When Tuesday morning arrives, I’m thankful for the distraction. My routine that keeps me steady and distracts me from the chilling image of her in my window, reaching out to me.
Stacking nineteen coffees on my little to-go cart as I pull it slowly through the giant wooden doors of Blackburn Press, one of Hollywood's top PR firms. The tagline on our front door reads ‘Reshaping your story’ in italics underneath the company’s name.
The large clock in the entryway shows my arrival: seven-thirty on the dot. Perfectly on time.
I begin with my usual rounds, retrieving the latest reports from each department as I hand out the coffee. With every variation of “good morning” said to my coworkers, who bluntly ignore my existence.
None of it bothers me today.
Not when my mind isn’t far away from the brown-eyed girl in the window. Fingertips grasping on the windowpane.
A chime sounds off from my computer, signaling an incoming email. The subject line reads “Get me a BRAND NEW suit from AJ Customs by 2 P.M.” to completely disrupt my morning.
Every distraction I have in my head is conveniently replaced with anxiety, dread and fear from getting this email. See, AJ Customs suits take about three weeks to make. A custom suit on the same day for Chris is nearly impossible to deliver on.
I responded to his email, asking if he had placed the order already. A few moments go by before he messages on Slack:What do you think?
Before I can even roll my eyes, I’m sprinting toward the elevator, barely clinging onto my purse hanging off my shoulder.
From the elevator to AJ Customs, it was approximately a thirty minute ride. I knew I was in the right place when my eyes set sights on the brick wall and red door.
“Thank you for the ride,” I say softly as I exit the car and enter the store covered in luxury. At the dead center of the room, I catch a salesman wearing an all black suit.
I’m breathless, getting the words out. “I need a new custom suit today.” It comes out more frantic than I’d like as the salesman looks at me, amused.
“That’ll be two-fifty,” he says to the customer standing next to me.
When the salesman mumbles, “Next,” I eagerly make my way toward the front marble counter again, leaning against the cool surface. “I need a new custom suit today.”
The man says nothing, only exhales sharply with a blank look on his face. He smells like menthols and Axe body spray.
“You know, my boss recommends you guys to every person he knows,Bradley.” I put more emphasis on his name as I read it off the metallic nameplate pinned to his suit.
His voice is pitched higher than the average man as he snaps into a different character than his last customer.
“And who’s your boss?”
“Chris Blackburn.”
“Ah, yes.” He pauses. “I know him.”
“He is willing to spend whatever it costs to get a suit today. He just really needs it today.”
With his simple response, “We value all of our customers, but that’s impossible,” I begin to freak out. All the air I’ve been unknowingly holding inside my chest finally escapes, forcing me to breathe.
“You have his measurements already, Bradley.” I peer over the counter separating us.
“Ma’am, please, stay on your side of the counter.”
My body recoils as I divert my eyes away from the screen, stomping my left foot into the ground as I return to where I was just a moment ago.
“You wouldn’t want to lose a valuable customer that brings in thousands of dollars of revenue a year.”
Bradley just stares at me for a moment before walking away. No words, he just leaves.
Some customer service in this establishment. I plop down in one of their lounge chairs. Scrolling and waiting. Hoping he will come back out with a miracle within the next four hours.
While waiting, I received a play-by-play from my coworker, Lena, on Slack of her recent client charades.
