Please keep in mind that this comes from the original rough draft version. No doubt there will likely be errors. Try not to judge me to harshly on that. They don't call me the tense shifting comma splice queen for nothing around here. I've earned it.
Anyway, hope you enjoy!
O.
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ONE
“Accidents ambush the unsuspecting,
often violently, just like love.”-Andrew Davidson, The Gargoyle
“I know they say not to wear white after Labor Day
but when I saw it, I just couldn’t help myself.” I say as I run my hands over the smooth lines
of my new Prada skirt set. The
sleeveless ivory blouse has a faint opalescent shimmer to it, even under the
harsh glare of florescent lights in our office.
The skirt is made out of the same svelte material that ran to a perfect
stop above the knee. Classy, sophisticated,
with just a hint of toned down sexy.
It is exactly what I needed.
I give Louie another practice spin, adjusting to the
height of my newest stilettos, enjoying the way the cuffs secure my ankles so I
won’t just slide out of them. Usually I
stick to shorter thicker heels, especially in the office, by comparison these
are stilts. It isn’t wise to wear new
shoes in public before breaking them in.
Usually, it’s just a painful experience but every now and then you might
end up with a broken heel. I’d thrown
caution out the window with this outfit.
Today is a big day. I need to shine
like freshly minted money.
“Girl!”
Louie’s exclamation is my seal of approval.
I sigh and because I can’t help myself. On autopilot my hands
retrace the fabric. Italian wool, it’s a
beautiful thing. The price tags however,
were not. I’d bit the bullet anyway. A woman in my line of work couldn’t get away
with rotating the same two suits for long before people start noticing. Men could get away with it to a degree but
not women, just another layer to the glass ceiling dividing the sexes. In advertising you rub elbows with big and
expensive fish that have wives that have nothing better to do than find reasons to dislike you. Fashion is one of the
fastest ways for one woman to spot a social climber, or worse, a fake. You want to play in the Big Leagues you need
to be ready to dress the part. Bring the
A line, be careful with namedrops, make sure you are keeping up with E’s
fashion reports on what’s in and what’s out, but don’t be afraid to bring your
own personal style to the table.
“You know that isn’t really a cardinal rule of
fashion.” Until I met Louie, who
introduced me to things like Cosmo, Fashion Week, and the many different
brushes you were actually supposed to use to apply eye shadow, I didn’t know
anything about makeup or clothes. I
lived in yoga pants and ponytails, which was great for the dorm but not so
great for the boardroom. Everything I
knew about fashion, I learned from Louie.
He isn’t just a fashion and makeup guru, he is also my administrative
assistant, but more importantly he's my friend.
Every girl should have someone like Louie in their
life. And it’s not just because he will
save you from going on your next date looking like a washed out bag lady. No, people like Louie are rare and wonderful
finds. Capable of looking beyond the
façades you throw over yourself like armor.
They see who you are and accept you for it without question. When you have a bad day they can commiserate;
with advice, or ice cream or maybe a good dose of man bashing, and sometimes
all three. And if you ask for the truth don’t be angry that they give it to you without blunting the edges. If the outfit makes you look like a Christmas
sausage, you’ll know. They aren’t afraid
to call you out for being a recalcitrant hoo-hoo. But when your world falls down, they’ll be
first in line to wrap you in a hug that salves the soul.
“You want me to call a cab?” I shook my head, enjoying the weightlessness
that came with the new layering I’d had the stylist put in yesterday. When I was younger, I hated my hair because
it was thick and had too much body for me to do anything with. Thirty minutes with Louie and a flat-iron,
and I had a new love for my locks. My
greatest adolescent bane had become one of my most feminine assets because
women didn’t wear their hair this long anymore.
Shiny black tendrils ran over my shoulders landing just beneath my
middle back. The contrast of my hair, my
skin, and the ivory fabric made me pop.
“It’s just seven blocks Louie.” He gives my new stems a pointed look before
cocking a golden brow in question.
“Yes, I’ll pay for it later but I need the time to
get my thoughts in order before I get there.”
His dirty blond faux hawk shakes.
I know he doesn’t approve but Louie’s smart enough to know he won’t be able
to talk me out of it.
“I’ll have the ice ready.” A long time ago I discovered that the key to
getting over a day spent in ruthless heels was a frozen bottle of water. You simply put your foot over it and let the
bottle glide from the tips of your toes to the back of your heels. Make sure to
give it a little extra pressure on the instep.
It’s cheaper and easier than trying to find someone willing to rub your
feet in the middle of the day.
“You’re an angel,” I say as I grab the dark red
purse/messenger bag that contained my entire life. Emergency cosmetic touch-ups, feminine products
for that unwelcome surprise, and the tablet I use to keep my chaotic schedule
in order. Be Prepared isn’t just a Boy
Scout mantra.
“Not really but it is sweet you think so.” I get one playful wink before Louie’s pushing
me toward the door.
Before I step out of the office I put on the
city-stare. It’s an unfortunate
necessity for battling the thick current of sidewalk traffic without having a
panic attack. Unlike Louie I had grown
up in a small town, a place that made Mayberry seem bustling by
comparison. Affecting a city-stare is
how I kept my mind on business and out of the crush of the crowd. I have been walking these sidewalks for three
years. Every crack, grate, and pothole
committed to memory so I could navigate blind, dodging every danger with
relative ease, even in new stilts.
Heading north, I merge with other business suits,
all heading in the same general direction:
the Mecca of downtown. It is the
heart of this city. Anything and
everything happens downtown.
After securing my place in the crowd, complacency
and memory take over while my mind wanders to more important matters. I run through a thousand different scenarios
that might play out and how to deal with all of them. This is the meeting that would make or break
my career. Everything I have been
working for these last three years. If I
succeed, making partner by thirty wouldn’t be a dream anymore but reality.
Titan is a world-wide name synonymous with
sports. From pee-wee to the majors,
everyone wears their apparel and uses their equipment because it is always the
best, cutting edge. They were one of the
first athletic companies to invest in lighter football padding that reduced
concussions. It is a multi-billion
dollar success story. Their swimsuits in
last year’s Summer Olympic games had pushed four swimmers to break new
records. I’d spent the last few days
memorizing the details. Every athlete
Titan sponsored and even the ones they’d turned down. I knew all the charities they chaired and
championed. And because I knew all these
things, I also knew why Titan wants this meeting.
One of their biggest athletes was about to be
brought down. He is an American icon, a
hero to many, and a household name. And
he wore Titan’s sponsorship patch on his jersey. That he tested positive for steroids was
going to be a major slap in the face of not only his fans but the contract he
made with Titan. Main-stream media
hadn’t gotten their hands on the story yet but it was only a matter of time,
hours. While Titan had already pulled
their sponsorship, there is going to be a backlash. An All American Hero is going to be publicly
stripped of his medals and titles in the upcoming weeks and Titan needs spin
control, a fresh campaign to revamp their image.
Titan didn’t have exclusive contracts with any agent
or agency. It is how they kept their
advertising clean and fresh over the years.
So why were they asking me for a meeting? I might have been a new kid in the business
but I already turned three multi-million dollar companies around with my
campaigns. Now I had a well-earned
reputation for making the best out of the worst. Lemons and lemonade, my Grams would say.
I’ve made it two blocks when the rain starts. I’m prepared for the sudden mercurial shifts
in Southern weather, always carrying an umbrella in my bag. Rain causes my straight glossy hair riot in
curly frizz. So I stop to fish out my
new umbrella. I’d seen its elegant
cherry stained J crooked handle and fell in love.
What I don’t see, outside my limited periphery, is
the bike messenger that is forced to jump the curb nearest me to avoid being
clipped by a car. Everything would have
been fine if I hadn’t been at a complete stop.
The courier catches the elegant J curve and in seconds I’m snatched out
of my perfectly structured and scheduled world.
Physics takes over before I’ve even had a chance to realize exactly
what’s happening. The umbrella snaps. I teeter off balance. Then gravity did what it does best and down I
went, ass over elbows into a cesspool of city runoff.
After the initial shock wears off, I’m briefly
grateful the only thing broken in the collision is the umbrella. That gratitude evaporates when I realize
my suit is ruined beyond any and all salvation.
This is why you don’t wear white after Labor Day!
Seven blocks and didn’t make it three. This has to be a new personal record. My thigh highs are running in places, torn in
others. Too fast the culvert fills with
trash, a second wave of filth washing over me.
Thank goodness I’ve had my tetanus booster. The delicate Italian wool doesn’t appreciate
the new accessories any more than I do.
Instead of giving into my sudden need to curl up in the fetal position
and cry my eyes out, I get angry, using it to fuel my attempts to get out of
the gutter.
People pass by. They have on their own blinders on making it
easy to ignore my plight. They don’t
even look in my direction. It’s as if by
leaving the sidewalk I ceased to exist.
Anonymity is one of the reasons I’d traded the small town of Ashland for
the hustle and bustle of the city.
Ironic I’m suddenly cursing one of the very things I’d appreciated when
I moved here. The nameless facelessness
blending that came with big city life.
Worse, I know my schedule doesn’t have time for this
sort of disaster. I can’t miss my
meeting but I sure as hell can’t show up looking like the inside of a sex shop
dumpster. Two attempts end in failure. The amazing stilts were more hindrance than
help in my struggle to gain upward momentum.
I fall backward again, murky water splashing in all directions as I land
square on my ass.
Grams warned me about the perils of style over
substance. And I ignored her every
time. If she could see me struggling
like a half drowned sewer rat, she’d be laughing her curlers loose. Had this travesty occurred any other day, I’d
have laughed too. I can’t laugh. Nope.
And there is no time for the breakdown I need. No, right now I have to pull myself back
together and sally forth. Just as I
rally, the rain turns from aggravating chilly drizzle to full-scale Armageddon
flash flood downpour.
Perfect.
I’ve never been a negative person or prone to
wallowing. Life is all about adapting,
perseverance, and all that jazz. All it
takes to prove who you are is a little dose of adversity. So I channel all my frustrations into another
attempt to free myself and get my life back on track. Hope isn’t lost, a little wayward maybe but
not lost. There is a spare suit in my
office. It will be close but I can make
it happen.
My heels gain enough purchase to push me toward the
uneven concrete curb, my freshly manicured nails slid across the rain slick
surface, two get broken in the process.
Tears sting the corners of my eyes.
Could this
possibly get any worse? I regret the thought the minute it slips across my brain. Someone once told me not to provoke fate by
asking stupid questions. Another one of
those times I wasn’t really listening.
My life could have been so much easier if I’d ever just stopped and
listened to Grams. All those lessons I’d
been too smart and too busy to ever hear.
I don’t know why I looked up.
Instinct maybe, as if deep down a primal part of me knew something truly
dreadful is heading my direction. If I
had to put money on it though, I probably looked up hoping I’d meet the eyes of
some stranger who’d prove once and for all kindness and chivalry hadn’t in fact
died out with the dodo bird. Whatever
the reason, there is no changing what’s barreling my direction. Through the hazy fog brought on by the cool
rain hitting the hot asphalt there is a distinct flash of familiar yellow, a
cab with one broken headlight. Geometry
and its vile siblings weren’t my best subjects but my mind did the math on
Einstein autopilot as I projected the trajectory of the rogue cab. And wouldn’t you just know-it is on a crash
course with me.
It figures!
Fear paints my insides an
unflattering shade of canary bird yellow, almost the same color of the
cab. I don’t freeze up though. I try harder to extricate myself from the
gutters. And I get nowhere-fast. Worse, the cab is still barreling in my
direction. It doesn’t even look like the
driver is slowing down. He probably
doesn’t even see me. Doesn’t even
realize what’s about to happen. Water
hits the pavement in this city and every last driver loses their minds. I’m convinced IQ’s drop the minute
precipitation hits the asphalt.
I have seconds left, and one of those
gets spent to discover the reason I haven’t moved free of my
soon-to-be-watery-grave. My left heel is
wedged, most inconveniently, in the same cast iron grate I’d been using to try
and leverage my way out of the gutter.
Because I’m not religious, I have nowhere to direct my last minute Hail
Mary request for a miracle and I’m not hypocrite enough to start asking for
favors now.
Nope, I am going to spend my last few
seconds on Earth cursing sexy impractical designer shoes…..
