Where was I?
Oh ya, field promotion from warehouse organizer to personal assistant.
So after having a queer exchange with the very cool owner of the company I work for, she literally grabbed me by the hand and we figuratively ran through the office. Out of the cave where treasure was buried, we made our way through the interns doing menial things that no one else wanted to do but needed to be done—namely “paperwork”. My ‘peers’ were jammed in tiny cubicles hunched over little laptops which were supplied by IT and were returned each night. The cubicles were either bare—these were the newest and most transient interns, or covered in fashion magazine cut outs—the most senior interns who were practically employees, but due to tax reasons were contractors.
“Honey, we’re going to have to find you some shoes to match that dress”, Nico my boss interrupted my observation.
I looked down and noticed my shoes didn’t go with the predominantly white Spring dress.
“Don’t worry, you look close enough to my size that I can lend you a pair”, she interrupted my facial question of where I was going to find a pair of shoes on such short notice. And speaking of notice, I was getting noticed walking out of the stern pool with my new patron.
The next section was of larger cubicles almost masquerading as offices. Large desks, desktop computers, two chairs and lots of professional and personal accessories covered their fabric walls. The occupants of these quasi offices were employees proper I had learned. All the interns aspired to this or so I was told by many people here and back outside the warehouse.
“I’ll get you a shall or something.” I said nothing in response as I followed ‘Nico’ up the tax brackets to the offices proper. I was too business trying to ignore the people looking at me. “It’d not too cold, but I don’t have any jackets that could wrap around you”, my still sunning boss said with a wink to me. I didn’t realize until a few minutes ago she meant I had a bigger frontage than her wardrobe would accommodate. Luckily I had given the smile and nod at the time.
While I’m sure the dress was getting me some attention, it was that I was walking and ‘talking’ with the owner of the company that was probably attracting the most attention. Since few of them had seen me in my week or so of employment—they had been at lunch as I wandered through the place—they might have mistaken me for an important guest or something. The unlabelled backless dress with crazy lacing might have sold that idea.
I missed a part of her talk as we passed a very well put together man standing in the doorway of his office. Sandy blond hair gave way to Northern European features with Southern European complexion. Bold blue eyes and high cheekbones with a devilish look that could only be inadequately described as a smirk. A suit—either Armani or Hugo Boss—covered a very wide set of shoulders and chest before shrinking down to a narrow waist. I didn’t miss the wink Nico gave ?back? to him. I think I missed something—like his directory number.
We were running out of hallway. A set of double doors with a model masquerading as a secretary was in front of us and we weren’t slowing down. Not even with the panicked shaking head of the displaced model. And kept going we did my raven-haired boss blowing through both doors revealing a breath-taking view of the city. That was after my eyes adjusted from all the light from the floor to ceiling windows.
An African-American woman was tersely berating someone on the phone. I heard her lyrical voice with a beautiful mid-Atlantic accent dropping the f-bomb to who ever was on the other side of the phone. Strangely the conversation didn’t end with that passionate, but controlled outburst. My benefactor seemed very impressed pointing to me. As my eyes adjusted from the light and I was less overwhelmed with the view I realized who was giving an indignant look at me and pointing to my shoes.
Christine Banks, the B in BCC, was standing in front of me swearing at someone over the phone while mouthing Whiskey Tango Foxtrot to her business partner. Glad I wasn’t the only one wanting to know what was going on. Instead, I watched Ms. Banks uncomfortably. She was clearly in the middle of an important phone call which wasn’t meant to be overheard. I’m very non confrontational and that even extends to watching or in this case listening to it.
I stood like a statue or an idiot in the middle of the room as the woman I was going to work for yelled on the phone and occasionally looked over at me. It didn’t help that ’Nico’ had at some point exited the room leaving me alone with a very teed off lady. Ah Monster, I wished I had looked you up last week.
After what seemed like 20 minutes and was probably closer to 3 Ms. Banks slammed the phone down. “If you act like a lady they walk over you and if you act like a man they call you a bitch”, she said to no one in particular. Although it was very vulgar, I had to admit she made it sound classy. It’s the slight English accent for sure.
I wanted to do something, but I wasn’t feeling confident in explaining why I was standing in her office—since I wasn’t really sure myself. Luckily Ms. Castor-Cox and the model/secretary appeared in the office. The former bringing two shoe boxes the later bringing a silver tea set.
“Nico, why is there a girl wearing the Marc Jacobs laced dress—the one he didn’t show at his collection.”
“You mean, who is the girl who found the Marc Jacobs laced dress?”, Nico retorted before I could react to wearing a very exclusive design from the Big Apple’s native son. “She created a system to organize our storage area, so you know we might be able to find stuff when we need it.”
“You mean when YOU need it.” I felt her scrutinizing eyes on me as if trying to divine my soul. “YOU found a way to organize the trou noir de couture did you?” Ms Castor-Cox giggled at the French phrase I was unfamiliar with. I did the only thing I could, nodding my head timidly—frozen in fear.
We were staring at each other, maybe sizing each other up. I don’t think she looks at all like Naomi—more like Rihanna, with less tattoos. I was trying to think I who I might look like, but kept thinking of my high school graduation yearbook photo instead.
“She looks good in the dress, but I hope you didn’t bring her up to show off a recently lost piece of apparel.” Apparently I was no longer in the conversation. Maybe I should have vocalized my answer.
“NO!”, Nico spat out. “I brought her here because we have a 1PM meeting and your last standing personal assistant is on the wrong side of the Brooklyn Bridge. ”
“And you think she’s up to the task?”
“She organized the storage room”, Nico took a cup of tea from the service. “I’m sure she can take notes. Can’t you Lexi…”
“Alexa”, I corrected her. This got a favourable response from the other owner.
“I’m pretty sure she might be able to to fix your scheduling”, she took a sip of the tea. “Won’t you Alexa.” She winked at me.
“Can you take notes ALEX?” Ms Banks asked me.
“Four years college, 3.9 GPA”, I muttered secretly damning that Calculus course.
“Well four years, 3.9 GPA I guess this is your interview to be my new personal assistant.” That was punctuated by her grabbing a MacBook Air and throwing it at me like a frisbee, which thank goodness I caught. “No point in trying on the shoes, just have her wear the red soles like you intended her to. We’re already going to be late.”
Nico handed one of the boxes to the secretary who walked over to me and opened it. White patent leather, pointed toe, self-covered heel—guessing from the look 120mm. I had fondled a pair of Louboutins in the trou noir de couture before, but had never wore a pair before—they seemed so wicked. I was not the kind of girl who wore shoes like these, but the kind of girl who secretly wanted to—even if I was going to go straight to H-E-double hockey sticks for doing so.
The model helped me slide them on. Nico seemed pleased, her friend and co-owner commented that she was lucky. I liked down with both shoes on and knew these shoes would be trouble. Then I tried to take a step in them. “Hey, I got the size right, not my fault she needs practice.” “You knew she was the same size as you…” The two women bickered like teenagers as I tried to accommodate my new circus freak act—but they did look gorgeous. The bickering way interrupted by the secretary yelling “TIME!”
“Grab your laptop, our car is waiting down stairs”, my possible new boss told me as she grabbed a hand bag and stormed out of the room. Nico sauntered to a coat rack and tossed me a tan coloured coat. I almost feel over trying to catch it and ran on the ball of my feet hoping to not let the stiletto heel touch the floor.
I barely made it into the elevator alive. It was an eerie quiet in the elevator before another mad dash across the building’s entrance and out to the car. Once in the car we were wisked away. The two powerful women I was trapped in the back of a car began to chat like I didn’t exist, and I was good with that. I guess a part of me was disappointed that the conversation didn’t match the view of say Central Park or the other sights as we raced across town. There conversation was kind of banal, the stuff you’d hear from any two women talking anyway, no juicy gossip or sizzling insights to their dating life. And then 5 minutes later the car stopped.
We made our way across a very luxurious lobby and up to the main desk. I kept up with my much more practiced stilt walker only through sheer force of will. They were expecting u and gave us a key card. I was a bit confused because I thought we were here for lunch and not to get a room. The confusion wained when Ms. Banks used the card in the elevator. Or more likely it became more confusing as the car stopped at an unmarked floor—maybe the mysterious thirteenth floor— and we got out and walked to a smaller desk.
A uniformed staff member who was definitely not a bell boy took us down a darken corridor lavished in red velvet and black leather with champagne coloured scones. We ended in a very bright room, which must have been the restaurant we were to meet for lunch. But we didn’t stop, we kept walking out to an open terrace where a party of men was seated waiting for us. One stood out in particular, but I tried to ignore him, it was a business meeting.
I happily faded into the background as the two owners greeted their now standing guests. They were Asian, but a motley assortment. At least one was Chinese and one was Japanese and no matter what I did, I couldn’t keep my eyes of him.
He was taller than average with a slim build. His tanned boyish face looking at me made me turn away until I sensed it was safe to look again. Dark brown eyes and wavy black hair and a smile that made me weak in the knees. He was the kind of guy you saw on billboards selling a lifestyle—that involved weekend getaways to small Caribbean islands. He looked back at me and I pretended to set up my laptop to avoid his gaze.
After all the formal greetings Ms Banks introduced me to the table as Alex, dropping the ‘a’. The Asians didn’t seem to care, but warm firm hand and warm inviting eyes of a man called Enrique approved of my name change…and so did I.
Enrique Molinero is a senior associate at BCC. It is because of him that the principals of the company had a chance to meet with an obscure Chinese company and to expand product lines and into other markets. Blah blah blah.
I typed the relevant information as things were beginning to be discussed, but I couldn’t help notice Enrique, senior sales executive languidly reach drop and effortlessly unbutton his taupe jacket. I could feel my heart beating. He looked good in it—my mind tried to imagine what he’d look like out of it. Focus Alex!
Talk of manufacturing opportunities off shore and selling branded good in this market and—and of God I was so jealous of the glass of water touching his lips. Oh God, he noticed me noticing him. Super unprofessional. I had to check a couple of times to make sure I was taking useful notes. Luckily I had indeed learned the art of transcribing things that I wasn’t interested in. Luckily lunch was served and the discussions turned more social.
I was thinking I might be able to eat my salad in silence after all no one here would want to make small talk with the personal assistant. I was kind of right, but mostly wrong. Mr. Molinero was engaging in some small talk with a Chinese man who spoke with a slight English accent. I didn’t know if he had a previous relationship with him or they just were very familial. At first I thought I was a coincidence. Talks of mergers and acquisitions with a subtle look in my direction. His partner in the conversation seemed oblivious.
But then I caught it. “You have a wife or girlfriend?” Enrique looked at me. “Ever been to Hawaii?” a Wink at me. I thought I might have been going crazy, but then I noticed Christine looking at him then I.
“Alex, where are you from?”, she interrupted my attention.
“Umm, New York, but I was Born in Canada…my mum is Canadian but she has a Green card and my dad is from Long Island.” I can’t believe I vomitted that out, with him listening..intently. I so wanted to crawl into a hole. And then mercifully drinks arrived and I hoped I would be spared any other attention at the table. Sadly I was wrong.
“Where did you go to school?” “What did you study?” My potential new boss was practically interviewing at the table as two men then just him sat back and listened to the answers. I prayed she stuck to boring stuff and didn’t ask anything personal.
Strangely as I was peppered with questions I kept looking over at him. He made no attempt to not be looking at me or pay attention to my answers. Realizing before I did what was happening my soon to be boss excused us to go to the Ladies room. I followed her happy to put a little space between him and I.
The second we were out of earshot Christine started talking to me. “Unless you’ve just been writing ‘he loves me he loves me not’ there is a pretty good chance that you will be in my PA pool.” That was heartening to hear since I had been taking some great notes if I do say so myself. She continued, “And that will have a lot of people wanting to get to you to get to me”, she said heading to the bar instead of the Ladies room. “Two martinis”, she told the bartender. “Where was I?”, she asked almost rhetorically.
“People will try to get to me to get to you”, I refreshed her.
“Good”, she smiled. “Some people want access and they’ll use flattery, gifts or try to establish personal relationships with you…yes?” Christine stopped sensing me wanting to ask a question.
“Why are you telling me this? Do I already have the job?”
“Dear you had the job when Nico brought you through my door. She might have a shallow facade, but she’s got a great judge of character. She said you found a way to organize that black hole, which means she trusts your abilities. And if she trusts you and your skills then you’re in.” We clinked glasses. “Where were we again.” She humoured with me.
“They’ll want to get to me to get to you.”
“Right! There are others who may just want to get to you.” I saw myself blush in the mirrored backing of the bar. “You’re going to be on the other side of company and you’ll have status…it will make you desirable.” She paused then added, “Not that you aren’t desirable now”, to not seem insulting to me.
“Anyone in particular?”, the gin and vermouth going straight to my brain and loosening my mouth. I thought I knew what was coming next…
“Enrique? Oh no Alex, he doesn’t care about status. He just cares about a a pretty face though I’m quite sure he was still impressed but the dress and heels. As your boss I’ll remind you of our sexual harassment guidelines as soon as I get you to write them up.” She paused and bit the police from the pick. “But as a friendly warning, I’ll warn you that he can be fun for a little while, but he’s not boyfriend material.”
“Why?”, I brazenly asked biting my own olive.
“Because after playing some fun games and getting what he wants he’ll move on to the next pretty flower.” I heard but didn’t really listen to her words. The dress, the shoes and the martini focussed on the words ‘playing some fun games’.
Having finished our little chat my new boss suggested we rescue her business partner from unlikely partners.
“Just remember what I told you.”, She reminded me just before getting to our party. I spent the rest of the afternoon minding my words. After the lunch I shook hands with the business prospects. At the end of the line a man I’d bee seeing more of reached an arm around me and kissed both my cheeks. My God he smiled so nice and his lips felt just like I’d imagined.
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