Say the Word(6)

The shrill ringing of Jeanine’s antique gold-gilded desk phone abruptly cut off my words. Without a word to me, she leaned forward and snatched the receiver from its cradle.

“What is it Anna?” she clipped into the phone, likely causing her secretary to flinch on the other end. “Oh? And why is that?” Jeanine cast her eyes heavenward, clearly exasperated by whatever Anna was saying. “Fine, I’ll take care of it.”

She hung up without saying goodbye and returned her gaze to me. Her eyes were no longer chilly, but speculative.

“You’ve worked here for almost three years now, correct?” she asked, steepling her fingers in a contemplative gesture. Her out-of-left-field question took my by surprise.

“Yes?” I winced internally at the tentativeness in my voice.

“So you know where they do the photo shoots? At the ArtLust studio on Fifth?”

I nodded, confused about how this related to my pitch.

“I need you to go there for me. Right now. The assistant who normally coordinates the lunch deliveries for the models and production staff has apparently called out sick today, and evidently all of our interns are at some kind of rubbish career-building workshop,” Jeanine seethed. I think she would’ve rolled her eyes or frowned, if she weren’t so afraid of developing crow’s feet. “You’ll need to pick up the lunch order from Gemelli’s and bring it to the studio by noon.”

My mouth dropped open in surprise. She was assigning me a task typically reserved for unpaid interns or personal assistants — so far outside my job description it was almost laughable.

I’d already paid my dues. I’d worked my ass off, despite the frivolous and often unfulfilling nature of my job. This was bullshit.

“Jeanine,” I protested. “This really isn’t in my job desc—”

“If you want me to consider your pitch on Alessandra Rodriguez – not to mention keep your position here – you will do this,” she snapped, cutting me off. She leaned forward slightly with her eyes locked on mine, her coiled posture reminding me of some wild jungle cat about to take down an innocent grazing gazelle. “Without complaint.”

Bitch.

She had me cornered and she knew it. After a casual glance at her Rolex, Jeanine looked pointedly from me to the door. “It’s past eleven already. You’d better get moving, Lex. We can discuss your article tomorrow.”

It’s Lux, you narcissistic cow.

Cow or not, unfortunately she was right – the walk from our main office on West 57th to the ArtLust building on 5th took at least twenty minutes, not including the extra stop I’d have to make at Gemelli’s to pick up the food. And Gemelli’s was always packed during the lunch and dinner rush, with lines of hungry New Yorkers extending out onto the street as they waited for a variety of salad, soup, and deli creations that were some of the best Midtown had to offer.

“Thank you, Jeanine.” I almost choked on the words, but managed to paste an acquiescent smile on my face. “I look forward to speaking with you again about my pitch.”

I rose and walked out of her office, defeated and reeling. I’d prepared for the possibility that she’d shut down my proposal, but I’d never anticipated her assigning me to be her personal errand-girl for the day.

As I headed for my desk, lamenting the fact that I hadn’t packed a pair of flats in my purse and would thus be forced to run around the city in heels, I thought my day couldn’t possibly get any worse.

Little did I know.





***


By the time I made it across town from Gemelli’s — which was just as jammed as I’d thought it would be — to the studio, my formerly pristine blue blouse was wrinkled from the relentless late August humidity, I’d stepped in a disgusting wad of pink bubblegum someone had been kind enough to spit out on the sidewalk, and I was running late. Juggling the flimsy handles of two massive paper bags containing a spread of salads and sandwiches, I glanced down at my cellphone as I pushed through the crush of workers on their lunch breaks and winced as I saw that it was already quarter past noon.

I was late. Jeanine was going to skin me alive.

I startled as the phone rang in my hand, Desmond’s name flashing across the screen. Adjusting my grip on the bags so they were both clutched in my right fist, I lifted the phone to my ear.

“Hello?” I asked, breathless from my efforts.

“Hey babe,” Desmond drawled.

“Do you need something?” I clipped, my tone sharper than I’d intended.

Desmond and I had been out on a few casual dates, but I could tell he wanted more. He was a nice guy – perfect for me, really. He was a physical trainer at the gym I sometimes worked out at, and when he’d asked me out a few weeks ago I was in no position to turn him down. I hadn’t been out on a date in three months and I hadn’t had a real boyfriend for at least double that period. Fae was threatening to sign me up for eHarmony if I didn’t break from my streak of solitude, and it was only a matter of time before she tricked me into another horrendous blind date with some poor soul from her seemingly endless stream of male acquaintances.

The last time this had happened, she’d told me we were going to get lattes at a funky, yet-undiscovered — and thus trendy in the eyes of every hipster in a five mile radius — coffee shop downtown that smelled vaguely like patchouli oil, was littered with beat up furniture that didn’t match, and had purposely left its street windows too grimy for passerby to peer through. This in itself was troubling enough, though not half as concerning as what Fae did next.