Authors: Lucy Lambert
I expected that handsome, sharply outlined face of his to share in his girlfriend's mockery, but instead I saw pity, and a bit of sympathy. Then the elevator door closed.
I leaned against the wall, staring blankly at the bank of buttons with numbers beside them. My whole world seemed to collapse to the size of that little metal box, its walls pressing in on me.
My heart slammed in my chest, and I felt short of breath. My legs didn't really want to hold me up. All I wanted to do was climb into bed, pull the covers up, and force myself to sleep and forget about this.
But I had to start work soon. I couldn't be late. Not on my first day. This was my first real job. My first real step into that so-called "real" world. I couldn't stumble into it. Even if it did feel like Jerry had just reached into my chest and cracked my heart in half.
My vision started blurring as my eyes watered. I fought against it, resisting the tears. I didn't have the time to fix my makeup. So I reached forward and stabbed at the "4" button with one finger.
"Shh... Shh..." I said to myself.
I had to force it all down, sitting on it like Jerry had needed to sit on his suitcase to get it closed. I needed to close these feelings behind some door or in some box until I had time to deal with them after work.
The elevator took only a few moments to travel up to my floor. I stepped out. A minute earlier, I'd been sprinting. Now, I just shambled forward to my door. It was unlocked, I knew. A stupid decision. I was in Manhattan! I had to keep my door locked.
I went back into my apartment. It felt quiet, empty,
lifeless, even with most of my stuff still in there.
Work would be better than this, I knew. I hoped. It had to be better than this. At least, I hoped it would make me forget, at least for a few hours.
***
The taxi ride down to Madison Ave. should have been exciting. I'd heard all my life about New York cabbies and just how crazy they could be. When I'd climbed in I glanced through the protective window between us and saw his name was "
Faroukh S." though he spoke with a British accent.
The
cab smelled of pine air freshener, and with the windows up the growls and screeches of the traffic outside were muted to a dull, constant roar of city life.
He continued to talk even as he sped around traffic, performed an illegal u-turn, and cut through the park. I looked out the window at the rolling fields of grass, at the joggers and the cyclists and the
dog walkers and envied them.
They all seemed so happy. I knew that not all of them were, of course. But it felt like that when I watched them.
There was a little TV screen built into the back of the front seat of the cab playing the trailer for some new romcom. I wished I could turn it off, but didn't know how.
"
Ah, yes. I love this city!" Faroukh said as he angled the big yellow Crown Victoria around an open manhole surrounded by orange pylons. This move earned him a chorus of honks, but he didn't seem to mind.
I shook my head. I think I'd passed the initial shocked phase to one of anger. It burned inside me. I knew I should be enjoying this ride.
My first one to work. I planned on getting a subway pass, since taking the cab every day would be expensive, but this was supposed to be a treat!
I felt the urge to go back home and check my laptop to see if I cou
ld log into his Gmail account. Maybe that fatwhorebitch he was talking with on the phone sent him emails. Then I could track her down and...
I rested the side of my head against the window as we passed beneath a bridge.
And what? I'd heard what Jerry said. He didn't want to be with me anymore. Even if I did convince the home wrecker whore he'd taken up with to dump him, what chance was there he'd come crawling back to me?
"What?" I said.
Faroukh looked at me in the mirror, a slice of his dark face visible in the reflection.
"I said it's such a nice day, is it not, miss?"
I frowned up at the sky. It was like a light blue sheet set up there above the skyscrapers. Not a cloud in it. In fact, the weather was quite nice. That felt wrong. I felt bad, so shouldn't the weather be terrible to reflect that?
"Greatest city in the world, right, miss?"
"Yeah..." I said.
I focused my attention back on that little screen, which was playing what appeared to be a promo for Ellen. She was dancing, as usual.
Maybe I should become a lesbian, I thought. No more having to deal with men. But then I remembered that club bitch from the elevator. I remembered her laugh, and the fake voice she put on to mock me. Women were just as bad as men. Worse, even.
Maybe just becoming asexual was the answer.
But then we got over to Madison Ave. All those big buildings had me in awe, and I forgot about Jerry for a few moments as I thought of all the history here, real and fictional.
One reason I kept to myself for wanting to work here was feeling like I was on the set of
Mad Men
or
Sex and the City
. The movies and TV shows said New York was where everything that was at all important happened, so New York was where I had to be.
Though, New York was also one of the only places I could find a job for my degree in marketing.
Faroukh was still talking about something or other, but I just watched the yellow taxis flock by and looked at all the beautiful people wandering up and down the sidewalks. It was like being on an amusement ride.
So, when the cab finally pulled over, disappointment
twinged inside me.
"Here," I said, shoving a fresh new $20 into the little cash
tray in the divider before Faroukh could say anything more.
Then I was out on the sidewalk. Steam issued up lazily from a nearby grate. Those evil, red-eyed pigeons bobbed their heads as they crawled over an upended trash can's contents.
I stood in the middle of the sidewalk like a rock in the middle of a river, people parting around me. The sun glinted off the skyscrapers that seemed more glass than metal, and the bit of air that managed to circulate around me was tinged with the scent of a hotdog stand a block down the street.
Smoothing my skirt, straightening the strap of the purse on my shoulder, I straightened my back and started walking.
I wasn't going to let Jerry ruin my first day. I had a job on Madison Ave! That day was my first as a true New Yorker.
Moving in through the big revolving door at the base of one particular skyscraper, I walked past the security desk and over to the bank of elevators.
Styrex, Inc. had its offices on the 32nd floor. The elevator opened up and I did my best to squeeze in with all the other men and women in their business suits.
Everyone in there seemed to be all elbows and knees. You couldn't move an inch in any direction without treading on someone's foot. I caught hints of a dozen different expensive colognes and perfumes. My nose itched from it.
This was my first trip to the office. I'd done my interviews over Skype. Mom asked me if I felt nervous when I'd been leaving, but I said no. I'd laughed, even.
But now, crammed in there like a sardine, the anticipation, the nervous tension, built in me like a spring being slowly compressed.
It didn't help that people moved in and out of the elevator at practically every floor, the digital screen above the door advancing with an aching slowness.
Then, when it finally did display "32" in big red digits, I almost didn't make it! A fat guy with a loosened tie got in as I tried to get off, crowding me back. I shoved my arm forward, trying to trip the sensor to keep the door from closing.
For a moment, my heart lodged in my throat as I thought it might just close on me anyway, but it reopened.
Everyone glared at me as I got off for delaying their trip upwards those few extra moments.
I stepped out into the air conditioned hall, breathing a sigh, trying to rid the air around me of the pungent smells that followed me from the elevator.
A black sign with white lettering read "STYREX ->" so I turned and followed it to a set of double doors. I was happy that I chose to wear flats instead of heels that day; my legs felt so
shaky I knew I would have fallen or stumbled.
The first layer of the
Styrex office was a small reception room, a dark-haired secretary tapping away at her computer behind some half-moon desk. She gave me a practiced smile when I approached.
"May I help you?" she said, ignoring a red light that started blinking on her phone.
"Umm... Yes. I work here," I said, "Err... I mean, I start today. I'm Jennifer. Jennifer Snow."
Should I show her my driver's license? I wondered, my hand straying down
towards my purse and the little black wallet tucked within.
"I understand," she replied, not blinking an eye at my apparent inability to string a sentence together.
Then she turned back to the keyboard, her fingers flying. They were painted a bright red, like the warning light on a car's dash when you've forgotten to put your seatbelt on.
I pulled the sleeve of my jacket back to glance at my watch. I sucked in a breath.
I was late! It was the elevator, I knew. I hadn't thought to provide for the lengthy ride up.
The receptionist glanced at me, and I smiled at her. I could feel my lips quiver. An urge built inside me either to laugh or to cry. I didn't really know which. They both seemed appropriate.
Then the receptionist's smile vanished for a moment before she could plaster it back on when she looked at me.
"I see you're Bud Loughery's new assistant. His office is to the back, at the corner. I'll let his secretary know you're on the way."
"Thanks," I said. I started walking to the left, around her desk.
"Watch
yourself around him," the secretary said, stopping me in my tracks.
"What do you mean?"
She pursed her lips and looked up at the ceiling as though regretting saying anything."
"It's just... He's..."
A man in a charcoal suit, a black briefcase gripped in one fist, walked in. The receptionist immediately turned her attention to him, leaving me standing beside her desk for a moment.
Whatever it was about him, I doubt it was any worse than what I'd left behind at my apartment.
A set of double doors painted slate-grey guarded the entrance to the office proper. Their metal handles, the latches gleaming in the fluorescent light from the ceiling, called to me. My right hand itched with the desire to reach forward and yank one open, revealing for the first time the next stage of my life as an adult.
My hand seemed alone in its desire to discover what lay beyond. My stomach twisted, and a cool sensation spread along the small of my back. And, to top it all off, dry mouth!
Jerry's face popped into my mind. What if something like that happened at work?
A ridiculous thought, I guess. But then again, just a few hours ago breaking up with my live-in boyfriend seemed ridiculous as well!
For a moment there, I actually considered turning around and going back to my apartment.
The apartment I would lose in about a month if I didn't take this job.
That in mind, I told myself how childish this was. It's just a job! I told myself.
So, squaring my shoulders and taking a deep breath, I grabbed one of those cold metal handles and yanked the door open.
I strode in, doing my best to look confident, like I knew what I was doing, why I was here, promising myself that I would leave this place better than how I found it.
As with most offices, it was largely a cubicle farm. Those ubiquitous grey wall
dividers drawing a maze though the place. Somewhere to my left, a bank of printers and photocopiers hummed. The air blew so cold out of a duct that I felt my arms pebble with goosebumps. Men in white shirts and ties wandered around with folders under their arms, or fixated on their computer screens at their desks. Women in grey skirts or pants-suits did largely the same thing.
To my left were doors leading into offices, each fronted by a desk with another woman sat at it, most of them busy answering phones or tapping at their keyboards.
I remembered the secretary told me Mr. Loughery's office was towards the back, so I glanced at the nameplates on the doors until I came to the one just shy of the corner office.
A woman with curly, dun-colored hair did her best to cope with her work. The black receiver of the phone was wedged between her shoulder and ear as she spoke into it. Her eyes scanned her monitor even as her fingers flew across her keyboard. The intercom on her desk buzzed, the little cherry-colored bulb on it blazing each time.
And to top it off, her iPhone vibrated beside her purse.
Normally, she would be pretty, I knew. A heart-shaped face, narrow waist, and full lips spoke to that. But the lines on her forehead and the little wrinkles beside her eyes made her look probably ten years older than she was.
I stood by politely, holding my small purse against my stomach with both hands.