by Mia Caldwell
"There," I told myself. It was the best I could do. A slap of mascara on my dark lashes, and a swipe of lipgloss across my full lips were the last finishing touches.
I was ready for the first day of the rest of my life.
Grabbing my portfolio, and double-checking to make sure that my keys were in my purse, I stepped out of my tiny studio apartment on to the sunlit city block. I regretted wearing a cardigan almost instantly. It was a steamy hot morning, the kind of morning that promised only sweaty misery for the rest of the day. I held my arms away from my sides in a desperate attempt to keep from sticking to myself.
It was early in the morning, so much so that the usual crush of pedestrians on the sidewalk outside of my basement apartment was nothing more than a sparse smattering of people striding along. They were all busily confident: sipping take-out coffee, and checking their smart phones. They all looked so competent and adult.
I felt like an imposter in their midst.
But I wasn't, I reminded myself. They were all playacting, just like I was. That was something my mother always reminded me, whenever I would go upstairs to her darkened bedroom and weep over not fitting in in high school. "Kiki, they are all just pretending, just like you are. Some are just better at it than others."
I knew it killed my mother to watch me struggle through high school, especially since her poor health made it difficult for her to be anything more than a quiet observer on the sidelines. I had to grow up fast when her disease debilitated her to the point where we switched roles, and the daughter began to take care of the mother. Even though she couldn't do things like zip up my prom dress when I finally realized I needed to go stag, or even simple things like braid my hair, she still was always there to talk to.
I wished she could see me now.
Kingsley Designs was one of the top designers of mid range women's knitwear. Their licensees included some of the most popular and well-known brands sold to high class department stores around the world. Zachary Kingsley had built it all from scratch only ten years ago…
He was one of my idols, both as a designer and as a businessperson, someone who I hoped to emulate in my upcoming career. To have landed an internship at his company was mind-boggling. I had been following his career since I was in junior high school and began cruising the pages of WWD magazine.
I didn't expect that I would meet him of course. I was just an intern, a peon; someone who would fetch coffee and stay in the background while the real designers worked their magic for him. I didn't even know if he was in town. They said he had a château in France that he spent much of his time at these days, reclusive and enigmatic since his highly publicized divorce. They said he'd narrowly escaped having to give her half the company and now he was a nightmare to work with.
I knew better than to hope I would meet the man who used to be my idol. A lot has changed since then. I know I had. And I guessed he had too. We both had our own private grief.
I squared my shoulders and stepped out onto the sidewalk on my spindly little shoes, wobbling slightly as the heel got caught in a crack in the pavement. I wobbled slightly, my traitorous mind perfectly picturing what it would be like if I splattered all over the sidewalk on my very first day of my internship. I felt like all eyes were upon me as I struggled to stay upright. At the last possible moment, I pinwheeled my arms and lurched forward, managing to free myself from my pavement prison with the least graceful motion I could summon.
Perfect. What a perfect start.
I trotted quickly away, as if running away from the crack would make that momentary blunder disappear.
The Kingsley Building was three blocks away; three long, sweaty, city blocks. I prayed my deodorant would hold.
When I finally reached the air-conditioned lobby of the Kingsley Design building, I had to stop and catch my breath. My whole body was covered in a light sheen of perspiration, and I could feel my hair frizzing as I stood there.
Just then, I caught sight of the smooth, perfectly coiffed white receptionist sitting behind the huge expanse of glass topped desk in front of me.
"May I help you?" she asked crisply.
She was one of those women. You know the type. Frosty cold, everything perfectly in place, the kind of demeanor that let you know without any doubt that they had never fallen down or perspired in their life. I felt a hot blush begin to creep upward from my neck and set fire to my cheeks.
Fake it until you make it, I reminded myself.
I squared my shoulders. "My name is Nakia James," I said smoothly, surprised at how even my voice sounded. If it's worth doing...."Today's the first day of my design internship."
Her perfectly groomed eyebrows shot up so high that they nearly zoomed off of her forehead. She wasn't expecting me to be Black, I could tell that in an instant. I saw her take a quick dart of her eyes up and down my sweaty, curvy frame, and my cheeks flamed further.
But she quickly recovered herself and her frosty demeanor broke open in a wide smile. "Welcome home!" she trilled. "We've heard a lot of good things about you, Nakia."
I was startled. I had hardly expected such a warm welcome, not from someone who looked like her. My blushed deepened further when I realized I had harshly judged her even as I assumed she was judging me.
She stood up from her desk, smoothed her skirt over her narrow hips and extended a well-manicured hand. I surreptitiously wiped my own palm on my skirt and extended it to her and she closed her cool hand around mine. "My name is August. You're going to love it here!" she exclaimed. "And you've come on a good day. Mr. Kingsley is expected to be making his first appearance here in over six months!"
Instantly my heart started thudding in my throat. "Mr. Kingsley is coming in from his château?"
August smiled. "I see you've done your research" she nodded. "Yes, he's been running the company remotely ever since his…," she dropped her voice to a scandalized whisper, "divorce."
I nodded seriously, aping her solemnity.
When she saw that I was appropriately awed, she smiled again. "I had better warn you that everyone is pretty much scrambling around like maniacs. I'm not even sure if your mentor is prepared for you to start today."
My heart sank. "Okay, well then I guess I will just try to stay out of the way.…"
August grasped my hand again. "You can just hang out with me. You're the intern and I'm the receptionist, both of us are going to get ignored today," she sighed, huffing out of the corner of her mouth just like a Disney Princess.
I decided I liked her. "August, huh? That's a pretty name."
She gave a small snort. "I was born the first of the month, and my parents went the entire thirty days arguing over what they should call me. When September first rolled around, they finally decided that they would just name me after the month I was born. I guess I should be grateful that I wasn't born in November."
"Nice to meet you, November," I grinned, extending my hand.
She giggled. Grabbing my offered hand, she yanked me through a doorway and into the corporate office of Kingsley Design. "Welcome to the dysfunctional family," she trilled, gesturing with her hand for me to take it all in.
I had to consciously close my mouth again after it fell open in wonder and awe. The Kingsley Building was at the site of an old shipbuilding warehouse, and retained all of the gritty industrial touches while simultaneously being the most modern building I had ever laid eyes on. Designers scurried around with notebooks in hand through the open floor plan. Each glass-topped desk was piled high to bursting with design inspiration: magazine clippings, fabric swatches, photographs and color cards. The contrast of the industrial trappings, the modern fixtures, and the artistic jumble was everything that I had ever wanted in the workplace.
August let me stand in awe for a moment before we both heard it. The telltale thudding of an approaching helicopter.
"Holy shit!" She turned just as everyone in the office heard at the same time. The buzz of conversation froze as each head turned towards the n
oise of the approaching helicopter.
"He's here!"
Zach
☼ ☼ ☼
"Oh for fuck's sake," I growled as I looked out of the window.
The line of people queued up to greet me on the helipad stretched all the way to the rooftop door. The crowd of eager faces were looking up at me as if I were some kind of approaching God. It gave me instant indigestion. I went to twist my wedding ring and for the millionth time in a row I felt my heart sink when I realized it wasn’t there…
Why was I coming back again?
Dalton, my personal assistant, peered out of the helicopter on his side. The bright sunshine glinted off of his balding head. "I'm sorry sir," he spoke up in his smooth, unctuous voice. "Word of your arrival must have leaked out."
"I'd say so," I grouched, and sank further down into my seat. This wasn't what I had wanted. Back when I started my company, it was just as an outlet for me to make beautiful clothes. It was my ex-wife who had pushed me to this point. Bright and ambitious and completely soulless - that was Dana Kingsley - and she had poked and prodded and berated me until my little design house morphed and metastasized into this bloated behemoth below me. I was now responsible for the financial well-being of over three hundred direct employees, and partially responsible for thousands more working around the globe… These were numbers that never failed to make me sweat.
Sure, I was good at it. This business came naturally to me. Born the son of a tailor and a dressmaker, fabric was in my blood. Fashion is like second nature to me. The fashion magazines are always praising my innate sense of color and cut, even as the company lost its way. With my marriage was over all I wanted to do was return to my couture roots.
But first I had to return to my company.
Someone needed to right this ship. The enterprise that bore my name was now a bloated, sagging mess, licensing to cheap mills using sweatshop labor. Kingsley sheets, Kingsley tents, Kingsley dog collars: my name was everywhere but my influence was nowhere. It was time to return to the real work of designing quality clothes. I needed to stop licking my wounds and regain control of the people now staring up at me. I needed to get to work.
And that meant they were going to start working too. None of this standing idly and staring at me nonsense.
"When you get out, I want you to tell them to get back to work. No parties, no gladhanding, none of that bullshit. I'm their employer, not a goddamned rock star."
"Yes sir." Only the slight upward tilt of Dalton's bushy eyebrows betrayed his surprise at my vehemence. I paid him good money to put up with me.
I'm pretty damn terrible to put up with…
We only bounced once upon landing. The pilot cut the engine and the sudden silence was almost as deafening as the roar of the rotors had been moments prior. Dalton jumped agilely from his door. His grace always took me by surprise. For such a big man he moved with the innate fluidity of a former athlete. That was something he hadn't lost, even as age stole his hair and his waistline.
I saw him waving his big arms over his head. It looked like he was scattering a gaggle of geese. Several aggrieved faces greeted me, but I didn't care. I wasn't paying them to gawk at me. Soul-sucking yes men, every one of them. Even the ones I didn't recognize.
I tried to twist my wedding ring again. Dammit.
When news of Dana's infidelity had broken, my so-called handlers had seen fit to keep it from me until I was the last one to know that my wife had been caught with her tennis instructor. I had to find out from goddamn WWD magazine.
It was humiliating.
Solitude had been my friend. Holing myself up in my rambling 17th-century cottage had allowed me time to refresh and regroup. I thought I had had enough of being alone. Clearly I had been mistaken.
I needed a goddamned cup of coffee.
Once the crowd dispersed, I slipped down from my seat on to the baking heat of the rooftop and fairly sprinted to the door. The pilot lifted off again, the backwash hitting me square in the back and rippling my dress shirt. It was so hot in this city. How had I forgotten that?
One floor down from the roof was my office. I had the architect build me a glass-walled crow's nest so that I could look out over the open expanse of the office space below. I loved it up here. I could see everything but no one could see me unless I sent for them. It made me feel like I was in my boyhood treehouse.
My office was exactly how I left it; right down to my favorite chipped mug perched precariously at the corner of my desk. Someone had at least washed and rinsed it in my absence.
"Okay Dalton, three things." I didn't need to turn to know that Dalton was right there at my side.
Dalton immediately whipped out the tiny notebook that he always carried. He poised himself with pen at the ready and nodded his head. I strode to the window and crossed my hands behind me as I looked out into the tumult below. Disappointed employees were dispersing from the elevators and returning to their desks all clumped together in gossipy little groups. Didn't these people ever do any work?
I took a deep breath. "First, I need a cup of coffee. Second, I need Annette to bring me up to speed with the office politics crap. Third, I need a meeting with the heads of each department."
Dalton looked stricken for a moment.
"What?"
"Sir, I must inform you that Annette was let go from the company."
I felt my jaw drop. "What? I thundered. "Who the hell had the nerve to fire my personal secretary?"
Dalton ran his head over his bald spot nervously. "Well sir, I guess that would most likely be me."
"You?!"
My assistant flushed from his neck all the way up to his shining bald head. "I didn't want to bother you with city drama. You told me so yourself. You said 'Dalton, I don't want to hear about all that petty bull shit, I just want to design.'"
My indignation softened slightly. "Okay so I did say that, that's true. But what the heck does Annette have to do with petty office drama?"
"Well sir, it seems she was caught using your personal apartment for her own… ah… personal uses."
"What?! Annette? Are you sure?"
Dalton nodded with his lips pressed together. I could tell he was unwilling to cast aspersions on a woman's good name. He always was the soul of discretion.
But I wasn't. "You're telling me that my fifty-three year old, married secretary was having illicit sex in my personal apartment?"
Dalton flushed even brighter red. "It really was quite the scandal. We had to let her go of course. It's up to you whether or not you want to press charges, sir."
I waved my hands irritably. I was having a hard time getting the image of my mousy secretary getting caught in flagrante delicto out of my head. It was a disturbing image.
"No, I don't ever want to think about that again, Dalton. But now what the hell am I supposed to do without a secretary?"
"Well sir, we can start looking for candidates immediately."
"I don't have time to look for candidates, I need someone today."
"I could to try to do my best, sir?" Dalton offered
I couldn't help it, I laughed. "Dalton, you're one hell of a good assistant, but your eye for design is complete shit and you know it."
Dalton grinned ruefully. "Fair enough sir, I'll see if we can pull someone from the floor."
"Yes, yes go do that." I agreed and turned back to the window.
I heard him huffing quickly out the door. Dalton was going to find someone and that meant I could relax slightly. I trusted the man.
"Why am I back again?" I asked my empty office.
It was a rhetorical question of course. Work was all I knew how to do, work was what I was good at. I was here to work and drown out the pains of heartbreak that still tugged at me whenever I felt the nakedness on my ring finger.
Nakia
☼ ☼ ☼
The stack of magazines teetered dangerously. I had to shoot my hands up quickly to steady them before they toppled to the floor in an a
valanche of paper.
I felt like I had been standing in this corner my entire life. The excitement this morning seemed to have died down quickly. Mr. Kingsley had ignored everyone who had run upstairs to greet him and made a beeline to his office, leaving a trail of disappointed employees in his path. Dejectedly, they had wandered back down the roof and settled down in the main office area in clumps of twos and threes. Their voices buzzed quietly about his return, leaving me out entirely.
No one had come to see about me starting my first day. Even August had disappeared into a knot of worried looking people milling by the break room.
I checked the clock again. Only one hour had crawled by since I arrived. Being ignored makes time go by very, very slowly.
