Chapter 2: Witness.
The elevator lurched, and the coffee I was holding with it. Not noticing two men in the tight little crawl space with me coffee splashed all over their fancy suit jackets. I gasped and immediately blurted 'Pardon me' twice to both of them. They hissed their breaths out and held their hands out towards me as if to shield their eyes from blinding light before taking out their cell phones to have spare t-shirts delivered to the elevator door immediately. Lucky bastards. I knew then my role. As shunned as a dog after littering on the owner's electrical outlets, I turned to the corner and kept the coffee shielded from anymore people who would enter.
Then the elevator did another funny thing. It stopped in its tracks and I grunted, trying to balance the coffee and my shaking legs in their skinny 3 inch heels that I hated to wear but was obligatory for the job. No flats! It was a joke seriously beset by the girls I worked with. Was it my height? A demanding 5'9" and a towering 6 feet with the damned things on. I never complained... It was a sort of mockery I guess, to be tall and invisible. To have a tall awkward girl be in charge of messes, outfits, and arranging appointments instead of actually being in a meeting and instead of actually wearing the thousand dollar dresses I selected meticulously.
The coffee spilt more nevertheless. The lids never stayed on and ALWAYS broke in my care. What else broke in my care? The list would shatter many little girl's dreams of ever being in the fashion industry. I was the perfect role model for Dream Shatterers. Call me at 1-800-Dream-On.
I gasped as the lights in the elevator shut out. It was pitch darkness and my two men guests were cussing horrendously now, complaining about cell phone reception and 'interference'. My cell phone! Shit! I left it at my apartment! Now I had really done it! No way the boss would let me go this time. All his contact numbers were on there, their agents' numbers, wedding planners, social lists, limo-drivers, etc. etc. I was screwed more than used plywood. I was panicking in the dark, worrying about my job, my apartment knowing I wouldn't be able to make the payments in another 3 months when the lease ended. I would be kicked out on the street and doomed vagabond Ms. Cell Phone Forgetter. I would be a nobody on the streets instead of a nobody intern in the fashion industry.
Thinking too hard on this made me nervous. And twitchy, not to mention slightly paranoid. I was completely oblivious of the gravity of the elevator situation. My take on the whole thing was more spilt coffee, messier me, bitchier associates who would complain about me to my superiors no doubt, and being even more late. Late late late. Hopefully that was the worse and I wasn't fired. I remember one hazy day 2 seasons ago, the one other time I failed to bring my cell phone to work:
"Good Morning Ms. Stevenson," I fumbled fixing my glasses for the hundredth time as I hurried past many cubicles while following Stacie Stevenson, my boss's assistant. She was the neediest when it came to fashion, my boss was the neediest when it came to food. The next down the line assistant and his secretary were just plain needy. I was accustomed to this line of life so I never uttered a complaint. I always uttered apologies.
"You're going to trip if you don't calm down." Stacie retorted. Her voice always sounded like an advice columnists in action, with an edge of sarcasm that would only be detected if it was directed at you. I detected it. "And how many times must I repeat, call me Stacie."
"But Ms. Stevenson there are four Stacies in this department-"
"Yes, and we are on last name terms with them and NEVER with me. They are not allowed to be called Stacie, Stace, or anything close to the sound 'St'. While I'm around, they're stuck with my rules."
"Pardon me, Stacie."
"You got my coffee?"
"Yes, Stacie." My hand was two seconds from handing her coffee when she rejected the offer.
"Not in the mood, intern."
I wasn't about to point out to her that there were 20 other interns in this building and they could all easily turn their heads in her direction. But they didn't and I never spoke up.
"I need Civo's number and address for the upcoming party. I need the invitations sent out by 3:00. The fax machine needs fixing again. Zach needs his coffee before his big meeting." I had cringed at the name 'Zach' my boss's name. Her overuse of the word 'need' was normal, for her.
I had immediately reached my pencil skirt pocket for the Razor cell when my eyes widened in shock. When I didn't answer Stacie right away she turned back towards me with threatening eyes. "What is it?"
"I-I uh..." My voice was a low stutter.
"Spit it out I haven't got all day."
"I've left my cell phone home."
Did I mention that Stacie was deep brown haired, had bright orange red lips and thick mascara that only deepened her cocoa brown gaze? I was intimidated by her reaction.
"I need to contact Civo. Now."
"I beg your-"
"Shut. Up," she hissed. "You are fired and I never want to see you again."
"I'm an intern, Ms. Ste- Stacie, you can't fire me, only Zach can."
"What kinda bullshit order is this? While he's not around, I'm God, so shoo. I'll find someone else who's more reliable." She flicked her hand in front of her as if I were an annoying fly.
I immediately panicked, my blood boiling as I hastily responded, "I can get my cell phone within the hour, I swear I'm reliable. It won't happen again. I NEED this job, Stacie." Even through my stuttering my voice seemed to be stronger than usual.
Stacie didn't look convinced and was about to speak again when I hastily spoke again, "I'll even pick up fresh coffee on the way. Zach'll be mad at you if he's without and you've sacked the only intern who gets it to him on time."
She was about to speak again when I intervened, again. "I'll also get you your favourite chocolates."
Stacie's lips tensed closed for a few seconds, then they opened in a smirky smile, her eyebrow raising. "Fine, you're rehired, but only if you do this all in the next," she checked her watch, "57 minutes. Tick. Tock."
I had sighed in relief and hurried to do my tasks. Luckily I had completed them all within the allotted time, 10 seconds within to be exact. Sometimes I think a stroke of fate kept me on this job until this August, until this unlucky day.
The elevator made another lurch again, the lights came back on. Within a few seconds it was up and moving with the numbers '27' flashing above the door. Still ten more floors to go and already 20 minutes had past. I was way late. I looked down and sighed as I realised this would be my last day working here and might as well already press the button for the lobby. The elevator stopped at 36 and the two men got off, the doors closing. I sighed, just a few more seconds until doomed fate.
I let out a little shriek as my left heel bent to the side, the spike snapping from the sole. These shoes were practically brand new! I sat down in the corner trying to fix the heel when I didn't noticed the door open. One arm juggling the cold half-spilt coffee, and the other holding a bright blue spike that would not reattach to my shoe. I would have to limp into the department as I awaited my unfortunate fate. It was then I felt the elevator's weight go slightly down, thinking someone got on I realised the door must be open. But as I tried to stand my watch got snagged underneath the metal rims in the elevator. Then as suddenly as the weight had sunk down the little room, it lifted but not before I heard a loud metallic sound that shook the air around me.
'Wow, that guy really changed his mind,' I thought.
And it wasn't until I unhooked my watch, stood, and turned that I saw something at the bottom of the elevator room. A huge dent in the metal, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. My eyes grew very wide as I turned my head to the open elevator door, and saw someone jump through the huge glass window at the end of the corridor. The corridor looked exactly like in my nightmares only this was NOT the Estee Lauder building. I gasped in shock as that someone flew so far away I couldn't discern what he was doing or what was happening. The elevator door was closing before I had a chance to find out but before it closed, I saw a small speck on the rooftop ahead fall limp. My jaw dropped as I slid down the elevator wall and stared at the dent.
Instead of asking what could cause that dent to appear in the wall so quickly while I was in there I asked: How the hell did I end up in this building and not where I work?
It was settled. I was fired.
After making my way back down the mysterious building there was a huge commotion around me, like fireants scurrying under an Alabaman rain. Using my quick sense I connected the shattered window incident to the cause of the commotion. I was right. The media's coverage was this building, and the one opposing it. My ears were ringing with their sick drone voices, clacking of cameras, the bustle of the NYPD trying to calm everyone down with no avail, and the veins in my head pumping loudly. My nerves were going haywire as I bumped into people, breaking into my run again.
"Pardon me," I said to everyone I passed by, which must have been hundreds if not thousands. My philosophy was stay out of danger, and if danger came to you, run. So I did. But then again, I always run. And when I can't I'm fast walking. As if that weren't the worst, I was holding my shoes, my barefeet on the gravel, cement, and everything else I didn't want to imagine. The acute pain rising in my feet was nothing compared to the obliterating force that took my breath away; getting fired. I was still worried to death about losing my job.
The city clock struck 9, my eyes immediately shooting towards that abominable sound that mocked me, possibly more so than my superiors did. As I ran down the familiar, yet unfamiliar streets of Manhattan I realised I was in Downtown, and not Midtown where I belonged. How the hell did that happen? I couldn't think straight anymore as I focused on my breathing. After a minute or so my thoughts cleared enough to decide to catch a cab. Only... I was afraid of cabs. I had a huge fear of riding in any sort of vehicle, transportation device, Amtrak with strangers. I tried to shove that fear way down deep inside of me. Just for a moment. A moment enough to stop the cab, get in and tell him my destination before I could chicken out.
I stopped running and looked around me, studying the street signs, trying to find a familiar route back to Midtown. It was impossible. I may be a Yorker, but during my entire life of living in Midtown Manhattan I had never crossed the threshold... never left that middle lane, never took the fork in the road. Not because I chose not to but because no opportunity arose to make it happen, and nobody requested that I leave. Nobody, and nothing, sent me across the divide to another side. Besides I was broke and taking unneccessary trips through unknown territory was not in my agenda.
Now I was HERE. In unknown territory and wondering how the hell I ended up here in the first place. Did I black out while I was travelling? Did someone drug me up? Am I finally going insane? I think back to some more memories as I continue running, heading towards a shop to ask for directions.
2nd day of work, 1st day of being late:
Zach. My boss. He was standing in front of me, giving me the most strange eerie grin. The one that mocked me and every intern that was as awkward as I am. He only frowned at the pretty ones, the ones who he was winking at and slapping their asses behind our backs. It was an insult to be so opposite. An insult to me at least. But I didn't care. He was my boss. Who was I to judge? I just worked for him so no guilt on my moral standards.
"Zach, sire. Good morning." I greeted, handing out my coffee without comment the way he liked it. He never requested coffee more than once. He was constant and I was obliging.
Zach took the coffee, sipped it, grimaced. "Cold, as usual," he complained.
A jolt of disapproval shot through my body, the sight in my eyes zooming in and out. I run half an hour to provide that damned sugar mix. "Perhaps you should considering moving the work building closer to the coffee shop, or better, get a coffee maker."
"Or hire a new intern." He firmly said, giving me that ridiculous smile again that said 'Say one more word and you're fired.'
"Pardon me, sire."
That was the first and only time I ever said anything witty to the boss. After that, nothing. One warning, I listened, I obeyed.
"Your hair... it is so unlikable, have one of my assistant fix it up for you. That colour just so does not go with your eyes, perhaps a ebony black and cut it short, to about here," he held his hand to his ear and I bit my lip and tensed to keep from glaring. This was humiliation! And he was smiling still.
"Oh, you could use some touch ups around the cheeks, here" He reached his finger out to touch my face and I flinched, stepping backwards.
"Pardon me, but I'm allergic to makeup." I lied smoothly, blushing fiercely, hoping he would buy it so I wouldn't get some freak makeover. I was scared shitless of their behaviour towards me, so what kept me going? Ah, my dream of being a fashion designer.
"Allergic to beauty as well." Zach said, smiling again.
I didn't respond, blushing even worse. I looked down gripping my new briefcase nervously and shamefully. So everyone thought I was ugly? I never looked at myself enough to determine the difference... but apparently one glance with these people was enough to judge. I was doomed in their eyes.
"Is there anything you need me to do, sire?" I finally asked after Zach didn't talk.
"Stop calling me 'sire', we're not in England..."
"Pardon me-"
"...Fax this," he handed me a stack of papers, "To these numbers," he put a pink folder on top. It shifted my weight so much I inhaled a sharp breath. The papers must have weighed 50 pounds! "Call my secretary, have her send a beautician for your crisis," he said it so casually I almost winced at the cruelty of it, but I held my ground and obeyed his orders. "And Stacie," Mentioning her name he frowned, "Tell Stacie my desk caved in. That's it. Shoo."
I nodded and turned to carry out his orders, my eye on the faxing room 6 cubicles down the hall, when suddenly I felt cold liquid running down my back. My jaw dropped open and a pitiful gasp escaped my lips, so pitiful that everyone stopped their business to look at me.
"Oh, one more thing. Take a shower. So long."
There were a few giggles, one very loud laugh, and exclamations in the department. I closed my eyes and shuttered, my jaw tensing as I tried not to explode from the intense pressure. It was definitely pay back from getting his coffee cold. I was infuriated. My thoughts? I wanted to take these stack of papers and throw them right in his face, then take his next order of coffee, hot for once, and throw it all over him and see how he likes it. I imagined his bemoaned expression and delirious state, but quickly snapped back into the present and struggled towards the fax room with my blouse stuck to my back.
This humiliation was a common occurrence at work, and I just let it happen.
When I finally made it to the fax room, I set down the papers, opened the folder and sighed, a frown coming to my face. There were at least 200 numbers on the list, and I had to dial each one separately, AND get the right papers to the right contacts. It was a hell of a day. That became a common occurrence as well.
I huffed a huge breath as I smiled, the motion unfamiliar for me but I was pleased somewhat. It was nearing noon and I was at my apartment, without getting mugged, without dying, without passing out from pain. With the instructions at the nearby shop and a new pair of running shoes, I was home, hungry, frizzy, exhausted, messy, and copped out and I hadn't even gone to work. The coffee was long gone, dumped two hours ago when it got ridiculous to hold it when it was almost empty from sloshing all over the place.
I ran straight up the flights of stairs to my room on the 10th floor. My hands jitterbugging, my ankles shaking, I opened all three locks with my keys, and ran in, locking it behind me. But instead of looking for my cell right then, I collapsed on the couch. My whole body was shaking intensely. My mind span circles, and triangles, and squares. My breath would not calm down. I closed my eyes and didn't try to fight the onslaught of worry and nervousness.
"My job!" I suddenly cried out, my hands covering my eyes as I burst out into sobs. "My apartment! My life!"
I gasped and sobbed for several minutes in the darkness of my apartment until I heard the 'buzz' of my cell phone on my coffee table. It took me a few seconds to stop my tears before I could pick up the little compact job killer. My eyes were too blurry and the apartment too dark to make out the caller id so I just answered it.
My voice was squeaky and nasally. "Ms. Carmichael." I stifled a sniff.
There was no answer.
"Stacie, if it's you I'm so sorry I didn't make it... There's so much going on... and I'm sick," I lied.
There was still silence.
"Hello? Hello!"
My eyes widened in horror as two loud bullet shots sounded in my ear through the speaker. I was too stunned to breath, to gasp, to move.
"I see you." a deep voice said, then the dial tone... then dead. Nothing. Silence.
I dropped the phone and passed out.
I awoke sometime later, in my bed, the light usually seeping through the cracks in the windows gone. It was nighttime already, I had a splitting headache, my stomach was heavy and growling. So I lazily fixed myself a pot of soup and ran water for a bath. My eyesight was groggy, my knees weak, my head drumming. I grabbed a pain prescription from the bathroom cabinet without thinking, popping two of the small capsules, swallowing them dry. The events of the day raced through my head in dizzy circles as I poured soup in a bowl, took it to the bathroom, slid my coffee stained clothes onto the floor, and slipped into the warm bath tub with a long sigh. I closed my eyes and leaned back, my arms on the side of the tub. The pain slowly faded and I was taken into another world of darkness, stillness, silence, sleep.
I ran. My barefeet pounded on the cobblestone street. It was dark but not too much that I couldn't see. I clutched my chest with fear. Why did I run? Was someone was chasing me? Suddenly my feet were pinned to the ground and I couldn't move. Footsteps echoed behind me, slow and deliberate. I tried to turn and face this person. Too late. There was a loud shot fired and my heart stopped...
I awoke with a gasp. "Oh, God... just a nightmare."
What caused it? It only took two seconds for me to remember my phone call. My hand shot to my lips. My heartbeat was rapid as the bath water moved around me, my throat breaking into soft sobs. Was that phone call real? For the life of me I couldn't tell.
I quickly left the bath, ate my cold soup, drank two full glasses of water and jittery, dressed for bed. I was restless but I dearly wanted to sleep. The events of the day were too much. I couldn't handle it and my palms were sweating. My nerves were wrestling throughout me. My breath shook with every intake. I grabbed the sleeping pills from the cabinet and took four, something I never did. I knew that even one would knock me out enough not to hear my alarm clock. I never heard it without the pills! Why did I not care this time? Oh, that's right! I was surely without a job. That much was clear. That was the only clear thought I had before I slumped under my covers and drifted into sleep.
