door. He knows it’s me, because I am the only one who comes to his door in the middle of the night.
“Hey,” I say and we swap double air-kisses—not so much because we are fabulous, but because we are both part of the fabulous world and love/hate it together. I drop into my “spot,” his extremely cozy chair-and-a-half and slip my shoes off. “What’s shakin’ bacon?” he asks.
“Oh this and that,” I say.
“And which this are we upset about now?” He looks up from the photos he’s looking through on his table.
“Actually, none at all.”
And this time he turns from the table and walks right up to me.
“Lane, am I sensing that you are happy?”
You know what? I am. And although it is somewhat to do with the possibility of meeting a man, it’s much more to do with a sense of purpose. I have a big responsibility and I feel something I haven’t felt in a while—great. “I am, my darling.”
“Well, I’m uncorking the bubbly. It is definitely time to celebrate,” he says. Chris keeps these fabulous champagne glasses in his apartment, which he only uses on the most special occasions, and he pulls them down from the rack above his sink now.
“The special flutes?” I ask.
“My darling, I am so glad to have you back.”
It’s amazing how much you take your friends for granted sometimes, when you can’t think of anything but being alone. But, when you get out of that horrible stage and into life again, for 21430_ch01.qxd 1/26/04 10:04 AM Page 43
D i a r y o f a Wo r k i n g G i r l 43
some reason, they are still there and willing to forget how insuffer-able you have been.
So, I tell Chris the whole story and if it’s possible, he is more excited about it than I am. And, unlike Joanne, Chris has been to the Traveler’s Building and has seen the throngs of men walking around. “You, my dear, are going to have a blast,” he assures me.
The rest of the evening is spent in a thoroughly enjoyable fashion—playing poker using a currency of Polaroid shots of bare-chested male models Chris will be shooting next week.
“I’ll raise you one Tyson.”
“I’ll see your Tyson and raise you a Marcus and a Scott.”
You might not understand the value of one over the other, but believe me, we surely do. It only takes eyes, and we have been playing this game for so long that we don’t ever dispute the worth.
During fashion week, when others are taking pictures of the clothes to remember the looks they’d liked when order or article-writing time rolls around, Chris and I snap faces, asses and, if visible, bare chests that we’d like to order.
21430_ch01.qxd 1/26/04 10:04 AM Page 44
T h r e e
You’re Gonna Make It After All
Two cups of coffee and fifteen cigarettes into the following morning, I am faxing my resume to the Financial Professional Recruiting Agency, to the attention of a Ms. Banker. When I telephone an hour later to make sure that she has received it and to schedule a meeting, the first thing I ask is, “Isn’t it such a coincidence that your name is Ms. Banker? Do people ask you that all of the time?”
“I’m not sure I know exactly what you mean, Ms. Silverman, but I think we have more important things to discuss.”
“Do you have something for me, then?” I knew it. See, when you just put your mind to it, you can do absolutely anything. So quick and painless. Success, love, riches, here I come.
“Not so quickly, Ms. Silverman. Do you think people trust the Financial Professional Recruiting Agency because we throw just anyone into positions at the finest financial institutions in the city?”
Is this a trick question? “Er, no?”
21430_ch01.qxd 1/26/04 10:04 AM Page 45
D i a r y o f a Wo r k i n g G i r l 45
“That’s right. First we’ll need you to come in and perform some computer skills tests. You do know Word, Excel, and PowerPoint, correct?” When I was typing Excel and PowerPoint into the computer skills section of my resume, I was a bit worried,
“Hey,” I say and we swap double air-kisses—not so much because we are fabulous, but because we are both part of the fabulous world and love/hate it together. I drop into my “spot,” his extremely cozy chair-and-a-half and slip my shoes off. “What’s shakin’ bacon?” he asks.
“Oh this and that,” I say.
“And which this are we upset about now?” He looks up from the photos he’s looking through on his table.
“Actually, none at all.”
And this time he turns from the table and walks right up to me.
“Lane, am I sensing that you are happy?”
You know what? I am. And although it is somewhat to do with the possibility of meeting a man, it’s much more to do with a sense of purpose. I have a big responsibility and I feel something I haven’t felt in a while—great. “I am, my darling.”
“Well, I’m uncorking the bubbly. It is definitely time to celebrate,” he says. Chris keeps these fabulous champagne glasses in his apartment, which he only uses on the most special occasions, and he pulls them down from the rack above his sink now.
“The special flutes?” I ask.
“My darling, I am so glad to have you back.”
It’s amazing how much you take your friends for granted sometimes, when you can’t think of anything but being alone. But, when you get out of that horrible stage and into life again, for 21430_ch01.qxd 1/26/04 10:04 AM Page 43
D i a r y o f a Wo r k i n g G i r l 43
some reason, they are still there and willing to forget how insuffer-able you have been.
So, I tell Chris the whole story and if it’s possible, he is more excited about it than I am. And, unlike Joanne, Chris has been to the Traveler’s Building and has seen the throngs of men walking around. “You, my dear, are going to have a blast,” he assures me.
The rest of the evening is spent in a thoroughly enjoyable fashion—playing poker using a currency of Polaroid shots of bare-chested male models Chris will be shooting next week.
“I’ll raise you one Tyson.”
“I’ll see your Tyson and raise you a Marcus and a Scott.”
You might not understand the value of one over the other, but believe me, we surely do. It only takes eyes, and we have been playing this game for so long that we don’t ever dispute the worth.
During fashion week, when others are taking pictures of the clothes to remember the looks they’d liked when order or article-writing time rolls around, Chris and I snap faces, asses and, if visible, bare chests that we’d like to order.
21430_ch01.qxd 1/26/04 10:04 AM Page 44
T h r e e
You’re Gonna Make It After All
Two cups of coffee and fifteen cigarettes into the following morning, I am faxing my resume to the Financial Professional Recruiting Agency, to the attention of a Ms. Banker. When I telephone an hour later to make sure that she has received it and to schedule a meeting, the first thing I ask is, “Isn’t it such a coincidence that your name is Ms. Banker? Do people ask you that all of the time?”
“I’m not sure I know exactly what you mean, Ms. Silverman, but I think we have more important things to discuss.”
“Do you have something for me, then?” I knew it. See, when you just put your mind to it, you can do absolutely anything. So quick and painless. Success, love, riches, here I come.
“Not so quickly, Ms. Silverman. Do you think people trust the Financial Professional Recruiting Agency because we throw just anyone into positions at the finest financial institutions in the city?”
Is this a trick question? “Er, no?”
21430_ch01.qxd 1/26/04 10:04 AM Page 45
D i a r y o f a Wo r k i n g G i r l 45
“That’s right. First we’ll need you to come in and perform some computer skills tests. You do know Word, Excel, and PowerPoint, correct?” When I was typing Excel and PowerPoint into the computer skills section of my resume, I was a bit worried,
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