Authors: Lexi Duval
By the second night, I'm beginning to wallow in my own
misery and feel like a completely different person to before. As if
the further I get from LA, from the life that held such promise, the
worse I feel.
In many ways I feel like I'm throwing in the towel. And
even when I tell myself not to think like that, that things will be
fine, I begin to find myself disagreeing with my inner dialogue more
than usual.
Slowly, but surely, the negative, pessimistic person
inside me, who rarely comes forward, starts to hold more sway.
So, I drive for three days in the wind and rain, trying
to stay upbeat but finding it increasingly difficult to do so. And
when I finally reach home, the night growing dark on my third day of
travel, I'm greeted with a sight that makes me burst out crying.
It's nothing more than my mom, waiting up later than
normal to let me into the house, a weak and consoling smile on her
face. It's that look that finally breaks me. That look only a mother
can give and one that says in an instant that everything will be OK.
And as I cry and fall into her arms, I realize that
maybe, just maybe, it will be.
Chapter Two
“
Did you sleep well darling?”
I've just managed to rouse myself from a deep sleep, and
have risen to find my mom preparing breakfast downstairs, wrapped in
an apron and looking every bit the homemaker she's always been.
“
Yeah, thanks mom. I always forget how comfy my old
bed is.”
“
Nothing like home,” says my mom with a note of
reflection, flipping a couple of fried eggs.
“
You hungry sweetheart?”
I'm not, but I tell her yes. My dad, I know, has already
gone off to work and I'm fully aware that my mom's cooking only for
me. Bacon and eggs don't agree with her palate, but have always been
one of my favorites.
She dishes me up a full place of goodness and I forget
my lack of appetite and sink every last mouthful. She sits with me
for a few moments, sipping on a coffee, before setting about cleaning
up and putting the kitchen back into order.
“
So what's your plan?”
My mom isn't a forward person. She's the sort of woman
who hates confrontation and rarely asks any questions that might lead
to an argument. So I'm fairly surprised when she comes right and asks
me what exactly my plan is.
Still, I don't hesitate to answer.
“
Find another job.” I say it forcefully, with
conviction, although inside I know it's going to be a struggle.
The entire reason I moved from here was because I'd
canvassed the entire East Coast and found nothing to suit me. Only in
LA was I granted an opportunity to show what I could do.
Only, showing what you can do isn't supposed to involve
swallowing your boss's dick in his office every night...
Stupid fucking girl Ashley, always thinking with your
pussy...
As if knowing what's running through my mind, my mom
poses another question that she'd never usually ask.
“
So, what actually happened...with your job. They
can't just fire you for nothing?”
She still doesn't turn to me. That would be too much for
her, too confrontational. She just keeps on washing the dishes,
merrily setting about her day to day tasks as if I'm not there.
“
I wasn't fired, mom, not really,” comes my
rehearsed reply. “The magazine was downsizing and my position was
lost in the process. Just bad luck really.”
The truth, of course, will remain hidden from my parents
forever. They've always thought I was their perfect, innocent, little
Ashley, a girl who only lost her virginity to her first real
boyfriend at 18 and had never had a one night stand.
The reality of my life would shock them. Because no, I
didn't lose my virginity to my first boyfriend but to a guy at school
when I was only 15 and he was a few years older. That was the one
time we hooked up, so I both lost my virginity and had my first one
night stand at precisely the same time.
Since then, I've been open with my sexuality and,
outside of my parents, proud of it. I don't see anything wrong with a
girl who enjoys to fuck, and not just their boyfriends but random
guys as well.
I mean, I have a criteria, of course. It's not
completely strict, but it's enough to know that I don't just fuck
anything with a dick. In general, if a guy looks good and can make me
laugh or there's any chemistry between us, I'll happy tuck his cock
between my lips and have some fun with him.
And what's wrong with that?
Fuck all, I say. But...I'd never say it to my parents.
“
Ah, that's terrible honey. Well, at least they'll
give you a good reference, right? I mean, you were doing well there
weren't you?”
“
I'd hope so mom.”
With my mom seemingly satisfied with my short
explanations, I get on with my dad, hitting the Internet and looking
for jobs.
Starting with fashion media jobs, I quickly widen the
field and mine deeper, searching for anything available over the
Hudson in Manhattan and in the various smaller urban areas around my
parents home in East Orange.
Over the next week, I send my resume off to a hundred
employers and fill in just as many forms online. I send emails, make
phone calls, and even spend a day in Manhattan canvassing for work
face to face.
Slowly, surely, my renewed verve starts to weaken again
and I'm quickly reminded of the difficulty I had in finding work the
last time.
After the first week, however, I get somewhere, setting
up two interviews for the following few days.
Both are disasters.
During one, I find myself digging a hole when I'm asked
why my previous job ended. The poise I displayed when lying to my
mother suddenly abandons me, and the interviewer digs to such an
extent that I end up blurting out the truth in the hope that,
somehow, he'll find my candor refreshing and give me the job.
He leaves me with a 'we'll be in touch by the end of
tomorrow', and I don't hear a thing.
The other interview is even worse.
To my great surprise, my ex boss's wife's influence
seems to have spread all the way across the nation, and the guy
interviewing me is well aware of my indiscretions.
However, he appears to have decided to use such a thing
as an opportunity when he asks me how far I'd go to secure the job.
He looks at me with probing eyes from within a face
withered by too many winters and carrying a ruddy appearance that
suggests he enjoys his booze just a little bit too much. A smile
reveals slightly yellowed teeth and his breath reaches me with a
whiff of whiskey.
Basically, he's asking me if I'll fuck him to get the
job, and I'm starting to feel sick to my stomach just looking at him.
I storm out without answering and tell myself that I'd
never stoop so low as to use my pussy to get me ahead in life. I
mean, sure, I'll fuck people for my own pleasure. But a dirty old man
just to get a shitty job?
No thanks, I think I'll pass.
Each night I return
home finding my mom with hopeful eyes. And each time I return I feel
just that little bit more sure that my life might not end up quite
how I was anticipating.
My dad, who's rarely around because he's constantly
working late on a new case, offers me the odd word of encouragement
and advice, but I can tell his mind is always elsewhere.
Frankly, as much as I love my parents, I'm finding it
all very claustrophobic having to conduct my job search for here,
under their roof. My mom always looking at me in the hope that I've
got some good news, but too afraid to ask outright whether things are
going well or not.
I'm glad for that, because I wouldn't know what to say.
“
Terrible, mom. Absolutely, fucking terrible.”
That would sum it up quite nicely.
It goes that way for nearly three weeks, and before long
I've begun to widen my search even further. I know, when I spend an
entire day scouring the local bars and restaurants looking for
waitressing work, that I've taken a tumble from the lofty heights I
set myself.
I return home on my first day of looking for menial
work, my spirit damper and darker than ever. Yet still, I have to try
to smile and pretend as if everything is going OK, if only to avoid
further questioning from my parents.
In my room, preparing to put a film on my laptop and
forget the world until morning, I hear my mom calling me from
downstairs.
“
Ashley, there's someone at the door for you.”
I begrudgingly pry my tired body off my bed and go to
the door. Again, my mom calls, this time pacing up the stairs to make
sure I've heard.
“
Ashley, there's a man here to see you...”
I open my door to my mom's face.
“
Who is it, mom?”
“
He called himself Mr Taylor. He looks very smart, if
a little eccentric. Is this to do with work?”
I shake my head, doubting it and not remembering meeting
any eccentric looking people on my travels. And yet, eccentricity is
a common trait of those involved in fashion, particularly when it
comes to their dress sense...so maybe it is related?
With a sudden hope lighting inside me, I turn to the
mirror to make sure I look presentable. I don't, wearing only a pair
of lazy sweats and a hoodie. But there's no time to change.
“
Ashley, come on, you can't keep him waiting.”
She pulls on my arm, dragging me from my reflection, and
ushers me toward the staircase. I pass by the gallery and start
descending, my mom hovering behind me, and gradually the man at the
door comes into view.
Eccentric was right on the money.
He's wearing a white suit, dark blue shirt, and straw
hat, and looks quite the character. Dusty brown hair flows over his
head, receding slightly and graying at the sideburns, and his skin
carries a tan that suggests he sees the beach, or the sunbed, quite a
lot.
But his most striking feature is definitely his smile.
It's wide and charming and immediately disarming, and somehow makes
me involuntarily return the look as soon as I see him.
“
Ah, you must be Ashley Fisher,” he says as I step
into the hall, my mother still behind me. “I must apologize once
more,” he continues, turning to her, “for mistaking you for your
daughter.”
“
Oh, no apologies needed,” says my mom with a
surprisingly flirty laugh.
The man smiles and turns his eyes back to me. “You're
as beautiful as your mother, Ashley, and that's saying something.”
The mood I'm in, I'd expect to find such a comment
yawn-worthy, but it actually makes me half giggle, to my great
surprise.
“
Now, we haven't met before, but I'd like a word in
private if I could?”
I turn to my mom, who nods and quickly takes herself
back off to the kitchen.
“
This way Mr...”
“
Mr Randall Taylor.”
He sets his hand forward, and I take it. He then
proceeds to lift my palm and kiss the back of my hand, a greeting you
don't see too often these days. Then again, Randall Taylor doesn't
look like your average guy.
I lead him through into the living room and we sit down
facing each other. His eyes drift around the well appointed room,
always kept clean and tidy by my mother.
“
A lovely home you have here.”
“
Thanks, but it's my parents home, not mine.”
“
Of course, you don't expect to be here for long, do
you?”
“
Um....no.”
Does he know I've just moved back here or something?
Who is this guy?
“
Sorry, Mr Taylor...but who exactly are you?”
He smiles once more, that toothy smile that shatters
your defenses, and looks me dead in the eye.
“
I'm the man who's going to present you with an offer
of employment, Ashley. One that might just change your life.”
Chapter Three
Now he's got my full attention.
“
An offer of employment? What sort of offer?”
“
The sort you wouldn't get expect to get, and the sort
that you will most likely be offended with at first. It's also the
sort of offer that you will almost certainly turn down, at least at
first. They always do.”
“
They? Sorry, Mr Taylor, I'm a little confused.”
“
And I'd expect so too. I'm being completely vague,
but I'll reach my point eventually. I do have a tendency to go
off-piste, but I'll try to keep it all succinct for you. And please,
Ashley, call me Randall.”
“
OK, Randall...”
“
Excellent. Now, let me first tell you how I've come
to be here. I offer a very specific set of services to a very
specific group of clients. I heard, through a couple of people, about
your run in with your old boss and his wife, and subsequently I find
you here.”