SOMETIMES THEY GO CRAZY Maryanne Murphy anxiously waited for the elevator to reveal the thirtieth floor and recited a silent prayer : Please God, let this be my day, Amen. She deserved to have a day. Every day belonged to Stewart since the divorce last year. She incessantly worried that somehow he would sabotage her success at work, or try to destroy any chance of her being happy with another man. But what Stewart really wanted was their dog Gia. Maryanne won custody of Gia in a bitter and highly publicized court battle; the local headlines invited all to watch the delicious spectacle of young love that had grown old so ungracefully. She remembered the late nights, holding Gia on her lap in the living room, fearful that Stewart would try to break into the house. Everyone in the neighborhood remarked how tired and pallid Maryanne appeared in the artist's rendering of the coutroom shown on the nightly news. The artist later apologized for the sickly complexion. He had run out of brown paint and had to do his best with the white and yellow. Maryanne accepted his apology and was delighted when he let her keep all the sketches as a consolation. More suits forced their way on to the elevator. The chatter escalated and Maryanne could not help but notice that she was the only one without someone to gossip with. While everyone else shared their weekend stories of dinners and movies, she pretended to be mesmerized by the numbers flashing red above the silver door. "I hear they're going to choose this week," said a woman wearing an imitation Donna Karan suit. After five years at Haute Couture fashion magazine, Maryanne could easily identify the impostors -it was all in the stitching. When she started working for the magazine as an intern, she had to wear the fake suits. But now, as she surveyed her own Donna Karan suit for wrinkles, lint, or general flaws, everything was authentically perfect. Maryanne could smell the melange of designer perfume and good fortune in the stagnant air. Maryanne woke up that morning as the "Senior Editor, Sittings and Beauty," but hoped to leave in the evening as the "Senior Editor, Fall Fashions." Ever since she had written a blurb about Capri pants for the fall fashions issue-her first assignment as an intern-she always aspired to take over as senior editor. But Gigi Delaney, who dined with the designers and wined with the models, had always been the senior editor, and who would even dare challenge her fashion acumen? Maryanne was content to merely contribute ideas to help Gigi formulate her vision for the issue. Now, she felt dizzy at the prospect of becoming the eyes of fall. The position suddenly fell vacant after Gigi left the magazine to be closer to a thirty six year old tennis pro she met at www.soulmate.com. No one in the office had heard anything from Gigi since she left; Maryanne was slightly concerned, but not enough to divert her attention from the sparkling prospect of a promotion. After stopping at every other floor from the ground to thirty, the doors slid open to reveal the brown marble foyer of Haute Couture. Behind the desk sat Sharon the intrusive receptionist. Between answering phone calls and replying to emails, she tried to convince herself she was important. Every day, she attempted to coerce Maryanne into a conversation with the lure of her candy dish and gossipy one line teasers like: "Did you hear about the new guy in sales?" or "Did you hear about what happened to Amber?" Usually, Maryanne just glided right by, trying to get to her office before her boss Leyla had time to register her late arrival. But the main reason she never stopped to stuff herself with sweet gossip was because she knew that inevitably the conversation always returned to her crazy ex-husband as the true north of the office rumor territory. Last month, Stewart pranced into the office screeching the words to "I Will Survive," and just last week he called all of Maryanne's friends threatening suicide if she did not grant him at least partial custody of Gia. A well-tailored outfit camouflages almost every insecurity. But somehow, Maryanne could never escape the degrading and oppressive feeling of standing on the outside of the inside joke. Her presence in the doorway choked humming rooms silent. So far, Stewart's antics never hindered her career goals. Leyla always respected her decisions and her creative intellect even if the whole office watched Maryanne like they watched the day time soaps-with gluttonous curiosity but zero respect. But recently, Stewart had become more intrusive, and Maryanne feared she was losing Leyla's esteem. "Good morning, Maryanne," Sharon said, trying to lure her with the plat du jour from the gossip menu, "I hear this week she's going to choose the new editor of fall fashions. Are you feeling the pressure?" Undeniably, Maryanne felt the pressure, and resented that she should be reminded of it by someone whose only encounter with pressure was trying to decide which kind of candy to put out. Maryanne usually paused to smile, and steal some candy, but today she had no time for even perfunctory courtesy. "Nope," she lied, and hurried to her office, determined, focused, but light-no pressure. She threw open the door to her office, hoping to savor a frothy cappuccino to prepare herself for Leyla's daily briefing. But all the stops on the elevator made her just late enough that she would have to forgo the caffeine crutch and try to remain poised in front of Leyla, who already sat behind Maryanne's desk. She drank the cappuccino that should have been Maryanne's, leaned back in her chair and rested her high-heeled Ferragamos on the desk top. Continued... [return to main page] |