Natural light spills in from floor-to-ceiling windows across the way, reflecting off glass pendants that hang from the ceiling at regular intervals above the open work space, which is bustling at this hour.
The whole floor is awash in sandy tans and muted pinks, evoking the West Coast with such ardent effectiveness that I can almost imagine the elevator is a teleportation machine that spit me out somewhere in beachy California.
Most offices have chairs, but Doop has rolling, plush stools. Instead of couches in their waiting area, they have cushions on the floor complete with lumbar support. On the walls, one might expect beautiful but nondescript photography or paintings that spark conversation, but the anonymous founder (orguru, as they prefer to be called in profiles) has opted for sparse white walls. The guru once said in a long-form interview, “Blank space inspires limitless possibility.”
All it inspires me to do is to tag THIS IS AN EXPENSIVE SCAM in red spray paint across them. Too bad I don’t have a graffiti-art kit. All I have is a bag of CeeCee’s belongings for her penultimate wedding dress fitting. As mister of honor, I’m keeper of theundergarments, courier of the heels. I hoist the bag under my arm as I step off.
Before I ask the kindly, stylish guy behind the circular, panopticon-esque reception desk about my sister, I check my phone for word from her. I spot a few different messages instead. One’s from Harry:Don’t forget. Dinner on Thursday night with my parents. I’ll pick you up from the club at 7.
Drew’s luck before that first date did the trick. I’ve successfully maintained a casual relationship with Harry the working director.
I type back:Can’t wait!
Even though really, I’ve beenwaitingall week for an excuse to fall out of the sky, asteroid-style, as to why I can’t make it. Meeting the parents is a big step, and as Drew loves to remind me, I’m supposed to be steering clear of strings-attached entanglements unless by some miracle I become a famous stand-up in the next several days. Even so, I’d prefer those strings be golden and attached to Drew. But in my head, I know I need to keep those strings as untangled as possible until after the wedding, until after Harry and I can part ways amicably, until…
“Welcome to Doop,” the guy in the tall swivel stool says with eyes that sparkle almost as brightly as the orange, salt-rock lamp plugged in nearby. “What can I doop—Whoops, I meandoto make your day better?” Then, his voice dips. “Sorry, I’m new!”
“All good,” I say, knowing full well that CeeCee had recommended I apply for this exact job a few months ago when the previous receptionist got promoted to executive assistant in the beauty division. Because the job I have now is, apparently and vocally, a blemish on our family and a source of near-constant debate. I peer down at the receptionist’s nameplate. “Ryan, can you tell me if CeeCee is available?”
He fiddles with a very loud, rose-colored mouse as he squints atan enormous Mac screen. “I forgot to put my contacts in this morning,” he explains. “But I’m not seeing a CeeCee.”
“You’re not seeing much of anything,” I joke to lighten the mood, but he doesn’t laugh. “I mean, without your contacts.” Usually when I have to explain a joke, the laughs never come, but I swear this dude nearly topples off his stool when he finally gets it.
“That’s a good one.” He’s wiping his eyes, which is both over the top and good for my ego. “Might she be under a different name?”
Oh, right.“CeceliaBaker?” I forgot that, when she got in at the ground floor here, she swapped out her New Jersey nickname for her full name that no one ever uses. She said it “fits in better with the culture at Doop.” Which makes sense, given how I feel both underdressed and overdressed in a pair of rigid jeans and a T-shirt with a vintage Coca-Cola logo on it that Drew bought me for my birthday a few years back. I should’ve just worn a flashing sign that said:Look at me, I ingest filth!
“Ah, yes. Cecelia Baker—our blushing bride—is in a marketing meeting in the Lavender Lounge,” he says. “Are you as excited about the wedding as we all are?”
“Yeah…excited for it to be over,” I say with a laugh that doesn’t come out right. All jokes, no matter how absurd, have a nugget of truth underpinning them, and I’ve perhaps shown too much truth to Ryan, a total stranger, in this moment. “I mean, weddings bring a lot of stress on families, and I already get a lot of stress from my family without a wedding.” Damn, I must be a broken vending machine because I’m dropping bars without any buttons being pushed. “Sorry, you didn’t need to hear all that.”
“No,” Ryan says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Here at Doop, we encourage sharing your truth and living your best life.”
His smile paired with the generic platitudes give me the creeps. “Well, if you want my truth, you can pay to hear it at my next stand-upshow at the Hardy-Har Hideaway. Sadly, my best life won’t be here for another seven years. At least according to my life plan,” I say to cut up the awkwardness. “Anyway, when will my sister be available?”
Ryan doesn’t even look back at his computer, a new glint in his eyes. “She should be done in about ten minutes. Can I get you anything while you wait?”
I’mearly? The only time in my life I’ve ever been early was when I was born a week before my due date, and Mom had to have an emergency C-section because the umbilical cord was wrapped around my neck. Nolan Baker: bringing the drama since Y2K.
I eye the cushion area before asking, “Which way is the bathroom?”
I get a bit lost following Ryan’s directions, which were long-winded and roundabout. While the main area is open concept, the left side is a maze of corridors, various glass-box offices, and painted chalkboards denoting space sign-outs and upcoming meetings. That’s how I find myself doubling back until I’ve weaved down a hallway to avoid an oncoming cart.
When I turn, I’m staring down a hallway that doesn’t look like the others. The lighting is darker, nearly ominous, and the walls are more of a slate gray. Multiple signs reading AUTHORIZEDPERSONNELONLYand RETINASCANREQUIREDhang at various intervals, making me wonder what kind of Matrix-level nonsense they’re up to.
I’m about to take a photo and send it to Drew with a million exclamation-mark emojis when I hear: “Nolan!”
I jump at the sound of CeeCee’s voice behind me, like I’m a tween again and she’s caught me stealing herSeventeenmagazines. “Hi. Hey,” I manage.
“What are you doing down here?” she asks. She’s wearing an oversized beige cardigan over a white linen-silk-blend blouse and a matching skirt, all assuredly from the Doop spring collection withsome up-and-coming, eco-conscious designer. She taps the toe of her loafer with supreme impatience. At some point, she stopped acting like my older sister and started being like a second mom.
“I, uh, got lost on the way to the bathroom,” I say, voice pitching higher at the end as I scamper to her side like the people pleaser I am.
“Okay, well, come on.” She leads us back to the elevator bay and presses the down button, already sliding on her amber-tinted sunglasses that are more for aesthetic than anything else. “Have you given any more thought to working here?” CeeCee asks.
“Given any more thought to working in the place with the anonymous founder and sketchy, secret hallway? Yeah, no thanks,” I say. It’s a new excuse, at least in my never-ending parade of them since the bachelorette party from hell where she basically announced in front of the entire bridal party that I was working a dead-end job and needed a life makeover. Drew got an earful about that when I got home. I never even brought it up to Harry. As far as Harry knows, I’m never not a good time.
CeeCee is carefully observing the numbers on the elevator sign climb while she says, “It’s not a sketchy, secret hallway. It’s the Doop Lab.”
