Okay, maybe both of us are still bitter about thePitchcliffhanger and cancellation.
“No. You don’t,” she says.
I take a bite out of said breakfast sandwich, in protest.
“Harrison called.”
I drop the bagel and chew faster. Okay, this might be one of the real emergency situations that doesn’t come up all that often.
“What did he say?” I ask, dreading the answer. He gave me a week, and calling three days earlier than the week deadline can’t be good news.
“He needs the catalog today. He wants to have a meeting with prospective houses by the end of the day, because he’s got some country house party this weekend, and he wants to get a head start on it.”
I open my mouth and close it, repeating the process until Sonia interrupts the loop by taking my hands and putting them on my keyboard.
“So get to working, because we have until 4:00 p.m. Today.”
Well, at least he gave us to the end of the day.
“Okay. Not ideal. But we need to move forward because he might be an inconsiderate ass, but he’s a rich inconsiderate ass and we need this deal.” I already told Sonia about Dad’s ultimatum, so she knows how important this is for me.
“Can you start editing what I’ve already done in the shared drive and I’ll keep working on the rest and maybe get an intern to take the day and pray to all the gods for us? And then another one to feed me this sandwich.” I start typing, looking wistfully at the bagel sandwich next to me.
“Sounds like a plan, boss.”
“I’ll see you at one o’clock to go over final details or have a really big cry if we’re not done by then.”
“If Harrison doesn’t pick us, do you think I can sue him for the carpalandcubital tunnel I developed today?” I rub my hands, not kidding about how angry my fingers are over what I put them through this morning. To be fair, this day didn’t cause this problem, considering I type on a computer all the time, but it might have exacerbated it.
“Probably not,” Sonia says, trying to tidy up all the books I laid open on my floor for the last push of research/inspiration.
At least we managed to get it done. I complained loudly the entire time, but no one was in the office with me, so I still have my dignity.
Self-talk, or self-complaining, is an important part of my process.
“Is printing going to have the catalog printed by the time I have to leave?” I ask.
“Yes. And they’ve promised to wrap it up in some fancy box that they said would outshine last year’s Christmas sale.”
“Oh, that was a good one.” I put my feet up on desk and lean back in my ergonomic chair. “I might just need a little nap before I go to the meeting...” My eyes already closing at the sweet, sweet promise of rest.
The universe, however, had other plans. As she often does.
And by universe, I mean my phone. A clip of Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries”jerks me away from the power nap.
I sigh but like a good business lady reach for my phone, sobbing to myself quietly. Internally. “Hey, it’s an email from Mom. With an attachment. I wonder what she—Oh my god what is this and why is this happening to me?I donate to charity.” I close my eyes again, wondering about the feasibility of pouring bleach directly into them as a cleanse.
“What happened?” Sonia hovers, trying to see what upset me. I want to tell her to stop; this isn’t something anyone should see.
But before I can save her, she grabs the phone out of my hand to look at the offending image.
“Is this—Why? Oh god why?” She slams the phone screen down on my desk so neither of us have to see it again. Until I need to use my phone again. Which will be pretty soon thanks to this modern world of gadgets and interwebs. “Who sent you a dick pic?”
I take a few breaths before I answer. “My mom!”
“Chachi?”
“Yes. Should I see why she sent me a dick pic?” I ask Sonia, trying to get out of it even though I should address it or I’ll have to get rid of the phone itself. And that’s wasteful. “Is this something I can delegate to my right-hand human?”
