by Blair Holden
I think the disdain comes more from the fact that I’m not a part of the rat race. I come here to do my job and try to do it without failing spectacularly or getting fired. I may not have to pay an exorbitant amount of rent, and I’m lucky enough to have parents who’d be there for me without a second thought in case that happened, but I’m doing this for me and for Cole. I want to stop being that awkward student who never fit in with her classmates and could only find refuge in her boyfriend or her handful of chosen friends. I need to have a career, something to work toward so that I’m known for more than my inability to function in a social setting and for my tendency to recede into my awkward-turtle way of life.
Once I hand in the report to HR, I go to see Amy, who’s called me in. She’s the head of this highly chaotic but smoothly running beauty household, the boss lady, the one everyone tends to be afraid of, the woman who more or less has brands panting at her feet so that she’d feature them in the next issue. When I found out that I’d be working directly under her, the beauty director of Venus magazine, which is considered a beauty bible in the industry, I nearly passed out from the sheer pressure of it. I’d initially applied for an assistant position, to work under a junior director, but had somehow landed the job itself when the magazine let go a few of their old staff. I know this because Leila loves to brag about how her resume had been so impressive that they decided to skip the assistant position and make her a beauty writer immediately. Then someone nearby had snickered and told her the real reason why she’d been given a job that neither of us had the experience for.
Anyway, in plain, simple terms, I now have this job whether or not I like it. In the week that I’ve been here, I’ve realized that I don’t have a knack for beauty writing. For the life of me, I can’t distinguish between a highlighter that has a pearlescent finish and one that has a matte finish. It’s a highlighter, how can it be matte? If you don’t want some serious glow on your face, then why even use one?
Ah, the questions I struggle with daily.
I quickly run through the different lipstick finishes in my mind for fear that she might randomly quiz me on them. Making sure to not trip over my own two feet in the stilettos I’ve got on. Amy Drake sits in her chair painting a very intimidating picture. She’s one of those ultra-chic women who look like they’re in their thirties when they’re actually much older. Unlike my mom, though, it’s not because of surgeries but because they take care of themselves, really good care. I bring this woman her lunch at times because her assistant is off doing a dozen other tasks. She’s vegan, which of course means that the one time I actually brought in a very strong-smelling hot dog and made the mistake of eating it at my desk where she could easily catch a whiff of it, she made it sound like I was eating bunnies. Lesson learned, I only eat salads during lunch; if I’m lucky enough to get the time off and if I’m feeling particularly ravenous, then I just hide in the break room and scarf down on all the meat. She certainly looks like she’s religious about her wellbeing. Her deep mocha skin is always radiant, even without the use of makeup. She’s tall, lean, and athletic, which shows the hours she puts in in the office gym (a space I have yet to discover); her ebony hair is sleek and long, framing her face in precise layers. She redefines the power suit; Amy sure knows how to pull it off, and today she’s got on a cream-colored skirt and matching blazer, which I assume costs enough to stock my pantry for a few months, if not a year. Behind her, the New York skyline looks exquisite, and I’m momentarily distracted by it as I gingerly approach my boss.
“Sit down, Tessa, before you start drooling. Still not over the city, I take it?”
I blush, mentally kicking myself, and take a seat in front of her. Her desk would be a makeup addict’s dream. It’s littered with unreleased, up-and-coming products by brands that usually stick overpriced labels on everything in their vicinity.
A lip gloss that costs fifty dollars? Well, then it better make my lips so shiny you can see them from the moon.
“Sorry, I just...you said you wanted to see me.”
She gives me a look that says, “obviously.”
“So you’ve been here a week, and while I don’t think that’s enough time for me to pass judgement on how well you’re doing so far, the circumstances require that I update you with your progress.”
“Circumstances?” I gulp.
“Don’t be scared, it’s not bad news...yet. I’m going to have this conversation with Leila as well, but I wanted you to have a heads-up because I know you’ll be needing more time to read up about things.”
“Okay.” That sounded oddly cryptic and a dig at my lack of beauty knowledge.
“So here’s the deal, I know that you’re new and inexperienced with the industry’s way, but this trip came up last minute and I’m short on staff. As you know, we’ve recently had to let go of some of our staff since it was found out that they were leaking confidential information to a rival magazine.”
I nod, thinking that the scary clauses in my work agreement must have been a new addition, in the aftermath of the leak.
“I haven’t had time to train new people, and we were pretty desperate to hire someone who at least on paper looked like a quick learner.”
“I’m assuming that would be me.”
She nods. “Leila has a little more experience in how things work around here, but how do I say this without looking like an absolute bitch,” it doesn’t look like she’s hesitant, “Leila isn’t very likeable, now is she?”
I don’t know how office politics work, so I choose to remain silent and Amy continues.
“Don’t get me wrong, she’s great at her job and has been bringing in ideas and stories that have been really popular with our readers. You know our YouTube channel with millions of hits? It’s all her, but she comes across a little too strong for some of our clients. They easily pick up on her eager-to-win, cutthroat behavior. She’s worked here for a couple of months and all the feedback I’ve gotten so far suggests that people tend to get intimidated by her. So while we can’t afford to lose her, we also want that exclusive content and we want those strategically placed ads in our magazine, Tessa. We want to be the first to have the rundown on up-and-coming beauty brands. You know the trendy ones that go viral on those annoying twenty-second Instagram videos?” I nod like I know what she’s talking about. In reality, I follow like fifty people on Instagram, mostly friends and family and people who make the craziest desserts using Nutella or KitKats.
It’s a thing; I suggest you look them up immediately.
“So what you’re saying is...I have a work trip coming up?”
It’s too soon! My brain yells and I imagine my subconscious pacing and shaking its head aggressively, telling me that this is a bad idea.
“Yes, you and Leila will be flying out to Chicago next week...”
I think I stop listening once she says Chicago.
Because...WHAT.
I’m happy dancing on the inside, a full-out routine-filled pirouette with a side of twerking. This is crazy, insane, the greatest turn of fate, and I could not be more excited!
“Hello, earth to Tessa. Did you just hear what I said to you?”
I clear my throat, my face turning red pretty quickly. “No, I’m sorry, I guess I just panicked a little. I’m going to Chicago next week?”
“Yes,” she says, more slowly this time, like she’s talking to a wooden post. There’s been a lot of buzz about this brand recently, I’ve heard far too much chatter to not investigate it myself. The owners are throwing a launch party and have agreed to give us an exclusive in exchange for a six-page spread. We’ll need all hands on deck, so prepare yourself.”
She throws a couple of folders my way. “This is all the background information you’ll ever need on the company, the brand, and what it’s doing. I don’t care if you have to memorize one of their children’s soccer league scores, do it and don’t disappoint me.”
I hold on to the folders as though they are newborns. “Got it, b
oss, I won’t let you down.”
Because for a free trip to see Cole? I will get to know these people more than the FBI could even hope to, ha!
***
“No way!”
I meet up with Travis and Beth for dinner later that night and they’re obviously ecstatic to hear my news. I think they might have been concerned that I’d slowly start to sink into a deep, dark phase of depression, and while they do their best to keep me company when they can, I can hardly expect them to drop everything in their lives just to assure that I don’t start talking to my fake plants.
“Have you told him yet?” Travis shouts over the deafening music. We’ve come out to a quirky restaurant in SoHo, one that came highly recommended by Yelp, but to be completely honest, I’ll never be a fan of a place that considers sweet potato brownies a dessert.
Gag.
“I think I’m going to surprise him.” I grin, picturing the expression on his face when he sees me. It makes everything worthwhile, even all the hard work I’m going to have to do this week. Amy was right, I do need a lot more prep than Leila, and I brought home two boxes worth of folders today to study. Not only am I attending this launch, covering the event, but Leila and I have to work together to help create buzz on social media and have to constantly be glued to social media, monitoring the reaction this brand gets from the audience. Venus is determined to build a good relationship with these people; Amy thinks they’ll be huge once they officially launch.
And it’s up to me to make them huge, no biggie.
“Do you own a suspiciously oversized trench coat? If yes, then I know exactly how you should surprise him,” Beth chimes in and my brother immediately covers his ears.
“I’ve told you not to bring up stuff like that in front of me.” He cries dramatically, “That’s my baby sister.”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t be cute. What do you think she and Cole do when they’re alone? Sit around with their coloring books and crayons?”
Travis’s face is turning an adorable shade of pink, so I put him out of his misery. “So, tell me. What do I wear to a campus bursting with snooty lawyers in the making?”
***
The next night when Cole calls me, it takes everything in me to not tell him. The only thing holding me back is just how happy he’ll be once I surprise him. I haven’t exactly figured out the logistics. Will I go to campus or should I wait in his apartment? Getting in both places will definitely be a problem, so I have to find someone who can get me access. I’ve also started looking into nice restaurants since I want to wine and dine my man. He’s been working ridiculously hard lately and deserves to be taken care of. I’ve looked at the schedule Amy sent and I have slots of free time that we could spend together, and I want to book every single relaxing activity possible. He might fight me on the couple’s massage, but the guy hasn’t experienced a hot stone massage yet, so I’m definitely treating him to one. I start thinking about these things and completely zone out of our conversation.
“Sorry, I totally missed that. You were saying?”
He sighs, sounding weary and tired. “It’s been a long day. Then I came home to a voicemail from Cassandra; Dad’s not doing too well.”
Mr. Stone had a heart attack scare the previous year and we’d all been so shocked. He’s in excellent shape and takes really good care of himself. Despite being quite a few years away from retirement, he’d been asked by his department to take it easy and they’d decreased his workload. That of course made him miserable and just as ready to go back to work. He’d only recently gotten fully back into the swing of things, so this news is terrible.
“Oh no, what happened?” My heart breaks for him, knowing how helpless he must be feeling.
“He’s been having problems breathing, gets tired and light-headed really easily, and the occasional chest pains. Cassandra’s been trying to talk him into an early retirement, but he gets so mad.”
“Hey, he’ll be okay, don’t worry. I’m sure Cassandra’s taking really good care of him.” His stepmom is a doctor, so I assume she knows what she’s doing.
“If he’d only quit being so stubborn and let someone help him.”
“Gee, I wonder who that sounds like,” I tease, trying to take his mind off things. He’ll be a wreck if he continues to wallow in the knowledge that his father is struggling with heart disease.
He laughs. “I walked right into that one.”
Then, he’s quiet for a moment. “I think I’m going to go home, see him. I could talk to my professors and maybe take some time off next week.”
My stomach feels like it’s plummeting as I’m flooded by disappointment, and his words seem to deflate me, as if taking out all the joyful airiness and excitement I’d been filled with earlier. But I understand his fears and anxiety, I really do. Cole lost his mother at a really young age and even though Cassandra has never treated him as anything less than flesh and blood, I know that the loss has stayed with him through the years. No wonder he’s so scared about his dad.
“If you think that’s necessary, I know he’ll love to see you.”
“Yeah, maybe I’ll be able to talk some sense into the old man. He needs to stop running around like the world is falling apart.”
“I think all the time he chased after you before high school made it really difficult for him to settle down afterwards.”
“Oh God, remember that time the principal called him up when we both got locked in the classroom?”
“You mean when you held me hostage and refused to let me go until I gave you the new My Little Pony lunch box I’d gotten for my birthday?”
I still remember the day, mostly because the adults found it confusing as heck how two seven-year-olds had managed to lock themselves up in a classroom.
“You want to know why I did that?”
This, this right here is my own version of story time, and I love extracting these tales from Cole. He’s gotten into a habit of telling me the reason behind everything he did to me growing up, and I love hearing his side of things, a history that I’d previously been completely unaware of. It’s absolutely fascinating to hear this from him.
“I heard some kids from our class talking about how they’d try to snatch away the lunch box. I think that was the first day I realized what diabolical little shits some kids can be, and I knew they’d try to gang up on you, hurt you, so I improvised.”
I sag in the bed, filled with butterflies at the thought of my seven-year-old protector, always ready to fight my battles for me.
“You just wanted me to stay in that room, or have my parents come pick me up, didn’t you?”
“And I think I scared you into not bringing that particular lunch box to school again.”
I nod even though he can’t see. “My mom never understood why I didn’t use it ever again after begging for it.”
“Little shits,” he mumbles under his breath.
We both yawn at the same time and I know I should let him go to sleep now. School’s hard enough and coupled with his dad’s health, Cole has a lot on his plate. I’m not going to tell him about my trip, not yet. I know he’ll feel bad and want to stay for my sake. but he needs to spend some time with his family. We say goodnight and exchange the casually thrown but deeply felt and meant, “love you’s” and I fall asleep with a smile on my face.
Am I sad and disappointed that my grand romantic gesture massively failed? Of course I am, but one weekend is nothing when you’ve got a lifetime ahead of you, right?
Chapter Five: Desperate Times Call for Maxing Out Your Dad’s Credit Card
“Not that I care, but are you like, okay?”
Concern coming from Leila is strange, like waking up in an alternate universe where carbs don’t go straight to your hips. I blink a couple of times to make sure I heard her right, and she probably thinks I’m an idiot.
“Uh yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because you’ve been staring at the computer screen for the last five minutes as
if your favorite pair of shoes is out of stock.”
I mean my problem is a lot more serious than not finding shoes, but I’m assuming it would be something really tragic for Leila.
“I’m fine, honestly.” I give her a thumbs-up that she eyes weirdly. Then with a toss of her hair she goes back to work, back to the same job as I am, and that’s prepping for our Chicago trip. Ever since she’s found out about it, she’s been on edge, like a newly sober alcoholic trying not to look at the six-pack of beer in the corner store. I don’t know why but she seems to think we’re competing, when realistically there’s nothing there for us to win. This campaign will be shared by us equally, our job descriptions are basically the same, and Amy doesn’t exactly play favorites, so I’m not sure what my colleague is gaining by constantly trying to one-up me.
Regardless, I’m not in the mood to compete today. The fact that Cole won’t be there when I fly out to Chicago has put a major dent in my mood and in my plans. I don’t know when I’ll see him next, probably Thanksgiving, but even that remains to be seen because of his dad’s health. I miss him so much that it’s physically affecting me and weighing me down. Every day that I have to get out of a lonely bed and later go back to an empty apartment makes me question my decision to get a job in New York.
I could have stayed with him; we could have been together. But, a voice inside my head whispers, we needed this time apart to grow up, and as cheesy as it sounds, find ourselves. For so long, I’ve always pictured myself in relation to Cole, and now in this city where every decision has to be about me and only me, it feels strange, like I’m doing something wrong. But at the same time, I’m finding out a lot about who I am as a person, every single day that I survive on my own, and that’s an experience I really wouldn’t want to miss out on.
