nonsense! You’re one of our best. I see big things for you, you know that.’
‘I’m happy for you to say it, sir.’
Wexler guffawed loudly. He was always a jovial presence, but today, in particular, he seemed to be in an even better mood than normal.
‘I’ll tell you why you’re here. As you know, HR has signed Peter off for cowardice.’
“I thought it was stress, sir.”
“Whatever you kids are calling it these days. Either way, the doctor said we’ve legally got to let him skive off and make birdseed or something but, between you and me, he was close to retirement, anyway. I think it’s time for fresh blood.”
I felt my heart beat harder in my ears and that warm shiver that comes over you when you’re about to hear something significant shimmer up my back.
“It’s long overdue that I started thinking more about the future of the business and there was only one answer in my head who should take over the day-to-day management of the company.”
My heart was beating faster now.
‘So it gives me great pleasure to tell you that the new managing director is in this room with us. I’d love for you to meet your new boss. My son - Kevin!’
He gestured over to a corner of the room and, in a corner of the room I hadn’t seen when I’d walked, was my new boss.
Kevin was three feet tall and wore a tiny, but immaculate, three-piece suit with a diaper over it.
He held a whisky glass of milk in left hand and was pushing a trolley filled with building blocks from one side of the room to the other. I turned back around back at Wexler in disbelief.
‘Isn’t he great?’
I knew at that moment the smart thing to do would be to keep my emotions in check. But I couldn’t help what followed tumbling out of my mouth.
‘Is this some kind of joke?’
Wexler looked confused. ‘No? I appreciate you might think I’m only saying this because he’s my son, but I genuinely think that he’s one of the most talented junior executives working right now.’
At that moment, Kevin fell over and spilled his milk on the carpet. Wexler leapt to his feet to pick him up and put him over his shoulder.
‘I…’
‘It’s not just me. Forbes agrees.’
‘Forbes?!’
‘He’s on their “3 under 3” this year!’
Kevin burped behind Wexler’s back and the older man looked behind him.
‘Oops! That was a little sick, I think!’
‘You cannot possibly be serious. That baby is the new managing director?’
‘His name is Kevin. And yes.’ Wexler placed Kevin down on the desk, grabbed a tissue and reached around his shoulder to clean himself off. Allowing me to look directly into the face of the latest man I’d be taking instructions off.
Kevin looked at me equally curiously. Then reached out towards me like he wanted to grab my face.
Wexler chuckled. ‘Kevin wants to play with your hair. He’s obsessed with it. Obviously, I can’t help in that department.’ Wexler pointed at his own bald head and laughed even louder. Impervious to the frosty atmosphere I was attempting to create.
‘Obviously if the hair thing becomes harassment, have a word with HR, will you?’
‘Excuse me, Mr Wexler.’ I said, trying to compose myself. ‘I’m just not confident In Kevin’s ability to run the operations of a multi-billion dollar company.’
Mr Wexler narrowed his eyebrows. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘I mean… Can he even talk yet?’
‘I think the Equalities Act would have something to say about not hiring someone just because they couldn’t talk…’
‘Can he not talk? If he’s that big, he should be able to talk.’
‘MILK!’ said Kevin.
‘Well, there you go! Looks like he can!’ said Mr Wexler. ‘Kevin clearly thinks we should invest more in dairy.’
‘We don’t even invest in dairy.’
‘Well, sounds like we better bloody start! I know he’s young, but he knows what he’s talking about with the markets. We had to offer a very competitive pay packet to secure him.’
‘How much are you paying him?’
‘One million pounds a day.’
‘What on earth does a baby need that amount of money for?’
‘He doesn’t, I’m sure. Kevin is already independently wealthy. It’s the principle.’
‘Can you define “independently” for me, just quickly?’
‘By himself. He already has his own property portfolio.’
‘How did he buy that, then?’
‘I don’t know. Probably by not buying all that avocado toast you millennials are so obsessed with.’
‘That’s because he can’t eat solids.’ I muttered under my breath.
‘What was that?’
‘Nothing Sir.’ I needed to win this one back. I would not convince him out of the idea, but if my boss was a baby, then this would be a promotion in all but name.
‘So will I be continuing unchanged in my current role?’ I asked.
‘Yes, you will continue in your role. You will assist Kevin as you did with Peter. I want you to listen to exactly what he tells you and to put it into place.’
‘Will there be any change to my salary?’
‘I think we can work something out. Now I come to think of it, there’ll definitely be remuneration for potty training. In fact,’ Wexler lifted Kevin off his shoulder and handed him to me, ‘I think he might need to go now.’
Kevin and I were staring at each other across another desk on the floor below his father's office. Kevin sat behind it, staring at me, while I stared at him and waited for instructions. We had been here for 6 hours.
‘HUNGRY!’ Kevin said.
‘You can order food through the intercom on your desk.’ I reminded him. ‘That’s what David at reception is for.’
Kevin stared at me blankly, so I leaned over and pushed the button for him. ‘Hi David, can we get some fish fingers and chips sent up here, please?’
‘No problem.’ David’s voice said.
I sat back in my chair and watched as Kevin bashed the keyboard of his computer with his tiny fists. I would have to do my best to make it a success, do my job to the best of my ability. And that meant listening to Kevin.
‘What’s your vision for the company in this next quarter?’ I asked.
‘FISH FINGERS.’
“That’s right - we’re getting some fish fingers sent up. There’ll be some here soon.”
Kevin started to cry. The tears came slowly at first, accidental, products of hunger. Then something more existential seemed to kick in, and the tears began streaming, unable to be controlled. I tried to mimic what I thought a parent would do in that situation. I picked him up out of his executive chair and bounced him on my hip, and framed my next question carefully.
‘Oh Kevin. It’s okay! The fish fingers will be here soon. Would you like me to take over operations for today?’ I asked in my sweetest, most mumsy voice.
The baby stopped crying for a second. He managed to nod - and then buried himself in my shoulder.
Success
After placating Kevin with his tea. I got to work. I continued with my tasks for the day, taking care to perform what Kevin’s would have been. Having a look at market trends, trying to identify weaknesses and adding them to my planner to look into them further later. I had just got into a good flow when the phone on Kevin’s desk rang.
Kevin reached for it and I picked it up before he could knock it off the receiver.
‘Hello, Kevin Wexler’s office. Anna speaking.’
‘Anna! It’s Mr Wexler here - I wondered how Kevin’s first day had gone?’
‘After his tea, Kevin had slept for most of the afternoon.’
` ‘Great sir, We’re,’ I paused for a second, ‘going to work well together I think.’
‘I’m glad you’ve come round. The boy’s a genius! Listen to him!’
The next few weeks were a blur. Of course, I was effectively doing three people’s jobs. Mine, Kevin’s, and an additional new role as a nanny. Kevin who was growing increasingly restless with this office. He had insisted on ordering around fifteen different executive toys for his desk, which, while fascinating, weren't enough to divert his attention for more than a few days. So I tried to involve him as much as possible with what I was doing. Sitting him on my lap as I discussed strategy with regional managers, spoke to our Asia office about targets for the next financial quarter and heard from our analysts about what portfolios we ought to be building.
It did wonders for his vocabulary and could now say ‘BUY’, ‘SELL’, ‘THE MARKETS ARE OPEN IN JAPAN’ and a few other words, some fruitier than I’d like, that came besides his usual refrain of ‘FISH FINGERS.’ Kevin also got very good at opening up his laptop and bashing the keys whenever I wasn’t looking. So I would have to dive across the desk to make sure he wasn’t accidentally liquidising any of our funds. Sometimes, he would find my efforts to thwart him amusing, other times he would get upset but, on the whole, he seemed to enjoy his new role, and Mr Wexler was thrilled whenever he stopped by and saw him ‘at work’.
It was a surprise, then, when one day Mr Wexler stormed into Kevin’s office with a face like thunder, marched past my desk without looking at me and threw down a newspaper on Kevin’s desk.
‘How on earth did you miss this!?’
Kevin started to cry. I jumped up from my chair as Mr Wexler continued.
‘Look, I know it’s upsetting, but I was really hoping you’d be doing better than this. We can’t afford to miss too many opportunities like this.’
‘CLUSTERFUCK,’ bawled Kevin.
‘You can say that again.’
‘SYNERGY.’
‘Hmmm maybe.’ Wexler sighed ‘But I never missed an open goal like this in all my years of investing… I guess you’re still learning.’ He looked around for me. ‘Anna?’
I grabbed the paper. ‘Yes, sir?’
‘Sorry about this. You’ve been doing everything Kevin has been saying for you to do?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Good. I’m sorry to have to say this, Kevin, but this needs to be a lesson. We can’t afford to miss too many more of these.’ Mr Wexler turned on his heel and strode out of the office.
I looked down at the newspaper and saw the headline.
Global Fish Prices Skyrocket as China Sea Tensions Escalate
I stared at Kevin.
‘FISHFINGERS.’
****
I came into work the next morning still shellshocked. Not just because I’d missed the knock-on effects of the Vietnamese elections on the markets, but also I couldn’t fathom that maybe Kevin and Wexler had been right all along. I hadn’t ruled out it all being a coincidence, but I resolved to work it out. I got to the office at six o’clock, as usual, and was doing my normal surveying of the markets. Trying to find a way of clawing back ground after the fish fiasco. An analyst of ours, Norman, had noticed some subtle, but significant rises in the price of oil and was trying to figure out why. I had been scratching my head since I’d arrived at the office. There didn’t seem to be any issue with the supply, the demand or anything at all in the supply chain that would suggest that production or demand would fall at all. When there was a knock at the door. His (actual) nanny dropped Kevin at his office and as soon as the door shut, I asked him the question.
‘Did you know about the price of fish going up?!’
Kevin looked at me, an eyebrow raised.
‘ICED LATTE,’ he said, holding out his beaker.
It was one of the phrases he would parrot through the day that I would normally ignore, something he’d picked up from my day-to-day vocabulary. But today it seemed different. I took the beaker, retreated to the coffee machine and returned with a latte and placed it in front of him like a small offering.
Kevin lurched forward with both hands, grabbing the beaker with both hands. After a few gulps, he burped.
‘GOOD JAVA.’
‘Is there… Anything else you’d like, boss?’
Kevin looked thoughtful. ‘SANDPIT’
‘We can’t waste time like that Kevin, we’ve got to work-’
‘PLAYTIME,’
‘I need you to tell me what to invest in…’ I waited for him to say something else. We stared at each other for a moment, as if weighing each other up, trying to predict what the other's next move would be.
‘CIRCLE BACK TO SANDPIT.’
I sighed and took Kevin to the sandpit Wexler had installed on the 10th floor. I must have gone insane, truly. What did we think had happened? That this baby had a total command of the financial markets? Some supernatural knowledge that those with a more plebeian upbringing couldn’t possibly access? As we played in the sand, although I couldn’t help it, my resentment towards him grew. What was I doing? Wasting my time waiting to see what a baby had to say? Just because he was the kid of someone who had been alright at the same thing before? I needed to be analysing oil this morning. I should be on a conference call with Middle East experts, talking about shifts in the geopolitical mood and shipping complications in the Suez. Instead, Kevin had commanded me to start the excavation of sand from the other side of the tunnel he was building. I had begun the initial digging, but as Kevin dug deeper and deeper from the other side, I could see cracks emerging in the top layer. I paused my digging and watched the cracks grow, jerking forward like lines on a graph.
The tunnel collapsed. Kevin hit it with his spade while I sneaked my phone out of my pocket and quickly set up a conference call between Norman and our consultant seismologist. Within twenty minutes, we had our solution. Increased tectonic activity had temporarily shut down production in a few parts of Oman, something the Government had done an excellent job of hushing up, but was becoming apparent. A few other calls later to our trading team and Mr Wexler was back in our office, this time with an enormous grin plastered on his face.
‘Kevin! You’re back in business, boy!’
I rolled my eyes as Mr Wexler barged past me, picked Kevin up, and spun him around the room.
‘Class is permanent, son. I never should have doubted you!’
Kevin giggled and gurgled as he flew around the room.
‘ROI! ROI!’
It probably said something about my imposter syndrome that I felt like I was comparing, and doubting, my own abilities to a baby’s. Surely there was no way he had somehow manipulated me into working out a solution to the Oman problem and yet… There seemed like something in his eye that looked confident, as if this was just the start.
I continued with both jobs as best as I could, listening to Kevin when he seemed interested in something or cried about something. This frustratingly, had mixed results. He had been dead on with predicting we should sell our stake in Naptime, a sleeping pill that was found to cause UTI’s, but that was tempered by less dramatic, but still vastly over-optimistic predictions in the market value of confectionery, bottles, and Boohoo.com. He was improving too, especially as his communication skills improved. But the frustration remained. It was nothing personal towards Kevin. We got on, and once I’d taught him how to use his American Express card, he was a very generous boss. He would always buy me ice cream and Lego even when there wasn’t a special occasion, and if I’m honest, his insistence on fun as a number one priority was helpful sometimes.
When you’re constantly under immense pressure, you can start to not see the woods from the trees, get in too deep, become lost in the monotonous turgidity of financial management. Switching off completely and putting yourself in different environments make you see the world from a different perspective, and often when you get your best brainwaves. It’s hard to remind yourself to do that sometimes, because often that it doesn’t feel like ‘work’ to do that and, my instinct, whenever I have a problem, is always to do the same thing I’m already doing, just more intensely.
Easier for Kevin, obviously, when you’re that privileged (and still a baby), it’s much easier to behave free from concern. Especially in Kevin’s case, as he literally didn’t have any - other than easily preventable like ‘vegetables’ and ‘the dark’. But that didn’t change the fact that however enjoyable his diversions and distractions were, it was still me doing both jobs, a swan with feet frantically flapping under water.
Wexler’s constant praise of Kevin for my work grated more and more. I had been working 16-hour days, 7 days a week. I had cancelled everything else in my life: friends, family, hobbies. David barely met my eye as I entered the office every morning now, nor would I want him to. I cowered away - trying to conceal the bags under my eyes and premature grey hairs that had materialised from stress. Stress that was being totally unrewarded and unacknowledged. One afternoon, as Wexler entered our office late one afternoon to sing Kevin’s praises for my work, I finally snapped.
‘Mr Wexler?’
Wexler and Kevin both turned to face me. They had been playing together in the toy-corner of the office, their anxiety-free faces frozen in the same dumb grin.
‘Yes, Anna?’ said Mr Wexler.
I took a big breath. I hadn’t planned this, but if I was going to put my career on the line, I was going to make sure I got my words out properly.
‘I think it’s time you knew the truth.’ I took a big breath. ‘Kevin has been underperforming in his role and I don’t think he should pass his probation period.’
A weight felt as though it had been lifted. But the silence that followed seemed to bring all of it crashing back. My heart rate exploded as Kevin cried.
‘‘I’M GOING TO SHARE MY SCREEN.’ he sniffled.
I felt I had the upper hand, so I pressed on. ‘I don’t think he’s untalented, but I think he’s ill-equipped in the day-to-day running of the role.’
Mr Wexler looked taken aback and looked at Kevin, back at me gormlessly, then back again.
‘Is this true, Kevin?’
Kevin avoided his eye. ‘SEVERANCE PACKAGE?’ he muttered at the floor.
‘Discuss that with HR. Pack up your trolley.’
Wexler handed Kevin a cardboard box, into which he tearfully placed his toy cars, lifted it onto his walker, took one look around the office and went to toddle out.
‘We need your card, too.’
Kevin pulled his ID card and lanyard out of his romper suit pocket and handed it over. Wexler shook his head. Kevin turned once more and fell over, but pulled himself up using the trolley. As he did so, he caught my eye. I expected him to look angry. Furious at my sudden betrayal. But he just looked confused. Unable to comprehend that I had just turned on him.
Once Kevin had gone, I was instated as Managing Director and my life threatened briefly to return to something resembling normality. But after the sheen of the new role wore off, clouds of doubt seemed to reemerge on the horizon. The growth on our investments seemed sluggish. There was no end to the complications, and, increasingly, I seemed unable to locate the ability to tackle them. They hadn’t recruited an assistant for me yet, so now I was spending more hours than before in the office , sitting at my desk trying to think of ways to untangle the issues I was now exclusively in charge of.
It felt bizarre to say, but me and Kevin had made quite a good team. I was missing the energy and ideas Kevin would bring, the moments when I was stuck and half an hour with Kevin playing with Lego, or trying to locate a strawberry yoghurt, would bring a solution. I was falling back into my old patterns, overworking, as if an extra hour staring at the computer screen would change everything. Until one day, I rang up to Wexler’s office.
After some pleasantries, I got down to business.
‘Mr Wexler, about Kevin. I think we might’ve been throwing out the baby with the bathwater.’
‘Well, yes… We threw the baby out.’
‘Exactly, and Kevin was… He’s really got something. I think he could really be something. I… just think he needed to start at the bottom. Learn the day to day. Do you think he would consider coming back but in a different role?’
‘Are you suggesting he does an internship?’
‘If he would be up for it, it would be really beneficial.’
‘I’ll have to check. He’s recording a podcast with Stephen Bartlett at the moment, but I’m not sure whether he’d take the pay cut. Since his vocabulary has improved, he’s being headhunted by a lot by other companies. Lockheed-Martin are interested,’
‘Well, the offer is there if he wants it. I really think this is the best for him long-term.’
An email came through later that afternoon confirming and the next day there was a knock at my office door. I opened the door and there stood Kevin. He had grown a great deal since I last saw him, and he’d got a new suit, which seemed much too big for him. He seemed to notice the corners of my mouth twitch.
‘Um.. hi Kevin.’
He rolled his eyes.
‘I GROW INTO IT.’
I picked him up and put him on my shoulder.
‘You will, Kevin. I’ll show you how. So… what are we going to do today?’
‘INTERESTS RATES RISING. WE TAKE ASSETS OUT OF BOLIVIA. THEN WE PLAY WITH TRAINS.’
I smiled and closed the door to the office.
Cheers
That’s the end of series 2! An inconsistent series in terms of releasing them on time, but hopefully they’ve been far more reliable on an enjoyability front as a result. I promise the next series will be fully written when I commit to sending them out. A very sincere thank you if you’ve read any of the stories this series. I am deeply aware of how unideal a medium this is to read fiction but hopefully you’ll be ahead of the game when it comes to when they emerge in a format more likeable at some point in the future. An appeal, as ever to let me or others know if you’ve enjoyed them. It really makes a difference!
Future Things
As I may well of hinted at in previous newsletters, my life is at a bit of a crossroads at the moment. Personal life you’ll have to wait for another day but here’s an overlong attempt to sum up where I’m at professionally.
Edinburgh
I am doing the Edinburgh Fringe this year for certain, I’ve done my registration and everything and I’m very excited and lucky to announce I’ll be in the Wee Yurt at Hoots @ Potterrow every night at 22.55 from 2-25th August doing my debut hour of stand up entitled ‘Must I Paint You a Picture?’ If you’ve ever been to the Fringe before, the venue might sound unfamiliar but it’s near the Pleasance Dome and where the Blundagardens (with the bus!) were in previous years and, when I found out Hoots were taking the site over this year, thought it would be perfect for the show I’m doing. Not just because of the themes of the show, but also, I think what Hoots are doing is super cool, in stark contrast with a lot of other fringe venue providers. I’m working really hard on the show, I’m aiming high and genuinely think it’s going to be really good. Below are some pictures in an attempt to show the location/potential vibe. If you are going to be at the fringe in any capacity this year I would love to see you there!
Work-in-Progress Shows
As a warm up to Edinburgh I’ll be taking the show in a not-yet-perfect form, to a lot of places this spring/summer. Thanks to those who’ve already been to one! Dates are below for your diaries and again, if you wanted to come or tell others about them I’d be super grateful. They’re so incredibly helpful in shaping what the show is going to be and I love doing them. The show is already in decent shape, in my opinion the jokes are largely there so it’s mostly the story I’m telling that needs some fine-tuning from me. As I don’t want to clog up people’s inboxes too often, best way to find out about where to buy tickets is following me on Instagram. There might well be some more but the next one, is in Bristol on the 5th April at my spiritual home - the Room Above. Tickets for that are here!
https://theroomabove.com/alex-kitson-must-i-paint-you-a-picture
Bristol - 5th April
Bath - 16th April
Lancaster - 27th April
London Bridge - 8th May
Reading - 18th May
Cambridge - 26th May
Exeter - 8th June
Hastings - 13th June
Falmouth - 6th July
Norwich - 9th July
Plymouth - 17th July
Newquay - 18th July
Bodmin - 19th July
Tiverton - 20th July
Bristol - 21st July
Cheltenham - 26th July
Ventnor (Isle of Wight) - 27th and 28th July.
Writing
Now the second series of this has finished the next big writing thing for me to do outside of stand-up is to apply my editor’s notes to my book and, all being well, try and get that ready for a post-Fringe release. After that, plan is to write some more of the short stories as I’d LOVE to publish a collection of them (another couple of series and I’ll have enough material for one). I also have a vague plan to make a podcast/radio pilot centred around them but that’s probably way off. In terms of this newsletter for now, I MIGHT delve into some more personal essay, non-fiction sort of stuff (part of a quiet desire to be a type of humorous newspaper columnist that I don’t think exists anymore). But for the immediate future I probably won’t be in touch too often until the autumn other than to plug Edinburgh and other bits and bobs. My time is going into the show, but also having a go at writing some other stuff I’ve been meaning to get around to for ages and haven’t (sitcom, sketches for radio, another book etc. etc.) I’ve got lots of ideas, some good, some bad, I just hope I get the time to do them and that you (whoever you may be) will continue to indulge me by not unsubscribing when I show you the ones I consider good enough to see the light of day. Thanks for your patience!
Here you go!