I step
out of the rotating door, careful not to trip in my new Tory Burch heels. The lobby of the 37th building on 7th
street was even bigger and scarier this time than the last time I was here for
my interview. I snuck slide glances at the other business ladies walking
through it with ease, all with sexy suits and a bored look on their faces. I
had on a new Prada blazer myself, matched with Free the People high waist-ed
flare pants. With a teetering smile I wave to the man behind the service desk
with the name tag “Cooper”. I don’t know whether to ask him my question, or
keep my trap shut. I don’t want to say anything stupid. But, my anxious half
takes over and I veer off of my track to the elevators and walk to the counter.
“Excuse me, what floor is Vogue on?”
“Business and Marketing on the 7th, Main Offices
on the 9th.” He replied with a smile. I thanked him and continued on,
swiping the temporary I.D. they had sent me with job offering to get onto the
elevator. I got lucky and had one all to myself. Perfect, now I could try and
not pee my pants in peace. I thought over the dos and don’ts of the office. DO
make sure you greet everyone, seem friendly. DON’T address the boss with a
simple ‘hi’, appear intelligent. DO stay organized, at all costs. DON’T touch
anyone else’s anything, especially
coffee.
My floor was coming up.
5
6
I stood dead center. Using the reflection in the silver box
as a mirror, I checked my teeth, and fluffed my hair.
7
I did a small twirl.
8
I reapplied my ‘pink city’ Revlon lipstick.
9
I stood up straight and smiled. The doors opened to frosted
glass walls separating people’s work space. Doors leading to different offices
lined the area around the large service desk. It was black and massive; it
looked more like something at a bar I would attend to on Friday night then a
desk someone worked at. Behind it sat a tall blonde, gorgeous woman. She wore a
black tank top, with gold necklaces perfectly placed on her collarbone. She
wore her hair in a neat chignon, and had a phone attached to her ear. She
talked in a smooth and comforting voice, and as I passed her, I could see her
clutched to her black coffee, as if it was a matter of life and death.
I
continued on down a hallway, looking for my office where someone was bound to
find and help me. 206….206….205?no, 206… As
I concentrated on the room number, I didn’t notice the looks I was getting,
most of them quite friendly. A short chubby woman with curly hair waved, so I
waved back. Two skinny older women smiled in my direction, but it looked more
like a smile of sympathy than hospitality. A younger girl, who looked even
younger than my 24 year old self, walks out of the break room with a coffee and
a magazine, and we almost collided.
“Oh!
God! Sorry!” she chirped awkwardly. She looked me up and down, evaluating my
appearance. “Hi,” she smiled when she reached my face “I’m Keeley.” The girl
looked to be about 19, with her blonde highlighted hair and low cut tee. She
had on a blue blazer over it all, and wore a short black pencil skirt. She wore
sexy black heels, something that was meant to be worn for partying or a club,
not every day work. Her black stockings
had a small rip near her left knee, but she didn’t seem to notice, or if she
did, she didn’t seem to care. “You need help?” I nodded shyly, “I would love
it”.
She
walked with confident in her stride, and I found myself staring at her feet so
I could match her walk. “I’m from Queens,” I realized I was still staring at
her feet, and was embarrassed to see she had caught me. “mom’s from there,
dad’s from Cali. I grew up in Queens; got sent to Maine for a couple years of
my high school life. Drugs got the best of me, and my parents blamed it on the
city. They shipped me right out of my life. You can’t do that to a teenage
girl. Make her leave her friends, family, school work, her city, her
everything. Anyway, went off to college in the middle of nowhere. Went to
Missouri state, don’t know what I thought I’d accomplish there. After a year
there I came back to the place I love. Applied to NYU, and majored in
photography. Send out my photos to the place and love, and landed myself some
internships, and then a job here.” She smiled as she reflected over her
accomplishments, “I own two dogs named Jerry and Kramer, so if you hear me
mention those names, now you know. They’re my pride and joy. I live in a
penthouse on 34th street, if
you ever need a place to crash, just call me. People always ask me If I get
lonely being in there all by myself, but I’m literally almost never alone, people
stay there all the time. My neighbors hate me, but I don’t know why. I don’t
throw parties, I’m organized, I get my mail every day, and my dogs aren’t that
loud. I guess haters gonna hate huh. Do you party a lot? How old are you?”
“24,
and I’m from NY too-“
“Oh
cool! Yeah I love it here. Oh hey,
here’s your office.” She led the way
into a huge open area with plants everywhere and a large mahogany desk in the
middle of it all. “I would show you more around but I got to get back to work.
Hope you like it here!” She smiled as she shut the door, and I couldn’t believe
how talkative she was. She seemed like a pure burst of energy, hospitable and
cheery. I wonder if I would work with her. She seems so much younger, but if
she graduated, how old could she be?
“Hello”,
said a meek voice from the doorway, “Ms. Jones?”
“Yes,
yes, come in.”
“I’m
Martha, and I’ll be your new secretary. Coffee? Tea?”
“No
thanks”
“Okay,
well this is your office. I water the plants so don’t worry about that. We’re
ordering new furniture for you; Mr. Benny says he’s thinking leather.” Martha
talked in short quiet sentences. She looked at her feet most of the time, and
appeared to be nervous. When she did look at me, I saw the lines her face that
told stories. The wrinkles on the forehead told me of her 2 kids who both come
home late and worry her. The crows feet around her eyes told me her husband
left her. The wrinkles in her cheeks tell me she gets up early to make sure her
kids actually go to school, and to catch the subway to endure her long ride
here, possibly standing the whole time. Her short brown curls surrounded her
face, and if they were grown out, she could have looked like a model. Her red
sweater bunched up everywhere, and her black slacks were too long. She
obviously cared about others more than herself, an excellent quality in a
mother. I just wanted to go and give the poor woman a hug. “Oh, I have a
message too that Mr. Benny would like to see you in his office.”
“Thanks Martha, I appreciate that.” I gave her a huge smile,
and she shuffled out the door. I walked to go find Mr. Benny’s office, hoping
there would be a huge sign on his door that read ‘Mr. Benny’s office’. It turns
out there was one, and as I walked in there was another one on his desk, and
another on the wall under his diploma…and another above his head…. This man
seemed like a pompous jerk!
“Mrs.
Jones, may I call you Veronica?”
“Um,
I prefer-“
“Veronica,
how do you like it here so far?” He plastered a big smile on his manly face.
The man wore a blue suit with a red tie. His wedding looked rusted and old
compared to his school rings on him. A nice white collared shirt his wife
probably pressed for him. What little hair we had was simply all over the
place. He was a huge man, not fat, not chubby, but huge. Muscular, big headed,
huge. Anyone would look weak compared to him. “You’re office nice enough?”
“Yes,
very nice thank you.”
“Good,
did Martha tell you we’re getting new furniture? Leather, ahhh it will smell so
good in there.”
“Yes,
she informed me.”
“Splendid!
Well we have annual business meetings at 10 on Thursdays, and the break room is
for anyone. If you can start with meeting Ms. Daphne, she’s the head of Vogue,
she’ll get you started. I just wanted to personally welcome you to the magazine
Veronica.” And with that he took my hand and kissed it. Who does that anymore?
I didn’t know if it was a sign of a gentlemen, or a creeper.
I went down the hall to the Ms.
Daphne’s office. I know where she worked. I had seen pictures in Vogue of her
office. It was huge, all with a hot tub, buffet table, and own personal huge
bathroom that one could live in. As I walked down the hallway, everything
started to become even more and more glamorous. Not that it already was, but
now everyone around me looked like models. I spotted Keeley again, with a new
pair of nude stockings on. She must have noticed the hole in the other ones. Every
office looked 10 times better than mine, and the air smelt of fresh coffee. I
walked through two large doors to find two desks on either side of me. The two sleek girls at either one looked me
over.
“You’re here.” One stated, “Ms.
Daphne won’t be in for another half hour, but you can sit and wait if you’d
like.” So I did, I popped a squat on a little couch next to one of their desks.
I was looking around at the room and by the time my eyes made it back to them,
I noticed they were whispering about me. They were across the room, so they
were practically shouting, yet they covered their mouths like it would help.
“Look at her nails; does she care about her hygiene?”
“Her hair’s nice though, I wish my
hair could look as soft.”
“And her shoes are pretty cute, but
they look like they’re from last year’s collection.” They were. No, I didn’t care about my nails that much,
as long as they’re clean. I do take pride in my hair. A lot actually, I’m really proud of how shiny
it comes out every day. I couldn’t believe these two bitchy girls could tell
that much. “But her shirt, come one now, you may be a stripper by night but
this is work.” I pulled up my shirt. These girls were dressed nicely as well,
probably all in Chanel and Prada. Their heels were stilettos, about 3 inches
high, something I would break my ankle in. They looked about my age.
“Emily, let’s be nice now.” And
they both giggled.
“Alice, let’s show some respect.”
And they both looked over at me. I knew these types of girls. These girls were
either bullies in high school, or the exact opposite. They thought they were the shit, walking
around in low cut tops and miniskirts. Going to parties and coming back Monday,
only remembering their weekend through what the rumors tell them. They somehow
ended here, and will never get a higher job. They probably still party, too
much, and will never find love, so they sleep with whoever will put their hands
on them.
The phone rang and Alice perked
right up when talking to the person on the other end. Her eyes got wide and she
hung up, “She’s coming in early. Warn everyone.”
With
that, the whole office turned into a madhouse. Everyone rushed; heels on,
coffee gone, organized and ready. I sat there in wilderment, and waited to see
the woman herself. Everyone tells me of her scariness, her crazy attitude.
How’ll she’ll change the magazine last minute, because she had a dream last
night that somehow involved the magazine; about her rude attitude towards
everyone lower than her, and her great style.
When she walked through the double
doors, I didn’t know whether to stand or continue sitting. I walked into her
office after her, perky and ready to introduce myself. The woman turned around,
a fierce look in her eyes, “who are you?”
“Hi, I’m Veronica Jones, and I’m
your new co-editor and chief.”
