by Sienna Grant
I pull into Mom’s driveway at 9:30, cut the engine, and head inside. Not bad considering I didn’t wake up until an hour ago.
“Reagan, is that you?”
I follow the sound of her voice through to the kitchen.
“Yes, it’s me.” I didn’t need to hear her voice; the smell of her cooking was enough. “Do I smell bacon and eggs?” Why is a mother’s cooking always better than anyone else’s?
“Good timing,” Mom says as I walk through the door. She’s just turning away from the stove with the pan in her hands. With a smile of contentment, I kiss her cheek and sit down. She puts the bacon and eggs on a plate and places it in front of me.
“It smells so good. I was getting a little hungry.”
She takes a seat across from me and pulls her plate to her. “Well, when you weren’t here at nine like you usually are, I thought I’d cook you some breakfast.”
“You’re the best.” I get up and grab two cups of freshly made coffee from the pot, then sit back down and dig into my breakfast.
While mom goes off to get herself ready, I pour myself another coffee from the machine in the kitchen and go and sit by the sliding patio door, letting the breeze blow in and keep me cool.
Mom comes back into the room in a light and floral summer dress. “Have you had your fix of coffee now?” Mom smiles and starts filling up her purse with her necessary items… wallet, cell, and keys.
“I have, thank you,” I say, and stand. “Are you ready?”
“Yep. Let’s go hit the city.”
I lead the way through the house, grabbing my purse and pulling it onto my shoulder, and head out of the front door, mom following closely behind. The sun is beating down on me, burning the top of my head. She walks out not long after and she pulls the door behind her, locking up. Sliding my sunglasses down from the top of my head, I’m ready for the short walk to the bus stop.
The first thing we do is hit the flea markets. Mom loves little trinkets. It’s something she and Dad used to share. She picked up a couple of small keepsakes to place on the mantel as a remembrance for Dad and I managed to grab some costume jewellery. I know I can afford more, but you don’t forget where you came from, and before I stepped into Louboutins, it was flea markets that I shopped at a lot. Especially in college. Ruby and I used to hit markets all the time. We bagged some great bargains.
As we’re walking through the Chelsea Flea Market, I see the back of someone familiar. While Mom is looking at some new bedding, I tell her I’ll be just a minute and step away.
“Margie?” I touch her arm lightly to get her attention. I didn’t want to startle her, but I seem to anyway as she jumps a little before her head snaps my way. When her eyes meet mine and she realizes it’s me, she smiles.
“Oh, Reagan. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you. I was in my own little world.”
“It’s fine. Grabbing yourself a bargain?”
“Just some new clothes, mainly for work.”
“Very nice. I love a flea market,” I admit to her. From the corner of my eye I see my mom approach. “Oh, hey, Mom. This is Margie. She’s my new assistant.”
“Hello, dear. How is it working for the dragon?” My mouth hangs open at Mom’s comment. I don’t know if I’m shocked or insulted.
“Gee, thanks, Mom.”
“Oh, she’s really nice really, Mrs. Quinn.”
“I’m sure she’s paid you to say that.”
“Ignore my mother, Margie, she thinks she’s a comedian.”
“I love my daughter very much, Margie, but I know she has very high expectations too. If she picked you, then you must be worth it.”
“I’m not sure what to say to that, Mrs Quinn.” She gives mom a shy smile, a blush rising up into her cheeks. “I’m happy I’m working for your daughter. She’s a good person, and a good boss.”
“Margie, I’ll see you Monday.”
“Hang on, Reagan,” I link my elbow with mom’s and try to tug her away but it’s a feat. “Why doesn’t Margie come with us? I’m sure she’d love to see Macy’s.”
Margie doesn’t say anything. She looks between us like she’s watching a tennis match. “I’m not doing Macy’s until later, right now we’re hitting the big ones. Saks it is.”
Margie’s eyes widen but I’m not sure if it’s because my mom is attempting to hijack her afternoon or because I said I was going to Saks. “I’ve never been on Fifth Avenue.”
“Never?” Now it’s mom’s turn for her mouth to drop. “Reagan. She has to come with us. She could have lunch with us too.”
“Alright. I don’t mind.”
Mom smiles. “Margie, what do you think?”
With her hand on her chest, her face begins to change as a grin slowly forms. “Oh wow, I’d love to.”
“Well, come on, let’s go.”
The three of us make our way out of the flea market and toward Fifth Avenue. When we step off the bus, Margie stands stock still and looks up at the buildings. For someone who works in the city, she sure is bemused by her surroundings easily. “Come on,” I chuckle, pulling her along by the elbow. She stumbles behind me as we walk into Saks This is where I’m definitely in my element.
The first place I go is the shoe department.
High heels line the walls in every single color you can think of. I pick a pair up and turn them over, admiring the signature red sole, and smile. I turn around and see Margie sitting in one of the chairs watching me. Who knows where my mother has gone? “How pretty are they?” I say to Margie.
“They’re gorgeous. I’d love to wear a pair of those someday, but I doubt it.”
I’m in the middle of trying the shoe on but I pause when I hear the sadness in her voice “Hey.” I hobble to her with one heel on and one off. “Never say never. Try some on.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t walk in those—not that high.”
“Okay, hang on.”
I walk down the line of shoes, picking up and examining each one before stopping when I find some lower heels. Picking up a pair of black ones, I turn to Margie and ask, “What size are you?”
“A seven…”
Taking her size from the rack, I take them back to her. “Here try these on.”
“I couldn’t possibly…”
“Yes, you can.”
She sighs giving in and takes them from me before toeing off her flats and stepping into the pretty pumps. She walks carefully over to the mirror and admires them, and I step up behind her. “They look amazing.”
She turns her head slightly to the side, smiling. “Don’t they?”
“You have to have them.”
A sad look crosses her face and I almost feel bad. Shit. She sits and takes them off, slips her feet back in her flats, then goes to put the shoes back on the rack. I pick them up before she can stop me.
“I’m getting them for you. Call it a bonus.”
“Oh, I couldn’t let you do that…”
I take her shoes from her with a smile and take them with mine to the lady behind the cash register and pay for both. I hand Margie the bag with her shoes and link my arm with hers. “Now to find my mother. You’ll see after being in here my mom is somewhat of a shopaholic. She’s worse than me.”
Margie stops and looks at me. “thank you so much, Reagan.” A warmth spreads through my heart when I see the appreciation in her eyes. I don’t say anything, I just nod to let her know I heard her.
Walking through the huge department store, we manage to find her amongst the Ralph Lauren garments. I swear, that woman has more expensive tastes than I do.
After paying for my huge haul of suits, tops, underwear, and, of course, a new purse, we decided it was time for lunch.
We step into the elevator and take it to the top floor of the store, walking through to the back until we reach the café. I find a table and pull out a chair, taking the weight off my feet. They’re absolutely killing me. As soon as Mom and Marg
ie sit down, we browse the menu and order. We spend the next hour talking about anything and everything. Today has been different. I’ve enjoyed it.
We hit Macy’s and eventually browsed Nieman Marcus, until my feet were aching that much, I needed to go home. We decided we’d done enough shopping and ready to go our separate ways. Margie flings her arms around me, thanking me for her shoes, and tells me how much fun she’s had. I’m glad I could help her to have some fun. If I’d lost my mom, I’m not sure if I’d survive. It was hard enough losing my dad but losing my mom, would be like cutting my limbs off. I return her embrace before she heads off in the opposite direction for her bus, leaving Mom and me to head for the other bus stop.
Eighteen
Reagan
Monday morning came around way too quickly. I definitely could have done without a four thirty a.m. alarm.
After taking the afternoon off on Friday, I have a shit load of work to get through. I haven’t even finished my first coffee and I’ve already worked through most of my client emails. I’ve been here since six trying to deal with a fucking complaint about a product and I’m tired; my patience is a little frayed, to say the least. Hicks wants this dealt with as quietly and efficiently as possible. I’ve already been chewed out, and that was at 6:45 this morning.
Sitting back in my chair, I lift my cup to my lips and drink my now cold coffee, cringing as it slides down my throat. I put it back on the coaster with a huff, when a commotion at the door grabs my attention outside of my office. Are you fucking kidding me? I get up to see what’s going on, none too happy that I’ve been disturbed; they’re acting like a load of teenagers in a school yard.
“What is going on out here? I know you all have work to do,” I call out, but I’m a little taken aback at what I see. The staff snap their heads up at my voice, looking like deer caught in headlights. They lower their heads and quietly scatter back to their desks.
Margie is the only one left and she starts coming toward me. It’s not the Margie I’ve come to expect though. The oversized bootlegged pants are gone and in their place is a respectful knee-length black pencil skirt matched with a blazer. The stiff and starched shirt she usually wears has been replaced with a soft blouse, and as my eyes track down even further, I see she’s wearing the shoes I got her instead of the black loafers she always wears. She’s had a complete makeover.
“Good morning, Ms. Quinn.” Margie looks straight at me with a smile stretched across her face. Over the last month she’s been working here, she’s changed. Her confidence has grown in leaps and bounds; she’s not the meek little mouse she was when she first started.
I force myself to drag my gaze back to her face and smile back. “Good morning.”
Her hair has changed too. Her dark tresses have been left down and straightened, and she even has makeup on.
What the hell.
As she reaches me one, of the sales girls stops her to tell her how gorgeous she looks. She’s lapping up the attention everyone seems to be giving her, and I can’t really blame her.
“You look great,” I add to the mounting praise. I back away from the door to allow her to walk through, and I go sit at my desk.
At the start of every day, we have a meeting so I can give her any updates and the work that needs to take priority. She follows me in, closes my door, and takes a seat.
“Margie, I’m at a loss for words. You look…different…that’s for sure, but what’s with the change?”
“I was sick of looking boring. And I hate being the odd one out.”
I can only nod my head. I knew she’d bought new clothes for work, but I never saw what she’d bought for herself.
“Look…” I hear the excitement in her voice as she stands and scurries to my side of the desk, lifting her foot to show off her new shoes. She walks back to the chair, sits, and crosses one leg over the other. “You look amazing all the time, and I wished I could look like you. Also, the others in the office always look so professional and I felt like no one took me seriously as your assistant.”
“I’ve always dressed like this and just happen to have an obsession with clothes and shoes, as you saw for yourself on Saturday. Margie, it doesn’t matter what you wear, your clothes don’t define you”
“Well, I think they do,” she says forcefully.
My shoulders drop with a sigh. There’s only so much I can say to make her see; the rest is up to her. “Well, as long as you’re comfortable in those clothes, then it’s entirely up to you.”
I force a smile and change topics to what we really need to be discussing—work. “I need you to email this client.” I pass her a printed copy of the email I received this morning. “I need to know everything that was wrong with the product and the effects it had. I need you to get on this right away. Mr. Hicks is expecting an answer ASAP.”
“Of course, Rae—Ms. Quinn.”
I ignore how she nearly calls me by my given name, since it’s probably my fault for blurring the lines between being professional and being social with my employee.
“Oh, and can you bring me some coffee before you start?”
“Yes of course.” she says, standing and smoothing down her suit. She looks so corporate. It’s amazing what a change of clothes can do for a person. “Thank you again, by the way, for Saturday…and my little bonus, I love them.”
“You’re most welcome, but just keep it between us.” I wink at her and she goes to her office.
Hearing my door click shut, I close my eyes and rub the tiredness away from my temples.
Nineteen
Margie
As soon as I put these clothes on this morning, I knew they would change my whole outlook. Gone was the boring geek. Here to stay was the new, confident, stylish assistant. I was sick of being a nerd. I was sick of being a nobody. When I stood next to Reagan, I felt like I didn’t meet anyone’s standard, most of all hers.
I needed her to accept me.
I needed her to see me as a professional.
After leaving her office with my assignment, I kicked off my new pumps beneath the desk. I hadn’t realized how much they’d make my feet ache. I’ll be soaking them every night after work at this rate.
A text message makes the cell in my purse go off. I glance into Reagan’s office and see that she’s deep in concentration. I’m sure he’s responding to the picture I sent earlier, but I’ll save it for later. Leave him hanging and all that. So, I take my cell out, keeping it beneath the desk just in case.
I’ve been seeing this guy for a couple of weeks now, but we’re keeping it a secret, more my idea than his. He told me he loved my new look too, at least that’s what he said when I sent him the photo this morning. I thought about being really bold and sending him one in my underwear, but maybe it’s a little too soon for all that. I’m not really sexually driven but I wouldn’t say no if he asked for something like that—we all need something. I put him out of mind for a while and get back to the task at hand.
I make a call to the deli down the block and order Reagan and me some lunch. She’s barely stopped today and I know I’m starving.
As I put the phone down, a call comes through.
“Hicks Life Solutions, Reagan Quinn’s office.”
“Good morning, Margie, it’s Everett Brooks. Could you put me through to Ms. Quinn, please?”
“Ah, Mr. Brooks. I am afraid she’s very busy today and she’s told me she’s not to be disturbed. I can take a message…”
“Even to me?”
“I’m afraid so, Mr. Brooks. Between you and me, I think she’s a bit stressed.”
“Okay, then can you ask her to call me back, please?”
Hmm. Everett Brooks. I’d love to know what I’d have to do to get him to notice me. Not that he ever would, not while he had Reagan running around him.
“Of course. Bye now, Mr. Brooks.” Placing the receiver back down, I glance into Reagan’s office again. She hasn’t moved from the spot
she was in earlier.
We didn’t have to wait long before our food was delivered. I handed the delivery driver a twenty and told him to keep the change. Slipping my feet back into my pumps, I take her coffee and sandwich into her office, placing it in front of her.
“Margie, thank you so much for this.”
“I’ve ordered your favorite. Thought you’d be hungry, seeing as you haven’t taken a break yet today.” I don’t tell her about the call from Everett; she doesn’t need the distraction today—I know she wants to get this taken care of before she goes home.
Knowing that Reagan is happy with me, I smile to myself and go back into my office.
Twenty
Everett
I put the receiver down and frown.
Reagan doesn’t want to talk to me? That’s a first. She usually takes my calls because she doesn’t want people to think there’s something going on between us. Maybe she really is busy. Maybe I’ll go over there later this afternoon, or maybe I’ll go and see her tonight. I might be able to get my dick sucked. Although Reagan does mean more to me than just a quick fuck, I’m not ready to hang up that playboy status yet, and I don’t think Reagan is ready to settle down.
If I have an itch, I scratch it. I’ve never done anything I’m told to do, and I don’t act in a way to please someone else. Reagan knows that and it’s where we’re alike. She hates doing things that are expected of her.
When 4:30 rolls around, I decide I’ve had enough and turn off my computer. I pull my jacket from the back of the chair, put it on, lock up my office, and go see to Joy.
“Joy, sweetheart, I’m going home. Anything important, you can reach me on my cell. Anything else, tell them it’ll be dealt with tomorrow.”
“Yes, of course, Mr. Brooks. Have a good night.”
