22
The law of attraction works for me because I’m the boss.
A YEAR LATER
“If we use this necklace with that blazer, it will offset the neutral balance, which is what we want for a good contrast," I explain to our new intern.
Tracey takes the clothes I hung on the clothing rod and wheels it over to the trailer.
“The clouds are coming in soon, so if we can get this shot, we'll wrap things up for today. Do you need anything more for tomorrow's scene? They told me you were all set for the week, but wanted to make sure." Kurt, the film director I'm working with, has been awesome these last couple of months. He took me in with no prior (true) fashion experience and kept me under his wing until I proved myself. I was happy to be working with Lacto Natural Central last year but I felt like I was going nowhere fast. Considering I don’t have much of a desire to sell breast milk, I kept my eyes open for new job opportunities. It was the first time I had the freedom to search for a job rather than have to find one before money ran out. It turns out, taking my time to find the right job is way better than scurrying around, and I didn’t have to worry about becoming a stripper again, so it was a win-win.
“I have everything I need, but thanks for asking." Kurt pats me on the shoulder and walks off, hollering at one of the camera guys in what sounds like a different language as he shoves his cigar back in between his teeth while walking away from the wardrobe area.
I finished reading the damn book that preaches about attracting all of my wants in life. When I let it all soak in, things turned around. At least I can say, I have the job of my dreams, working on a TV set for a new series with a signed two-year renewal contract. However long this gig lasts, I get to put Television Fashion Coordinator and Consultant on my resume, which is more than I could have hoped for with job number four.
If only my dating life didn't blow chunks, I'd buy copies of that book for everyone I know, but I swear there is a chapter missing from the book because the man of my dreams is not in my life at the moment, and I've been patiently waiting.
Wesley learned how well I can play hard to get, and it was unfortunate that I explained to him the exact method I used to make sure there are no unclear messages left behind. I disappeared. After helping Layla find a “sane” roommate, I moved out and have been keeping a low profile at my dad's in Somerville, which is just a short commuter train ride into the city.
I had been so consumed with my life and I didn't know my dad was going through troubles of his own too.While Mom moved on with her life, Dad was suffering with depression and hadn't found a way to stand on his own after he and Mom moved away from each other.
We needed each other,and I formed a new relationship with him that was long overdue. We kind of helped one another find new directions. Now, he has a lovely girlfriend, and I have the job I've always wanted. Therefore, it turns out that this past year was a chance to find what I needed all along.
Now that I have the job, my single-status is underlined and highlighted, but I‘m okay knowingthere is plenty of time for me to find a compatible human being to settle down with, and I repeat that to myself each day, trying to remain positive and hopeful. At least, it's been helpful to watch my dad find love later in life. The chances for happiness are endless, unlike career changes, so that aspect of life is in my favor.
I won't lie and say living it up by being single, or that my patience isn't wearing thin, but the book's disclaimer states that some “wants and needs" do not appear until the right time.
“Want to get a drink after we're done?" Erin asks. She's our onset makeup consultant, so we have spent a lot of time together.
“Yeah, why not? I have nowhere to be tonight," I tell her.
“You never have anywhere to be. That's why you're my drinking buddy."
“I'll take that as a compliment," I tell her.
“You know, this section of town is known for the rich, hot men, so maybe we'll get lucky tonight."
I'm supposed to be positive at all times with this sensitive subject, so I force a smile. “Good thinking. You never know, right?" I still want to say I'm on a forbidden list, and all men just know to stay away from me, like I have a poison label tattooed on my forehead.
Erin whips out a brush from her pink tool belt and attacks me with bronzer, eyeshadow, and ten other things she's shuffled around. I try to whine my way out of her hold, but she's stronger than I am.
Ten minutes later, I feel a thin layer of shit on my face, but find her smiling at me like I'm a fine piece of art hanging on a gallery wall. “Beautiful."
“See what a little makeup can do?" I joke.
“Shut up. You're naturally beautiful, blah blah blah. I'm just enhancing your already perfect features, blah blah blah. You're getting closer to thirty like the rest of us, bitch. Suck it up." The bluntness is why we get along. It's a wonderful trait to share between friends.
Here we go, another failed attempt, number … God knows how many, on finding a good guy. Maybe if I try to use pickup lines and do the wholelean on the bar and stare into their eyesthing before speaking, I'll have more luck. Erin hasn't had all that much luck with that tactic, but I haven't tried it out yet.
“Three o'clock, no wedding ring, sitting alone. Go, go, go," Erin mumbles into my ear. He doesn't even have a receding hairline, what are the odds? I strut over with my plan of attack and lean my elbow into the bar, waiting for the man to turn his head and face me. He's in a suit like most of the other men in here, and I assume he's dreaming about numbers or sale figures instead of women right now.
I clear my throat, encouraging the man to twist his neck toward me, and the moment we make eye-contact, my heel folds in. I fall to the floor, but not without hitting my head on the bar first. Shit.
“Oh crap," Erin shouts. “Mads, are you okay?"
I cup my hand around my head and look up toward the hanging pendant light that's shining in my face. “Yeah, I'm okay," I tell her.
A hand wraps around my arm and pulls me up to my feet. When our eyes meet,my heart flutters, my stomach twists and turns (probably making horrible hunger noise, which is thankfully being drowned out bythe music playing), but I don't fall again at least. “Maddy?"
