Standing in the bathroom, foot on the side of the bath, stretching my stockings on, I sneak a glance in the mirror. I hate looking at myself. Who wants to look at their fat rolls and butt dimples. Not me! I should get rid of the mirror and then I wouldn’t have to cringe every time I see it. Maybe in that penthouse I’m seeing in my future, there will be a personal trainer and chef included.
Yes! Let’s put that in the picture. Need to add that to my vision board. I already have the personal driver posted up on my board—of course, he’s sizzling hot. The trains and taxis got old about seven years ago. Well, maybe six years and eleven months. The first month I moved to Chicago I loved it. The hustle and bustle, such a change from the country town I grew up in. Trains running on raised platforms instead of the ground, the amount of taxis that seemed to be in the thousands compared to three that were run by the McKinnon family. Now all the extra time you lose in traffic every day is so frustrating, it’s hard to make up in a busy schedule.
I slip my pencil skirt up over my hips, zip up and turn side to side. Happy with my outfit, I slide my suit jacket on, and then I do the last thing, putting on lipstick. Time to take on the world for another day. As stressful as it is and how often I will complain about things going wrong, I love my life. With a passion. Working with my best friend in our own business is the best leap of faith we took together. Leaving our childhood hometown of Williamsport, we were seeking adventure. The new beginning we both needed. It didn’t quite start how I thought. Those first few months were tough. I really struggled, but I just didn’t feel like I could go home anymore because the feeling of being happy there had changed thanks to my ex-boyfriend. Lucky I had Fleur to get me through that time.
Fleur and I met in preschool. She was busy setting up her toy kitchen in the classroom when I walked in. I say hers, because one of the boys tried to tell her how to arrange it and her look stopped him in his tracks. I remember thinking, he has no idea. I would set it up just how she did. It made perfect sense. I knew we were right. Well, that was what we agreed on and bonded over our PB&J sandwich. That and our OCD behavior, of being painfully pedantic. Sometimes it meant we butted heads being so similar, but not often. We have been inseparable ever since that first day.
We used to lay in the hammock in my parents’ backyard while growing up. Dreaming of the adventures we were going to have together. We may as well have been sisters. Our moms always said we were joined at the hip. Which was fine until boys came into the picture. They didn’t understand us wanting to spend so much time together. Of course, that changed when our hormones kicked in. Boys became important in our lives, but we never lost our closeness. We have each other’s backs no matter what. Still today, she is that one person I will trust with my life is my partner in crime, my bestie.
Leaning my head on the back wall of the elevator as it descends, my mind is already running through my checklist of things I need to tackle the moment I walk into the office. That pre-event anxiety is starting to surface. It’s not bad anxiety. It’s the kick of adrenaline I use to get me moving. It focuses me and blocks out the rest of the world. The only thing that exists is the job I’m working on. From the moment we started up our business of planning high-end events, we have been working so hard, day and night. It feels like we haven’t had time to breathe yet. The point we have been aiming for is so close we can feel it. Being shortlisted for a major contract is such a huge achievement and acknowledgement of our business. Tapping my head, I say to myself, “touch wood”. So far, we’ve never had any disaster functions that we haven’t been able to turn around to a success on the day. I put it down to the way Fleur and I work together. We have this mental connection. Not even having to talk, we know what the other is thinking and do it before the other person asks. It’s just a perfect combination.
Let’s hope that connection is working today.
Walking through the foyer, phone in hand, it chimes. I was in the middle of checking how close my Uber is, but the words in front of my eyes stop me dead in my tracks.
Fleur: Tonight’s guest speaker woke up vomiting – CANCELLED!!!
“Fuck!” There is no other word needed.
I hear from behind me, “Pardon me, young lady.” Shit, it’s Mrs. Johnson. My old-fashioned conscience. I have no idea how she seems to pop up at the most random times. I don’t even need to turn around and look at her. What confuses me is why she is in the foyer at six forty-five in the morning. When I’m eighty-two
