advice is so good I find myself wondering if Swen is gay, rather than a womanizing playboy. I shake the image from my mind. It’s nice to have him on hand for a fantasy or two, when one is needed.
As if sensing my hesitation, he leaves me with, “Don’t forget I’ll always be your M&M.”
Just how many times have I called him?
After I hang up with Swen, I try the voice mail again. This time I listen to hear the instructions, “Please enter your password,” before keying in the numbers. “You have six new messages,” the au-tomaton female says on the other end. Six. That is amazing.
Perhaps wind of my success has gotten out and now everyone wants me to write for them. I’ll probably be sent directly to Paris and Milan to cover the fashion shows. I’ll have to get a vanity case and Evian Mist to travel with on the plane. I’ll probably be Anna Wintour’s best friend by summer. She’ll be sending me e-mails informing me, before anyone else is aware, that gray is the new black.
If I’m that busy, maybe I won’t have to do the Cosmo piece after all.
One: “Lane, pick up, it’s Mom.” Or, maybe I will have to do the Cosmo piece after all. Two: “La-yne, c’mon. Just pick up the phone.” She never quite comprehends the fact that voice mail, unlike an answering machine, does not allow you to hear the person as they leave a message. Three: “Lay-ne, I’m getting very worried about you. It’s bad enough that I have to worry about my daughter being all alone in the world. You who never thinks any man is good enough for her. I wish I could sleep soundly knowing that 21430_ch01.qxd 1/26/04 10:04 AM Page 41
D i a r y o f a Wo r k i n g G i r l 41
you are with James. I hope you’re happy because my heart is palpi-tating. I might wind up in the hospital. Pick up.” (I smile here. No matter how irritating, and awful, it is still nice to know that somebody is worrying about you.) Four: “Lane, I’ve called all of the police precincts in your area to find out if you are okay. Call your mother!” Five: “Lane, the hospitals haven’t heard anything from you either. Call me!”
I don’t even bother considering a phone call. This is just what my mother does. She’ll have forgotten all about it in the morning.
She hasn’t really called the police or hospitals. She just says that for effect. This is her way of convincing me to get back together with James, accept the fact that he is a good, decent man—the perfect type for marrying. She wants me to settle down already, instead of filling my head with “unrealistic fantasies named after crisp chocolate candies.” I’m just ready to skip past message six, which, if history serves as any sort of indication, will probably have to do with the fire department, when Joanne’s voice comes on.
“Lane, I’m on my way home, and I just want to make sure that you know—before you stay up all night worrying about this whole thing—that you can do this. You will do this. Just have confidence in yourself. I’m not saying the whole predicament isn’t a bit ridiculous—because it is—but I think it will do you good to get out among the living again and see that you are a fabulous, worthy woman. Now go to sleep.”
How very un-Joanne. But, how very needed and appreciated. If I ever felt the urge to use that awful expression, now’s the time—
Grrrl power!
Despite Joanne’s fabulous advice, I am not yet ready to go to sleep. I haven’t seen Chris in way too long, and the last few times I have, I’ve been a horribly selfish girl, only thinking about myself and my problems. A visit is in order. So, I grab my keys and head 21430_ch01.qxd 1/26/04 10:04 AM Page 42
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D a n i e l l a B r o d s k y
up to his apartment. He doesn’t sleep, which serves as a thoroughly awful condition for him, but serves as a wonderful condition for me, should I wake up in the middle of the night, unable to get back to dreamland.
“Come in,” he screams when I knock at the
As if sensing my hesitation, he leaves me with, “Don’t forget I’ll always be your M&M.”
Just how many times have I called him?
After I hang up with Swen, I try the voice mail again. This time I listen to hear the instructions, “Please enter your password,” before keying in the numbers. “You have six new messages,” the au-tomaton female says on the other end. Six. That is amazing.
Perhaps wind of my success has gotten out and now everyone wants me to write for them. I’ll probably be sent directly to Paris and Milan to cover the fashion shows. I’ll have to get a vanity case and Evian Mist to travel with on the plane. I’ll probably be Anna Wintour’s best friend by summer. She’ll be sending me e-mails informing me, before anyone else is aware, that gray is the new black.
If I’m that busy, maybe I won’t have to do the Cosmo piece after all.
One: “Lane, pick up, it’s Mom.” Or, maybe I will have to do the Cosmo piece after all. Two: “La-yne, c’mon. Just pick up the phone.” She never quite comprehends the fact that voice mail, unlike an answering machine, does not allow you to hear the person as they leave a message. Three: “Lay-ne, I’m getting very worried about you. It’s bad enough that I have to worry about my daughter being all alone in the world. You who never thinks any man is good enough for her. I wish I could sleep soundly knowing that 21430_ch01.qxd 1/26/04 10:04 AM Page 41
D i a r y o f a Wo r k i n g G i r l 41
you are with James. I hope you’re happy because my heart is palpi-tating. I might wind up in the hospital. Pick up.” (I smile here. No matter how irritating, and awful, it is still nice to know that somebody is worrying about you.) Four: “Lane, I’ve called all of the police precincts in your area to find out if you are okay. Call your mother!” Five: “Lane, the hospitals haven’t heard anything from you either. Call me!”
I don’t even bother considering a phone call. This is just what my mother does. She’ll have forgotten all about it in the morning.
She hasn’t really called the police or hospitals. She just says that for effect. This is her way of convincing me to get back together with James, accept the fact that he is a good, decent man—the perfect type for marrying. She wants me to settle down already, instead of filling my head with “unrealistic fantasies named after crisp chocolate candies.” I’m just ready to skip past message six, which, if history serves as any sort of indication, will probably have to do with the fire department, when Joanne’s voice comes on.
“Lane, I’m on my way home, and I just want to make sure that you know—before you stay up all night worrying about this whole thing—that you can do this. You will do this. Just have confidence in yourself. I’m not saying the whole predicament isn’t a bit ridiculous—because it is—but I think it will do you good to get out among the living again and see that you are a fabulous, worthy woman. Now go to sleep.”
How very un-Joanne. But, how very needed and appreciated. If I ever felt the urge to use that awful expression, now’s the time—
Grrrl power!
Despite Joanne’s fabulous advice, I am not yet ready to go to sleep. I haven’t seen Chris in way too long, and the last few times I have, I’ve been a horribly selfish girl, only thinking about myself and my problems. A visit is in order. So, I grab my keys and head 21430_ch01.qxd 1/26/04 10:04 AM Page 42
42
D a n i e l l a B r o d s k y
up to his apartment. He doesn’t sleep, which serves as a thoroughly awful condition for him, but serves as a wonderful condition for me, should I wake up in the middle of the night, unable to get back to dreamland.
“Come in,” he screams when I knock at the
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