The next week was spent soaking up every bit of advice Jemma, my co-worker, would give me on hair, make up clothes, fashion and the company I was now a part of. I was working long hours as a personal assistant to one of the co-founders, Christine Banks. I wasn’t seeing my friends or my roommate and the only food I was eating was ordered in so we could keep working. Which was awesome since I’m still broke and couldn’t afford to buy any food.

One of the reasons I was working such long hours is because Ms. Banks delegated the things she didn’t need to personally do or just didn’t have time for–or probably didn’t want to do. A lot of it was unglamorous, but important stuff. Jemma had to pretty much do everything and explain what she was doing and why until she could spin things off to me. I felt useless at first but as I got to learn stuff I was kind of impressed by all the goings on in the office. And there was lots of goings on in the office.

My own personal obsession was a very handsome ex-model who also happened to be one of the marketing executives. His name, Enrique Molinero made him sound like some Latin pop singer. I don’t know how well he sings, but he certainly could be a Latin gigolo. He always makes it known he’s looking at me and I always feel like I’m back fawning over the popular guy at high school—if I had gone to a co-ed school.

Whenever Jemma caught this weirdness she’d bring me back to our office and warn/scold me. He’d list off all the supermodels he’d been with/dumped/cheated-on. Then she’d apologize and say it wasn’t that I wasn’t good enough for him to sleep with—WHOA! I knew she meant to warn me and tell me I was totally beddable (which was weirdly comforting), but I guess in my mind it was a fantasy of meeting him at an uptown bar, leaving early and doing things that only happen to my bosses, if their friend’s book is to be believed. I had no idea what I’d do with that hunky guy and yet my co-worker seemed to think whatever that might entail, that it was an actual possibility.

Luckily for me he spent more time over in the other co-founder’s office. It was quickly seeming like a lifetime ago since I was dumped in the store-room to organize and was plucked out by Nicole “Just call me Nico” Castor-Cox. I hadn’t called her Nico partly because I didn’t feel it was right, but mostly because I only saw her briefly and far away. She was always friendly to me and kissing me on my cheeks or giving me hugs—which I wasn’t down with because of my touch poor upbringing—but I had little interaction with her outside founder’s meetings.

Then there was Xavier. He looked like Enrique’s slightly older, more world wise brother. If anyone I had ever met should have gone by just one name, it was this man. He looked like he had just gotten off an A380 from Paris every time I saw him. He had a faint Parisienne accent and had lost practically nothing of his fragrance ad model allure. He always waved or said ‘Allo if he saw me. I only saw him come in occasionally around lunch to Ms. Castor-Cox’s office and depart 30 or so minutes later. Once I commented about them having lunch and Jemma burst out laughing.

And so I settled into a routine. Wake up early in the morning, shower, shave, hair, make-up, wait for a car to pick me up, grab coffee for boss and Jemma, running across 666 Five Ave lobby, ignore people in elevator, say hi to the few people in the office, distribute coffee and say hi to boss and co-worker, have first meeting to determine work for the day, work through breaks and meals, hastily eat cold delivered food, see boss out, continue working, finish up around 8 at night, get driven home in car, have shower washing hair and removing make up, get dressed for bed, sleep six hours then repeat.

I’m not complaining. It’s a fun and challenging job. Despite the title of Personal Secretary I’m doing things I said I wanted to do in business school—well before I thought I’d get a chance to. I’m still learning things from my knowledgable coworker and we even sneak in some fun stuff, like when she vamped up my make up because it was Thursday. I work among very bright and pretty people who not only accept me as their equal, but also try to bribe me with coffee, food, fashion or other stuff to access my boss.

I was happy to be busy and have little time to think. This wasn’t entirely because my life was empty and had I not got this job I would have probably ended up a crazy cat lady, but also because of what Jemma had asked me last week—what are you going to wear to the monthly mixer.

I found out shortly after being parachuted into my new job that the company had a monthly mixer. At first I didn’t care. I mean who goes to lame company mixers anyways, right? Turns out everyone at this company does—and while not mandatory it isn’t exactly optional either. Did I mention it was held at a club and had an open bar—kind of.

So in a week, I would be expected to go to a club with my co-workers to drink two free drinks and not feel like the spelling bee champion at a party of football players and cheerleaders. I didn’t go to clubs when I was in college. I didn’t drink because bad judgement followed my cheap drunkness. Luckily I didn’t have party type friends—what friends I did have. I wasn’t big into dancing or dressing up and I’d rather guard the fire exit than engage in small talk. So when Enrique asked if I was going to said mixer, I of course said yes as if it was the only thing I was looking forward to. On what passed for a quiet afternoon I did as ‘Nico’ did. I snuck off to the store-room to get some quiet.

There was now a pass lock on the door, which surprisingly my keycard gave me access to. I hadn’t been back since I was plucked out of sorting this stuff. Even the few things my boss needed retrieved we had done by interns and dropped at our desk by their bosses. The room was the same, but now all the aisles had nice signs so unlike my hand drawn ones. I started to wander around and look in boxes not looking for anything in particular. Strange that I had come up with a way to organize this place yet aimlessly peered in unknown but well labeled boxes.

Maybe this is why Nico came down here. A brief minute to escape the constant work at the other side of the office and dream of things you just rediscovered. Now after Jemma’s tutelage I had a bit more appreciation of some of the things I was looking at. But I wasn’t looking for anything, just escaping. It had been a month since I’d been here scared of practically everything. Now I was helping run the company—a little bit—and the only worry I had was getting some sleep and an office party. For all my nice clothes, hair and make up tutorials, and lots of hard work, I guess I still didn’t feel like I fit in—at least in that aspect.

Jemma told me that I’d have to get used to it. She said I was smart and pretty—she is quickly becoming one of my most favourite persons in the whole world—but that socializing was an important aspect of what we would have to do. It didn’t make sense because I was just an office assistant not an executive. But then I remembered Jemma had missed the meeting because she was doing something for our boss. A meeting where I was quiet because I thought that’s what was expected of me—wallflower fade into the background.

But that wasn’t what was expected of me. My boss picked my brain and treated Jemma and I as part of her team. I had expected to be a wallflower because that’s what was easy for me. And the mixer was just another meeting. It was to get people together and feel like a party of like-minded people away from the tasks at the office, so when you went back there we were a team. I also heard there were lots of hook ups.

And this is where my mind was going crazy. I had to go to a party and dress like a party with a bunch of people from work which included a particular marketing manager who seemed to be interred in me and that I had been warned about. Did I mention the alleged hook ups? So my biggest fear was that I would get dolled up like a call girl, get ridiculously drunk and go home with a guy I had fantasized about since the first time his lips touched my skin. And when put in that perspective, I really had to wonder what my hopes could possibly be.

I was deep in contemplating shallow things as I rummaged through boxes. I guess that’s why I didn’t here her come in.

“You know some wiz kid created a system where you can find what ever is in these boxes with a computer search.”

I froze for a moment having ben caught by my boss’ business partner doing exactly what she had probably come here to do. “I was…”, I had no idea of what I was doing. I spent an hour fussing over how to dress and appear and she always looks like she walked off the cover of a magazine.

“This is my hiding spot. You’re going to have to find your own”, Nico joked.

It’s a weird thing meeting your idols. You put them on a pedestal. You give them super human attributes. Then you meet them and they want you to call them by their nickname as if you’re old buddies. But deep down no matter how friendly they are to you, they are still on that pedestal—even if it drops little by little. And yet deep down they are just normal people, albeit with extraordinary circumstances.

By this time she was also peeking into labelled boxes. It had taken me two weeks to say anything in a meeting with her partner. I still wasn’t comfortable with the ‘perks’ of my job—the job was great. There was a deafening silence in the big dark store room.

“I’m freaked out about the mixer! I don’t know what to wear and what I’m supposed to do, other than I have to attend, and I’m really worried about what might or might not happen…”, I just erupted like a volcano. And for my embarrassing baring of my soul, my Fashion Godmother responded with a very uncomforting giggle. It kind of ticked me off.

“A month on and you’re still here.” I missed the implication. “Because about a month ago a very smart young woman turned this place from a huge tidy dumping ground into a well-organized store-room. Would you like me to show you how to search for evening wear.” She walked over and grabbed my arm and pulled me to the single glowing light of the computer. “I hear that girl was here less than a week and so impressed on her the co-founders that she ended up catapulting to be an executive assistant…”

“Personal secretary”, I corrected her my mood improving.

“No, we’re having business cards printed up and we changed the title to Executive Assistant. There’s no raise involved with the title change”, she grinned at me as we approached the computer—major source of direct light in the room. “Anyways, that girl is excelling at a job many failed and quit after less than a week. Her boss, the co-founder of the company, is very impressed by her and has high expectations beyond reports and morning coffee.”

She sat me down at the computer and leaned over to start typing. Her closeness didn’t bother me this time—possibly because she was fully clothed. ‘Evening dress’ appeared in the search interface’s text box as she resumed her anecdote. “But that girl can’t live up to that potential if she doesn’t believe it.” She grabbed my hand and put it on the trackpad and made me press ‘Search’. “If that girl wants to be everything or anything she wants to be she’ll have to take a chance. There’s a good possibility she may make some mistakes and have some failures along the way.” It felt like she was hypnotically whispering it my ear. “That’s the cost of following your dreams. The rewards though are practically infinite.” Th last part sounded like a cheap self-help book giving McZen wisdom.

I started scrolling and looking at the dresses. I felt her retreat from me.

“Aren’t you going to be my Fashionista Godmother”, I joked.

“Nope”, she said with a serious honestly that made me think I had offended her in some way. “I and Jemma have taken you as far as we can. The next steps are yours. No one can make you walk down a path but yourself.” I was getting a seriously worrying vibe like I was being tossed in a pool to learn how to swim.

“What if I screw up?” I pleaded as she faded into darkness.

“Then you’ll either stay down and accept that you weren’t good enough or you’ll pick yourself up, take what you learned from your failure and find a new path.” I looked at the screen again. Nothing there was me—the one Jemma had been lecturing about, the one Nico alluded to.

“And one last thing”, I thought she had left. I paused and waited for her last bit of advice. “Don’t take the black Versace V-neck in box S3X , I’m wearing that!” And so my master had spoken leaving a small, but noticeable smile in the reflection on the computer screen.

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