October 4, 2013

writing - chapter 2 {updated}

It's Friday again, girls and here's the third part of my le petit experiement. I've made a wee change to "the ex-boyfriend's" name because I felt using the name Nathaniel / Nathan / Nate on him was an absolute waste so I've revised the cheating turd's name to Todd ... simply because it reminds me of a toad. Childish, I know but I am now living vicariously off my little experiment.

I've also managed to convince myself that the lead male will {for now} be named Nathaniel Ian Sinclair after a good long hour scouring for strong regal names while the female lead's name is Amelia Paige Hayden. All names are in tribute to the awesome feedback I've been receiving with a little bit of Ian Somerhalder thrown in and mashed around for good measure :-)

Here's where the bad news comes in. I'll have to break Chapter 2 into three parts because I'm not quite liking how it's turning out at the moment {I can hear the 'cussings coming from my three girlfriends, right about now}. I will be posting the continuation in the coming days when I hopefully, feel comfortable with it.

Updated the chapter and will post the next chapter next week! Phew ... who knew trying to figure our Manhattan could take so long!

As always, I would love to hear your feedback and comments ... pretty much what you think, in general or in detail or whatever pops into your mind. Thanks for your time, again!

“Listen to this – Nathaniel Ian Sinclair, youngest son of Dr. Joseph and Catherine Thane-Sinclair is one of West Coast’s most eligible bachelors. A millionaire at 24 and a billionaire by 27 - this young man is extremely private when it comes to his personal life. Sources close to the dashing Mr. Sinclair has let leaked that he doesn’t do the girlfriend scene; only dates for public appearances sake, which opens doors to speculation that he might be gay.”

“Can you believe this blogger!? Nathan Sinclair is most certainly not gay! I refuse to believe that he is – it would be sacrilegious if it were true.”

“Does it really matter if he were? Miller Wentworth and Matt Bomer are two very handsome men who are gay, yet all is still well with the world.”

My best friend folds the top of her laptop down half way and gives me her evil stare; the one with a look of intense disapproval and disappointment at me radiating from her eyeballs.

“Thanks for the reminder! I’m still devastated about Miller Wentworth. How many more hot men do we girls have to lose to the guys?” She turns her laptop to face me. “Look at this and tell me if it’s not huge loss if he were playing for the other team?”

I glance at the screen. It’s a full length photo of Mr. Sinclair from a private dinner he supposedly attended last week, casually dressed in a fitted white shirt tucked out from his black jeans. I’ve seen photos of him before but I’ve never really paid any attention to them. I do however at this moment have to admit that he is quite good looking and it would be quite devastating for womankind if he were gay.

“Why are you reading up on the Sinclair dude?”

“Helena wants to feature him in our February edition but I guess you already know that. I just thought I’d catch up on some updates before I meet him.”

“You’re very optimistic that he’ll agree - he is after all extremely private.”

“I don’t see how he can say no. After all, Helena is a very good friend of his mother’s and we all know whatever Helena wants, Helena gets.”

“Hmm, sounds like someone I know.” I get another round of the evil stare from Danielle but choose to ignore it.

“Crap! It’s quarter to. I better get that woman her damn cup of coffee before she fires me.”

“I’ll come with you. I need another fix.” I get up from my chair and grab my bags.

“You drink way too much coffee in a day for your own good, you know?” Danielle scolds while attempting to squeeze the MacBook Air into her Marc Jacobs.

I roll my eyes at my best friend who in all intention means well but can be quite bossy sometimes. “Yes, mother”, I replied and bee-lined for the counter before she could throw something at me.

“Hi. We’ll have to go, a quad grande extra hot caramel macchiato for her and an iced double tall half caf 2 pump mocha peppermint mocha Frappuccino for me, please.”

“Seriously Mia, Nathan Sinclair is so dreamy. Aren’t you the least bit curious what goes through that gorgeous head of his, what kind of girl he really likes ... blondes, brunettes, redheads ... me, perhaps?”

“Nope.”  The evil stare switches on again.

A little over a year and a half ago, Lady Gaga woke me up rather rudely with some Dolce&Gabbana and Alexander McQueen. It was a ringtone I’d set to a particular set of numbers and hadn’t expected it to ring ... ever.

“Hello?” Groggy and grouchy, I reach for the clock on the side table and squint at its pale blue digits. Are you kidding me – six thirty in the bloody morning?!

“I’m calling from Verge for Ms. Hayden.” The voice on the other end of the line was firm but patronizing and absolutely saturated with disapproval that I was still sleeping. I was annoyed that this snooty woman could make me feel guilty for sleeping in with just seven words.

Hey! I wasn’t sleeping in. What else would a college student who just graduated last week and is at this very moment, jobless do at six thirty in the bloody morning? Wait a minute ... did she say she was calling from Verge?

“Uh ... this-this is she.” I spluttered.

“Good morning, Ms. Hayden. I am Ivy from Human Resources at Verge.” Oh, my giddy aunt ... did I just splutter?

“Congratulations, Ms. Hayden. Verge would love for you to join us as an assistant to one of our editors. Can you come in Tuesday next week to sign and confirm the necessary papers?” Ivy lost me at congratulations. My brain takes a few more seconds to fully power up and process everything she just said.

“Ms. Hayden, are you there?”

“Uh ... yes. Yes, I am.” I smack my forehead with the palm of my heads. Stop sounding like an idiot, Amelia Paige Hayden! You graduated with honors and have just been offered the job of your dreams in one of the most influential fashion magazines in New York City. Now wake the hell up, sound intelligent and intelligible!

Right, intelligent and intelligible. “Tuesday is fine.”

Ivy proceeds to inform me a list of documents that was required and that I was expected at the Human Resources Department by nine in the morning.

“Welcome to Verge, Ms. Hayden. I will see you Tuesday morning.”

Ten minutes later and in the middle of the living room of our tiny apartment, two crazy women were jumping up and down while hugging each other, euphoric with excitement. Danielle too received a call from Ivy and was offered the position of junior Fashion Assistant.

After Tuesday morning and a week of packing up and saying our goodbyes to friends in Ohio, we spent a couple of days with our parents in Philadelphia and then drove towards the concrete jungles of New York City with Jay Z and Alicia Keys blaring in the background. As much as I was going to miss Todd, then – the bastard – everything was falling into place and I couldn’t wait to start a brand new chapter of my life.

We weren't due in to Verge for another two weeks so we spent the time getting our bearings down pat during the day via Google, Google Maps and on foot. We learned that Manhattan was basically laid out in a grid-like design. Avenues ran north-south and streets ran east-west; odd numbered streets ran west while even numbered streets ran east; to go downtown, head to the nearest avenue towards the lower street numbers; to go uptown, head the opposite direction.

During the night, we relied on all 6 seasons and 94 episodes of Sex in the City, both its movies, The Devil Wears Prada and Confessions of a Shopaholic to help us prepare for the Miranda Priestly-like bosses and Alicia Billington-esque colleagues. We also snuck in the latest season of The Vampire Diaries – Danielle needed her weekly hybrid fix and I just wanted to drool over a certain brooding vampire while battling with long distance relationship withdrawal symptoms.

Then, the morning of the first day in our dream jobs came around. We’ve had two weeks to float back down to planet earth and ready ourselves for what an ex-Fashion Assistant at Elle termed as a whole load of shit storm coming our way – you know, the usual; demanding bosses, bitchy colleagues, an insane amount of running around, the outrageous and unreasonable datelines. We were as ready as we could ever be as we stepped out of the front door of our apartment building into the crisp cool morning air in the Upper West Side of New York City.

The office building that houses Verge is in Midtown and located in one of Manhattan’s prestigious and prominent commercial addresses – the Rockefeller Center. We made our way via subway without a hint a drama ... unlike our attempt at driving to the office. According to Google, it was only supposed to take us approximately ten minutes versus the half hour via subway. All we had to do was head towards Columbus Avenue, turn right onto Central Park West and take a left onto 79th Street Transverse which goes through the park. After that, take a right onto 5th Avenue and another right onto West 49th Street. The Rockefeller Center would on further down the street, on the right. Well, let’s just say that after quite a bit of “… are you sure?”, on my part and a lot of censored bleeps, on Danielle’s part - we won’t be driving to work or anywhere near Uptown, Midtown or Downtown Manhattan anytime soon.

As soon as we stepped foot into the pristine lobby of Verge, our lives changed forever.