Deceit
Prologue
I stood silently, trying not to think… absolutely impossible. The flickering lights of Times Square created a mixed blur with the flash of obnoxious tourists’ cameras blinding me. The hustle and bustle of foreigners making their way through labyrinth of avenues and souvenir shops with their hands overflowing with bags was the physical form of a headache. With their bags creating an obnoxious cacophony of rustling resembling to the sound of nails on a chalkboard .As usual the Big Apple’s busiest square was filled to the brim with people of all sorts. A melting pot of the multitude of nations; ten differentiating languages would be heard in a five mile radius. The bona fide example of New York’s most feared would grace you with their presence: Taxi drivers. Irrational and impatient taxi drivers bellow from their bright yellow fortresses at the jay-walking pedestrians. Anything to distract my mind from the horror than happened earlier, that sent my emotions swirling into a knot in my throat; the event that almost brought tears streaming out of my topaz eyes. I can still recall every precise detail, as if it had just been shoved into my face, stinging from impact.
The ever popular booming business of Haute Couture Magazines had recently welcomed me into their family of interns. Knowing that the prestigious gazette had produced many CEO’s and editor in chiefs of now successful magazines, I had enormous shoes to fill. My first task was to book a photo shoot with Vanity Fair’s head editor, the infamous Tammy. The chauffeur opened the door to the black Mercedes with its darkly tinted windows, which was lent to interns by the agency for traveling purposes. Ice cold wind burnt my cheeks turning them into a ravishing shade of rose. I pried the door of the office open and was immediately welcomed by an eager receptionist. “Hello,” she said appearing out of thin air, next to me,” would you like a cup of water, tea, or coffee?”
“No, thank you,” I replied in the most polite tone.
“Very well, Tammy will see you shortly.” she pronounced hesitantly. She disappeared behind her large mahogany desk- its shellac made it glisten like a sullen pool of water. I tuned my hearing to focus on her conversation, but I only heard low mumbling. She restored her flawless posture letting her fingers roll over the white keyboard. In reaction I repositioned myself, to obliterate her suspicions of my eaves dropping. She quickly took to her feet and shuffled in my direction. “She is ready for you now.” called out.
The receptionist (I believe her name was Ella) guided me down the bland earth toned inspired corridors of the office; an occasional bright modern piece of artwork would grace the beige wall. We came to a largely prominent mastery: a fire engine red double door. Using my common sense I immediately figured it led to Tammy’s sanctuary, her first home. The doors themselves were intimidating; my knees were already temporarily buckling under pressure just from the sight of them. Ella slipped through the door with ease; I remained in a statuesque form anxiously, but also dreading her return. I struggled to resist releasing the rambunctious emotions that were about to burst inside of me. What was wrong with me?
I personally did well under pressure; it took a lot of energy to provoke the decomposition of my delicate emotions. The door creaked open and a tuft of wavy chocolate brown hair popped out: “She will see you now.” I felt like my insides were in a washing machine turning and turning over again. Attempting to stop my heavy hyperventilating, I slipped through the door and over the threshold. This was the point of no return.
Flashback
I tried to walk in the most proper manner, a graceful gait, but I still managed to trip over my patent leather flats – humorously they resembled the fiery door I had just walked through; that’s when I caught sight of her. There stood one of the many regal female editors of the century, Tammy Wyatt. “Hello” I said dismissing the fact that her face was twisted into a condescending stare. It was high school all over again, the never ending rivalry between cheerleader and nerd.
“Ella, you may go back to man the desk once more.”
“Yes ma’am.” She uttered quietly as if not trying to disturb Tammy, and turned obeying her orders. The doors shut tight.
“Wow, extremely interesting.” She said in an unnatural suppressed tone. “Of all people she had interviewed she chose you? This is such a joke.” I was going to wither to pieces right before her eyes. Never had my self confidence been undermined so quickly in one swift motion.” Emily Walden,” she whispered to herself in monotone. “You may leave now; I believe you know how to find your way back. Don’t worry I’ll call the magazine and ask them to send a more official person.” Ouch. I turned, walked to the threshold through maze of hallways which seemed three times longer than when I’d passed through them earlier, and out the glass door entrance of the waiting room. I was too gloomy to take the Mercedes and decided to walk the way home which passed through Times Square, where I stand now.
I finally gave up on walking the rest of the way, and took one of the iconic mustard yellow taxi cabs back to my apartment. I rushed to wipe off the evidence of my tears: a slight shadow of smeared mascara beneath my eyes. Through the round compact mirror, I swiped my thin index finger under my eye removing any excess make up. The car came to a stop. “Fifteen fifty miss.” I paid the fare, which was unreasonably high for only a couple blocks. I opened the door letting the frigid air into the small cab, and stepped out onto the grey sidewalk. Norman the doorman greeted me in his usual polite fashion: “How are you today, Miss Walden.”
“I’m fine. Thank you for asking.” I made my way through the vast lobby to the many elevators leading to the residential apartments. I began to quicken my pace to catch a closing elevator door… too late. I pressed the iridescent button with a raised arrow pointing up on it. Ding. The elevator doors behind me opened, I stepped in as many other followed. The crowded space was making me claustrophobic. “Level 18 please, sir.” I said over the heads of the numerous people. After a while the number of people lessened until it was just me. I waited impatiently staring at the metal arrow slowly passing on the dial: 11…16, 17.Eighteen at last. I turned down the hallway and strutted down the carpeted floors to my apartment; I couldn’t wait to step through the door and fall into the cushion of my couch to watch a “feel good” movie, especially after that horrifying incident with Tammy.
Home, Sweet Home
I was greeted by my chipper Papillion, Pierre; his ivory and caramel speckled coat gleaming in a pristine way. Then suddenly around the corner came the only person who got me through the tough days in the fashion world, Chace my trusted boyfriend and alleged best friend. I was madly deeply in love with my best friend and hoped he was too. We’d been best friends since the beginning of time, Ms.Greene’s class-kindergarten. After that we were inseparable, but not quite an item. Chace and I were each other’s dates to all the school dances and proms- still we hadn’t seen each other as more than friends. Our high school, Auberon, had flower sales every year for Valentine’s Day: assorted colors of tulips. Each color portrayed a different message; pink-admiration, red-passion, purple-secret admirer, yellow-friendship, white-love. The past years Chace had always sent me a mixture of yellow and pink tulips showing his admiration for our friendship. But that year turned out to be different. The bouquets of tulips started coming into the classroom and appearing onto students’ desks. I waited for mine patiently. Everyone had their flowers except for me. Suddenly a four foot tower of white tulips was carried into the room and placed beside me; that was the end of the deliveries. Who were the flowers from? I took the card from the top and opened the envelope slowly. The card read: “Will you be my Valentine?” Who could this possibly be from? I thought to myself. Then a name scrawled at the bottom of the card caught my eye. In extremely familiar handwriting was signed Chace. From then on, he was more than just a friend he was the love of my life.
Chace peered into my soul with his emerald eyes beneath his head of disheveled bronze hair. Although I didn’t look as wrecked as I did earlier he still some how sensed my mood. “What’s wrong?” he asked in a comforting voice as he pulled me into an inexorable embrace. His hugs were the ultimate cure to my problems…irresistible. His honest green eyes, a relief to see, were full of utter curiosity but I knew he wouldn’t try to extract my secret from me.
”Nothing.” I said trying to mask the truth. He eyed me suspiciously and laughed.
”That’s such a lie. Do you really expect me to buy that?” he said cheerfully.” But if you don’t want to tell me you don’t have to… so what movie do you want to watch.” He walked over to the shelves upon shelves of our massive DVD collection. Chace still held me close to his athletic body ,arms encircled around me.
“I don’t know you chose,” I refrained,” by the way I will tell you what happened but maybe later”. I grazed the laminated titles of the cases with my free arm, while I waited patiently for his decision.” Why do you even give me the choice of not telling you anymore? You know I can’t escape your charm.”
” I charm you?” he said sarcastically breaking into one of his amazing smiles. “Of course you must know that I love you much more than you think, and can’t resist you.” He squeezed me tighter as if I would try to break free of his embrace and run off. I rotated 180 degrees to face him.
”You really love me that much.” I said in the same joking tone he used. Slipping out of my control, a laugh burst from my full, ruby lips.
”See, I knew I’d get you to laugh.” He gently placed his warm hand over my eyes. “No peeking,” he whispered into my ear. I nodded in reassurance. I felt his left arm leave it’s placement on my small waist as he reached over to grab the movie. Chace played the film while I waited for my surprise like a child waiting to receive a birthday present. We sat on the comfortable couch; I the captive was never released from his unbreakable bear hug. The perfect choice: it was our favorite movie of all time, The Breakfast Club. I rested my head on his shoulder and placed the glass bowl of popcorn between our laps. It was a true Kodak moment, almost commercial worthy. I felt so comfortable around him. I was finally in a place I didn’t have to exert energy to be someone I’m not just to impress my boss. That had made my day, and uplifted my spirits. As I watched the rebellious teens run through the school, I thought to myself. What would happen when I got back to work, would I be fired? I wasn’t sure where my job’s future laid but I was sure of one thing. That Chace loved me and I loved him.
The next morning I arose earlier than usual to get dressed for work. My hair was a mess! It had gone berserk with a mind of its own, going off in eleven different directions. I stepped into the shower of warm water which covered me like a sheet. Our attire was simple, all black with the acceptance of accessories and shoes. I roamed aimlessly through my walk-in closet in search for the perfect “forgiveness” outfit. For today I had to take on the unfair task of proclaiming my apology for not being able to schedule the photo shoot on my own.
I tried for innocent but serious as well: a black high-waisted skirt with a faint floral print Marc Jacobs blouse- which was then separated by a brown belt cinching my waist. I walked over to the kitchen where Chace was leaning on the dark counter smiling. “You look beautiful as always, love.” He drew me closer to him and kissed me on my cheek. We said our goodbyes and he was off to work.
I quickly slipped on my chocolate leather ankle boots, grabbed my orange tote and my thick trench coat, and ran out the door. I worked my way through the crowded lobby to the exit leading to the damp, winter street. “Good morning Miss Walden.” Norman called at me as I approached the glass door.
”Good morning to you too Norman.” I said politely sliding through the door. The weather was unbearable today: feisty winds blowing at high speeds, low temperatures, and lastly lots of rain. I wave my hand out to call for a taxi. Many passed me by already occupied by a passenger. One finally slowed and turned towards the direction of the large building. I hurriedly scurried into the cab.
”Where to miss?” the driver asked.
” 225 Fifth Avenue, please.”
We took off in a rush only to be stopped by a gridlock at the intersection. It was twelve long blocks to Haute Couture Publishing; therefore guaranteeing an unreasonable fare leaving me not surprised when he stated the price.
”That would be twenty-one dollars.” I handed him the cash with ease. “Have a nice day.” he cried. I stuck my stocking leg out the cab door into the cold as I searched for my footing on the slippery pavement. My heart thumped with such a ferocity it felt as if it would beat right out of my chest. I was so nervous to face the ice cold stares of my co-workers, but I walked towards the building anyway.
Enter at Your Own Risk
I walked into the office trying not to slip on the smooth tile of the front office. Flashing my ID to the security guard, he let me in with no problem. So far, so good; over the few months of my internship here at Haute Couture I had made friends with the other employees. The first person I ran into was Jill Martin, she was an intern as well and a good friend of mine. “Hey Jill.” I said cheerfully. But she gave me the cold shoulder, shrugged off my greeting as if she hadn’t heard it in the first place. What was this? Just last week we’d been gossiping about the numerous rumors passing through the office and had even had lunch together. “Oh my goodness, did you hear about Jane and Kyle?” she whispered to me.
“No, what happened?” I said in an intrigued tone.
“Well for starters
Jill didn’t even turn to face me, she just continued to talk to the other girls and pretend that I was completely invisible. I finally gave up on her and walked down the hallway which led to the large room containing the cubicles for the interns.
I felt like a fish out of water, the girl who only knew how to dance the Tango at a Salsa Competition. As I walked my usual short strides to my cubicle, all heads seemed to turn as if I carried some kinetic force. The interns all shared on similar look, disappointment in the form of a hideous glare. I shuddered in my computer chair. The phone rang. “Haute Couture Publishing, how may I be of assistance?” I answered.
”Emily can you see me in my office please?” the womanly voice said; it was Victoria Mange, the editor and my boss. Oh no, I thought to myself. I slid the rolling chair back and swiveled onto my feet. My stride was quick and hasty; it resulted in a jittery motion form the accumulation of nerves that had built up these past twenty-four hours. This was it… the future of my career now laid in the trusting hands of the head editor.
I felt the ice cold stares of my peers stab me like a million daggers flying through the air. Was there truly no end to his torment? I came to the glass doors which I had been dreading to see. I peered through the slightly foggy glass wall. I could see Victoria’s silhouette. Although she was petite and kind, one wrong comment would send you out the door with a box of your belongings cradled in your arms.
Who knew that someone so small could possess such power? I guess big things do come in small packages. Victoria’s appearance was so deceitful covering her infinite amount of power over the press. One minute you could picture her as being your best friend and the next you could be out the door and unemployed. She had expertise at hiding her emotions, a skill I wished to possess but. Victoria was a mystery to this agency, her decisions obsolete, quick, and unsusceptible. If deceit was weapon, Victoria would be one of mass destruction.
I was shuddering in fear. I reached for the door and pulled it slightly. Her head of pixie-like brunette hair looked up. She smiled- or was that a cover-up for the worst to come?. “ Welcome Emily, please sit down,” she said sweetly pointing towards the modern grey arm chair in front of her with a delicate finger. I obeyed her order and sank into the chair.
