2016 – Day 23

Start writing a story that...

Step 1: starts with this dialogue: I want you to come with me

Step 2: include a dialogue that begins with: I can read your mind

Step 3: add a scene that takes place: in a restaurant

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"I want you to come with me," Donna says, blotting lipstick on a tissue and then making a duck face in the mirror. "I do. But it's a work thing. I can't just bring a roommate."

"Did they say that?" I ask. I hold the dress I was planning to wear in front of me in the mirror. It looks so cute.

"No, but it's understood."

"But aren't you bringing Grant?"

"Yeah, but he's my boyfriend. That's different." She picks up a brush and starts pulling it through her frizzy hair.

"What about all our discussions of sisterhood? Putting other women ahead of men?"

I raise my eyebrows at her. She stops brushing and looks at my reflection in the mirror.

"I can read your mind, you know," she says. "You're not interested in sisterhood. You want face time with Martha Owenstein because you want the editorial assistant job. You're so transparent."

"Well, since you won't put in a good word for me, I have to do something!"

"Maybe that something should be finding your own job." Donna tosses her brush in her toiletries basket and leaves me standing alone in the bathroom. Half an hour later, I hear the downstairs buzzer and Donna leaves with Grant. I go into the living room and pace for a bit. The job is perfect for me. I'm a serious reader, and it must be said, I run circles around Donna and the other girls at book group. In fact, Donna probably won't mention me to her boss or bring me to the office holiday party because she knows I'd show her up. Which I wouldn't have, if she hadn't been so selfish. I've learned that there's no better support than what you give yourself, so maybe tonight I need to do more to support me. I put on my cute dress and get myself ready to impress.

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The party is being held at restaurant inside the Bryson House Hotel. I have the cab drop me off right in front so I don't have to bring a heavy coat and sweat as I trudge from the subway. A guy about my age stands out front and informs me that there's a private party inside. I smile and laugh and then look super upset as I have trouble finding the invitation in my purse. I drop the names of Donna's coworkers to sound legit. As I start to shiver when the wind picks up, he finally takes pity on me and ushers me inside.

I've only been to the Bryson once before when my parents and aunt came into town. My mom had heard about the place because it was mentioned in a show she watches, so she decided that she had to go there when she came to the city. We went for brunch and were surrounded by an odd mixture of older single women who were all dressed up and a bunch of rich 20-somethings nursing hangovers. The food was okay, but mom thought she spotted a CSI actor across the room, so it was the highlight of her trip.

As I step inside I can see that the place has been decorated for the party. Silver garlands are draped along the oak walls and something else silvery hangs from each light fixture. At first I think it's tinsel, but then I realize it's actually silver chains with snowflake charms. The lights give out a warm glow, casting gentle shadows on the tables heaped with holiday finger foods. I notice Donna just before she sees me and charges toward me.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice low, but there's no mistaking her anger.

"I understand that you feel threatened by me, but you shouldn't," I say, looking past her to find Martha Owenstein.

"You think I feel threatened?" she says. "Is that a joke?"

"I'm not trying to take your job, Donna. I think we'd work great together."

Her face turns a darker shade of red, and she looks rather creepy as the soft lights make shadows across the bridge of her nose. I try not to appear freaked out as I look into her the eyes. We stare at each other for a moment, then she leans in close.

"I've worked here for two years. You've never had a job in publishing. Hell, you've never had a job that didn't involve giving change. Go ahead. Talk to Martha, if you think I haven't wanted to mention you because I feel threatened. You'll see."

She turns around and begins to walk away, then looks back at me briefly.

"Oh, and you need to be out of the apartment by Tuesday."

I watch as she swishes back to the bar and begins whispering with a group of girls I recognize from when she had them over at the apartment. They all stare at me as she talks, their mouths agape and eyes narrowed. I take a deep breath and walk toward Martha Owenstein, who's chatting with other executive-looking types over the shrimp cocktail. I dismiss all thoughts of Donna's insecure rant. I know I've got this.