The Everything Girl

by L. Maleki

  Todd had wanted me to start immediately but I’d stayed strong, telling him I needed the time to find housing and move my stuff from the West Coast. I promised instead to read every manual he gave me. There was no way I could memorize the appropriate buzzwords, move, and start a new job at the same time.

  Plus, I was going to have to deal with my dad. He was going to insist on coming to New York to help me settle into a new place, but really it would be to meet my boss and check out the company. I needed to figure out how to head him off.

  My return trip from PRCM to the SoHo apartment did not give me enough time to come to any conclusions. Gina immediately jumped to a decision, however.

  “Tonight we drink!” she yelled, twerking around the kitchen.

  “Please don’t do that to the table. I eat there.” I shuddered. “I don’t know if I can go out two nights in a row. I had a rough morning.”

  “Fuhget about it! We are celebrating, and you are paying.”

  It didn’t take much to sway me. “Okay, but I’m bringing my laptop. You’re going to help me find an apartment.”

  “Oh, hell yes I am. Now go put on something slutty.”

  By the time I’d perfected my cat-eye makeup, decided to stick with my lucky gold hoop earrings, and found a suitable skin-tight black dress balled up in one of my suitcases, Lucia was home. Gina insisted we go to the same bar as last night. She was up for another night of hitting on Mr. Business in the form of harsh sarcasm and taunts.

  Lucia shrugged. She found attention no matter where she went and so kindly said, “Whatever you would like, Gina. You should wear that red sheath dress, it makes your chest look delizioso.” She waggled her eyebrows.

  I pretended to be blasé but hoped Benji, the photographer, would be there again. I’d left before I could give him my number. I didn’t even tell him my name.

  Thinking of him reminded me of my unused camera. While my roommates finished getting ready, I dug through a pile of belongings in the corner of the living room until I found the unopened box. Shameful, I thought. I could have at least taken pictures for fun, no matter what Dad said. I unwrapped the various pieces. I had no idea what I was looking at—the instructions were created by people from an island country with no written language. I’m going to have to YouTube the hell out of this. I hadn’t used a “real” camera since I was in high school. After I’d agreed to major in finance, I’d dropped my photography dreams and just snapped pictures with my phone like everyone else. Professional camera technology appeared to have made huge leaps in the past six or seven years.

  Putting aside the camera for the night, I soothed my creative urge by posing my friends for a couple of selfies as we headed out the door. I took the time to post them to Instagram from the back seat of the Uber. It couldn’t hurt for Darien to see I was hitting the bars, so over him. And maybe, a quiet little voice said, he will want me back. I mentally punched myself in the head and firmly affixed an image of the cute photographer in my brain. I would love for Darien to be jealous, but the only reason I missed him was because of the companionship. I’d say it was the sex—if it had ever lasted longer than two minutes.

  It was too early for the “good” crowd to show up, but at least we were able to find a table. We agreed tonight we would actually eat before we drank. Except for Lucia. She was just going to smell the food, because she had a show in three days and chose to use her daily calorie allotment on liquor. I could respect that. I guess.

  Good thing I’d remembered to put on the keyboard “condom.” My laptop was fed a steady stream of cracker and prosciutto bits as we researched neighborhoods and apartments. Gina proved herself to be useful once again. As a headhunter, she knew of people who were quitting their jobs, meaning they were also likely moving, and she had no problem sending them emails and texts to check on the status of their residences.

  Jackpot. One of Gina’s clients who’d been offered a job in Germany for a year texted back right away. He didn’t want to give up his rent-controlled Upper West Side apartment, which was close to his parent company. It was against the building rules to sublet, but he was hoping to find someone willing to evade the building management, pick up the mail, and stay under the radar for the twelve months he’d be gone. In return, the rent would be low. He was glad to hear from Gina, though—he’d been leery of subletting to a stranger. He didn’t want to get sued by the owners, or come back to find his place had been used as a meth house.

  “Woot woot!” Gina yelled. “What do you think? Can you kick the crack habit and be invisible?”

  Before I could answer, Lucia gracefully placed her hand on Gina’s phone on the tabletop and slid it to me. “Call him. I know furniture movers, goombas from Little Italy.”

  He answered, but wasn’t thrilled when he found out I’d been employed all of one day.

  “I’ll cosign, don’t worry,” Gina jumped in.

  “Bu, bu, but—” I sputtered. I didn’t want to have anyone else responsible for me. It was one of the reasons I had moved so far away from my father. And Darien.

  “Paris? You still there?” the apartment owner asked over the speaker.

  Lucia pinched my arm and nodded her head with a stern look.

  “Alright!” I hissed, yanking my arm away. I knew I should feel more grateful, to both of them.

  “We good, then?” the apartment owner asked.

  “Yes!” Gina spoke for me again. “This is going to be great.”

  He promised to have papers ready and meet with us tomorrow. Then he said, “Hey, Gina, do you still have that hot model friend?”

  “Actually, she’s sitting right here.”

  “Bring her along.”

  “Do it!” I whispered to Lucia, pinching her back, hard.

  Lucia sniffed, ignoring my counterattack, saying to me, “You must smoke a cigarette tonight. A lit cigarette.”

  “Oh my God, you are a terrible human being, you know that?” Of course, there I was, selling out another woman in exchange for a place to live.

  She smiled evilly, plumped up her cleavage with a confidence in her sexuality that assured me she’d never heard of Gloria Steinem. In a low purr, she spoke into the phone. “We will be there, bello. Ciao.”

  Gina smiled at me, then at Lucia. “Use what you’ve got, baby.” Maybe Steinem hadn’t made it to New Jersey.

  We toasted each other in German a few times before I had to get up to use the restroom. I had not seen Benji, but his magnificent photos were there. To the left of the collection, I noticed a small placard. There was a website listed where clients could buy his work or sign up to take a class with him. A class, I thought. I studied his tiny bio picture. So adorable.

  The server came over to me. “Another drink, hun?”

  “I shouldn’t … but okay.”

  “You like Benji’s stuff? He comes in a lot. Usually Thursday nights. That’s when his girlfriend”—she pointed to a bartender, a bleached blonde who looked like she taught Pilates in her spare time—“is working.”

  My heart fluttered and sank. Just my luck.

  “Thanks. Hey, do you have a light?” I asked, pulling out the Benson & Hedges stick of death.

  I woke up in my underwear and a T-shirt on the living room floor. “Traitor,” I whispered to the narrowly cushioned couch.

  Lucia came out of the bathroom with a towel on her head and nothing else. Except a cigarette. She pointed the burning tip at me. “Merda. You L.A. girls cannot hold your liquor.”

  “Please, you’re killing me over here. Put some clothes on.”

  “Pshh.” She blew a series of smoke rings. “So insecure.” She sauntered down the hallway, slowing as she passed Gina’s room, where weird noises were coming from behind the door. Then suddenly we both heard Gina moan, followed by a masculine voice groaning, “Ride me!”

  Lucia snorted. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” she said over her shoulder, before she went into her bedroom and slammed the door.

  I closed my eyes and laid my ch
eek on the carpet. February fourteenth. I’d been so caught up with the job search, I’d forgotten. You know who probably hasn’t forgotten? Darien and New Girl.

  I cried. I cried until I’d emptied my body of liquid, creating a large wet spot on the rug under my face, like a puppy emptying its bladder. Then I wiped my face, stood up, and prepared for my day in the city.

  Despite suddenly having a well-paying job and an apartment on the horizon, I was in a foul mood by the time I made it back to Columbus Circle. I was hungover again, and dehydrated, and had no male company on the horizon. I had to drop off a copy of my social security card and driver’s license at PRCM—I was going to have to dig deep, act like a normal, functioning human being for a few minutes.

  Before I got to the building, I came across Joe’s Coffee Shop, the café I’d leaned against yesterday. The pink hearts painted on the glass door tugged at my empty tear ducts but I stayed firm. I went in, searching for a cappuccino and some cool marble to rest my face on.

  In a corner booth was Ericka, the woman I was replacing at PRCM. No way. I almost rubbed my eyes, but thankfully stopped myself before screwing up my eyeliner. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of me. I couldn’t duck back out. After a second, she beckoned me over.

  “Wow. Are you following me?” She only half sounded like she was joking. Next to her was a small box. I could see a couple of files, a plant, a framed picture, and random other items you would find on someone’s office desk. Her hands were shaky as she took a drink of her hot tea.

  “Ha ha, no, I’m not following you,” I said weakly, shuffling my feet. “I was just thinking how close this place is to the office, but far enough away I probably wouldn’t run into any PRCM people.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s why I come here. No one from work.” Ericka shifted in her seat. “And by no one, I mean no Frank.”

  “Do tell,” I said, not sure I wanted to hear what she had to say.

  She put down her cup, sloshing tea onto the table. “You’re smart. If you can learn to play along with him, it’s worth your time there. The money is good. Like I said before, you’ll learn a lot.” Then she leaned forward aggressively. “But don’t get sucked in. Have an exit strategy. You need to know what you’re getting into, Paris. I worked for Franklin Coyle for five years. Five fucking long years. He made that place hell. Ninth Circle type hell.” She took a deep breath and shook her head, as if to clear it of visions. “I’m sorry. Maybe you’re stronger than I am.” She pursed her lips. “But you know the girl who I replaced five years ago? She still hasn’t been able to go back to work. She’s thirty and living with her mom and dad. I know because we share a therapist.”

  I murmured cooing noises, my head filling with white noise. I didn’t want to hear that I was about to make a huge mistake. I wanted her to tell me it was going to be fantastic, that I’d made the right decision and working with Frank would send my career on a trajectory to the moon.

  “Oh,” I said. “Umm, I need to get going, I’m late, but nice to see you again …” I backed away.

  “Good luck,” Ericka said as I left the table, but then shouted after me. “Protect yourself! Franklin. Coyle. Is. Lucifer!”

  I forgot to get a drink in my rush to escape. I didn’t need any more buzzing in my veins. My heart couldn’t take it. I practically ran through the heart-covered door.

  My steps slowed as I approached the PRCM building. Staring at the massive set of doors in the dark gray stone facade, I knew once I entered my life would change. I’d be moving away from regular, clearly outlined banking duties to what sounded like a Hollywood manager’s job, making sure the all-powerful moneymaker showed up at meetings and his suits were pressed, his coffee cup filled. Would I be able to learn anything useful, maybe even be mentored, so I could walk away with a background in hedge funds, like Gina believed?

  It kind of felt like Ericka’s version of my future was the more believable.

  I’d been warned. I stood on the sidewalk, the clouds low and dark, getting ready to rain down on me and the throng of lovers heading out for a Valentine brunch.

  I deliver this paperwork to PRCM and I’ll be joined in holy work matrimony to Frank Coyle. My feet didn’t move. I don’t think I’m going in, I thought. Why put myself through the hell Ericka described for an executive assistant position? I could find another job. It might take a while, but I’d get something. I rubbed my temples.

  My cell rang. My father, with his perfect timing.

  “Hi, Dad, what’s up?”

  “Hello! I must wish my special girl a Happy Valentine’s Day.”

  I had missed his soothing voice, his thick Persian accent. “Thank you, Dad. Happy Valentine’s Day. I love you.”

  “I have told everyone about the new job, I could not be more proud. You said in your message you are coming home before you start? Is this today? Are you driving?”

  “I’m supposed to go into the office today, drop off some forms.” Oh, and by the way, I’m already here and I’m thinking I might skip it, find a job scooping ice cream, work double shifts in a sticky apron until I can find a bank job. A boring, boring bank job. “I’m flying out tomorrow, and I’ve hired movers to drive my furniture and stuff back to New York.”

  “Movers! I am not sure I can cover that expense right now.”

  “What do you mean?” I was surprised. “I paid for it—I sold my car. I can’t afford parking here anyway. But why couldn’t you afford that? Is something going on with the business?”

  “No, no, we are fine! I have accounts late on paying their bills, that is all.”

  “You’d tell me if something was wrong …”

  “Come now. You have nothing to worry about.” His voice was firm but I thought I heard a bit of hesitation. Before I could say anything, he continued. “The business is fine. And you are starting your climb up the American corporate ladder! You are a hard worker, smart and beautiful, you are going to wow them. Everyone has to start somewhere. Did you hear about the young guy who invented Life Savers? They say he made a mint.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “I have no idea how you come up with this stuff.”

  “Just be glad you are not trying to get a job in a shoe recycling factory. It destroys soles.”

  “You’ve been sitting on that one for a while, huh?”

  I could hear him grin. “I am proud of you, truly. You will take what you have learned from your schooling and from me and become more successful than I ever was.”

  “Dad—”

  “I have to go, I have a client waiting. You will let me know how it goes today?”

  “I will call you tonight.”

  “I would rather you call me Dad.” He hung up, laughing loudly.

  He’d sounded just a little too upbeat, maybe distracted … He’s fine, I thought. I’d know if something was wrong. I didn’t have the mental capacity to think about my dad right then. I had to figure out if I was moving forward or going backward.

  The PRCM building doors opened from the inside. It was Kwan, the kind security guard, propping open the door for me. “Coming in?”

  Just then, a light drizzle descended.

  I stepped into the office building to hand over my identification papers.

  Chapter 5

  Packing up my old bedroom in Orange County, I realized I could fit everything I owned into a van, especially after I threw away every gift Darien had given me. I did not feel a thing when a giant teddy bear, won at a fair by that slick bastard, went bye-bye. The quilt bed set Darien had bought me was a different matter. It was a hideous shade of old-person blue, and the material stuck to my fingertips, but I’d been held and caressed under that blanket, touched by another human …

  My heart hardened. Darien wasn’t in town. According to friends, he was on a long Valentine weekend trip through Napa Valley with his new girlfriend. A place we used to go together.

  Carrying boxes down to the front porch, I was glad I’d decided to hire someone to drive the moving van
across country for me. Once was enough. I was flying, and I had no desire to waste any time getting back.

  I thought I’d miss my car, but I really didn’t. Parking at my new apartment would be impossible anyway. I’d end up paying more to park a vehicle than I would pay in rent. Besides, I’m a New Yorker now, carless and proud.

  Putting tape on the last of the boxes, I wiped off my hands and then wandered into the living room. I’d miss the tapestries and the grandfather clock and the bright sunlight pouring through the windows.

  Passing my father’s desk, a stack of envelopes caught my eye. The top one screamed Past Due in bold block letters. “Dad! What’s this?”

  “That is nothing. I am taking care of it.” He plucked the envelopes out of my hand. “We eat now.”

  “Why are you not paying bills?”

  He threw the envelopes into a drawer and guided me to the kitchen. “This is nothing. I have been busy. We are close to tax season, you remember what it is like.”

  On the kitchen island, he had piled plates with naan bread, feta cheese, and tea. “Eat, my little Parisa. You are fading away.”

  “Yeah, if only that were true, Dad.”

  “Oh, do not worry, you are perfect. Besides, do you know where they weigh pies?”

  “Dad, no …”

  “That is right, somewhere over the rainbow, weigh a pie!”

  I groaned. “Are you done now?”

  He grinned, his head shiny and perfect. I’d missed him.

  “I am thinking you may need me to come to New York with you, to help with the move,” he said, handing me a Persian almond cookie shaped like Mickey Mouse.

  I had to think quickly. I loved this man but I wasn’t ready for days of his jokes and quizzing my new coworkers and neighbors. Fake outrage. “Dad, I’m twenty-six years old. Are you saying you don’t think I’m mature enough to handle this?! Or because I’m a girl, I can’t figure out how to hook up my cable? Stop being sexist, Dad.”

  He slowly blinked. “No. I think you can call a cable company. Change your own light bulbs, even. What is it? You do not want to spend time with your dad?”