The early morning rays managed to seep through the scattered clouds and make their way to the wall-sized window of my bedroom. Waking up to such a view is one of the reasons why I decided to live in a penthouse, especially when the view incorporates the beautiful city of New-York and all its skyscrapers. That, and literally being on top of the world, is how I begin my mornings. Beyond the wits and the intelligence, I was still a dreamer, not that I would ever let it show. In today's world, it was better to be bossy, thirty-something-year-old, independent woman than a dreamy-eyed, hope-filled adult who lives in her own bubble of serenity. That part of me I always left behind on the bed because she was too damned innocent to face this harsh, prejudicial world.
I wake up at five-thirty every morning, and after I've enjoyed the breathtaking sunrise, I slip into my tights and sweatshirt, grab my phone and earphones and go for my morning jog at Central Park. I enjoy starting my day that way because it resonates the idea in my head that there is always room for improvement. Life is a race and I'm on my way to being the best version of myself I could possibly be. No one can hinder me or stop me. I am an unstoppable force and I will come with a monumental blow. And being in good-shape is an added perk.
I also enjoy the fact that I could people-watch without seeming like a complete freak. Human interaction is something that deeply fascinates me; especially the way men and women treat each other. Central Park had a lot of early joggers, both sexes, and it was the perfect way to get your daily dose of sexual tension, couple drama and of people trying to convince themselves that they still "got it". A modern Shakespearean tragedy.
Almost everyone in the park was running to the same beat, and they came in different shapes and sizes too. There were dog walkers, body builders, models with their compulsively horny trainers, yoga instructor with his class of cheating housewives, the creepy cellphone guy, the older gentleman and his barely out of high school gal pal. I couldn't help but roll my eyes. I couldn't quite comprehend why men and women would subject themselves to such situations so early on in the morning. It's like they need that boost of confidence to cradle their senseless insecurities.
Well, the women used this jog to soothe their insecurities. Men just enjoy the view. Baywatch has turned into Parkwatch with beautiful ladies flaunting all they've got and gentlemen drooling all over the view, and they weren't even trying to be subtle about it. A guy actually stared me down while he was running alongside another woman. Classic. And the perfect example as to why I lead a prosperous, single life. With chivalry, moral integrity, faithfulness and pure romancing dead, what was the point of being in a relationship anyway? And it's not like I had any real-life idols to look up to when it comes to this matter. It seemed like nothing more than a cry for pain to me.
After that empowering morning jog, I showered and then made my way to my favorite part of my penthouse; my color coded closet. It's like walking into a color-wheel with every shade in the spectrum. A kaleidoscope of colors, if you will. It also happens to be the biggest room in the house. It simply had to be.
I also arranged my attire and shoes in terms of event and time of day. It makes it so much easier to pick out what to wear, makes my closet look so much neater, and so, so pretty. Of all the closets in both the Upper East and West Sides, mine was award worthy. I could give Blaire Waldorf a run for her money.
I was feeling particularly classy this morning, so I went for the classic black pencil skirt and an off-white suit-shirt, tied my hair up in a casual semi-neat pony-tail, slipped into my favorite pair of Loubitons, grabbed my Michael Kors nude clutch and was off to work. That's right; I'm a working girl.
'Good morning, Benji', I wished the driver as I stepped into the car.
Benji's the most loyal human being I've ever met. No matter how much shit I get myself into, and God only knows the number of times, he's always been there to drag me out of any unpleasant situation. He's like the older brother I never had. He handed me my regular cinnamon spiced latte and cinnamon muffin and I thanked him with a warm smile.
Some people get their kicks from coffee, some chocolate, but I most definitely get mine from cinnamon. It's the one spice that could go with anything savory or sweet, and went deliciously well with all my beverages. It was an addiction, and I felt no remorse.
'You look quite chipper today', he said as we were stuck somewhere in traffic.
I had asked him to play Michael Bublé's version of Feeling Good, and I couldn't help but sway in my seat and sing along a little bit.
"And this old world
Is a new world
And a bold world for me.."
'Why wouldn't I be?'
'I wish my wife was half as optimistic as you. Her pregnancy hormones are really bringing out the worst in her', he said between gritted teeth.
I couldn't help but giggle.
Maria was a very sturdy and gruesome lady, unlike Benji who was nothing but a darling. I only met her on a number of social occasions where I invited Benji plus one, and had managed to keep the talk between us to almost nonexistent. Unlike Benji, who believes his wife was only gloomy when she was pregnant, I found her to be not only gloomy when not affected by hormones, but she was also incredibly and astonishingly dull. It baffles me how the two of them ended up married with triplets, who have clearly taken all their mother's genes by the way. Above that, they were expecting another child soon. Hopefully, this one would be all Benji and no Maria.
"It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
It's a new life for me
And I'm feeling... good"
'Maybe I should give her a copy of your magazine', he said as we reached our destination.
I began to tell Benji that there was nothing in my magazine that has covered hormonal, boring women, but I decided that it wasn't wise to make him any more miserable than he already was.
'That, my dear, is a great idea', I winked at him as I exited the car.
I looked upon the skyscraper that housed the empire that I've built from scratch and couldn't help but feel proud of myself.
I was excessively cocky for my own good.
I'm the Editor in Chief of New York's leading female magazine, appropriately entitled "Femme". My magazine is all about empowering women to rely on absolutely no one other than themselves to find true happiness and inner peace. I believe that every woman is a goddess and no man should ever be allowed to steal her thunder or pee around her to mark his territory. We are men's equals, and damn it time and time again we shall prove it. I was taking my feminist beliefs to action with my magazine.
My reader's worship me. All these women know that I lead them through the right path. I am the beacon of hope at the end of the long, dark, scary tunnel that is filled with testosterone. I am all about independency, and in the thirty plus years that I've lived, I have never been proven wrong... ever.
And then that moment of glee went down the gutters when I was greeted by Madison Gilbert; the most incompetent assistant I've ever had. She was replacing my actual assistant, Monica Green, who was on maternity leave. Even though her daughter was an absolute angel, I hated Monica for getting pregnant and leaving me with her sloppy seconds.
'Here's your coffee Miss Fernandez', she said nervously as she handed me the Styrofoam cup.
I stopped dead in my tracks, took off my Ray Bans and stared bitterly into her luminous, hope-filled, hazel eyes. She swallowed hard.
'Benji gets me coffee. You get me green tea with a cinnamon stick with no sugar. The drink is supposed to be in my regular red, polka-dot mug, not this health-hazard of a cup. Haven't I made myself clear already?', I managed to say in the calmest, angry tone I have ever been able to muster.
Monica was the one who hired Madison. Apparently she did it as a favor to one of her friends who knew Madison. I don't know why I put up with her. A limping dog would do a better job than she ever could. She opened her mouth to respond but I was long gone before she could utter a peep. She hurriedly followed me as we went up my private escalator to the 53rd floor. The ride seemed to take forever, and Madison breathing loudly behind me made me want to gag her with the cup she so shamelessly tried to hand me.
The moment the doors opened, I got my first whiff of excitement of the day. My journalists, whom I gleefully liked to call my "dream weavers", were all bustling around trying to get their articles ready for today's meeting. It was such a beautiful rush to know that all the written miracles that were created in these offices started from a dream I had when I was just fifteen.
'Your mother left you a couple of messages', Madison said as she scurried behind me, disturbing my momentary moment of mirth.
'I'll call her back when I have time', which was a lie because I never tried to make time for her.
I swung the door open to my office. The view behind my desk was that of breath-taking awe. The sky was only within arm's reach, and its calm blue brought about the amazing feeling of serenity. People don't usually think of calm blue skies when they think of New York. New York's usually associated with rush hour, amusing Broadway shows and the bustling nightlife of Times Square. The real beauty of New York, however, was its beautiful skies and the attempts of the skyscrapers to graze its surface. The Empire State building stared at me square in the face and showed me that the higher you aim, the greater your achievements.
I remember my father taking me to the observation deck when I was just a little girl. Taking the elevator to the 86th floor seemed like such a dangerous and irrational idea.
'What if we fall?', I remember asking him.
I can't remember what he told me then. All I could remember was the amazing view of New York and the buildings across the horizon took my breath away. I remember thinking then that I didn't care if I fell. I will always rise high up into the sky like the skyscrapers before my eyes.
Madison was still standing by the door shifting her weight uneasily, as if waiting for something.
'Yes?', I asked, not really showing any interest.
'Mrs. Green called and said she'll be here around the time for the meeting', she said very timidly.
I couldn't wait for Monica to come back. She was my backbone. The past couple of months were a nightmare without her. Madison had a hard-time keeping up to pace with what Monica left behind, and I ended up doing most of the work myself while she got me all the wrong beverages.
'Yes, I know', I said and went about checking my e-mails.
But she was still standing there like a puppy waiting to be fed.
'What?', I asked, my temper flaring.
'What happens to me when Mrs. Green comes back?', she whispered as she adjusted her glasses.
I stared at her for a few moments before I answered. The smart choice was for me to let her go then and there. She was incompetent, clumsy and had a horrible sense of fashion. That cardigan with that plaid skirt and knee-length socks made her look like a 90's school girl – and not the sexy, confident type. It made her look awkward and emphasized how unconfident she felt about herself. Didn't she ever pick up one of my magazines? She worked in a building full of them for God's sake. What a waste!
But I'd be going against everything I believe in if I fire her so early-on in her career. There could be some untapped potential in her that could go to waste, and I didn't want to be the one to waste it. God knows this planet has had its fair share of wasted talent.
'You'll be helping Monica', I finally said.
Her mouth dropped open and her eyes fluttered about a million times a minute.
'Really?', she asked, unable to hide her surprise.
'Yes. You'll be her minion. You'll do exactly what she asks of you. Got it?'
I figured Monica could use a helping hand in case she had to leave out of the blue for the baby.
'Yes, Miss Fernandez. Thank you so much', she almost jumped off her shoes.
I showed complete indifference so she excused herself and was about to leave before I halted her.
'And Madison, a word of advice, swipe the plaid skirt with a pencil skirt, and please, oh please, drop the socks.'
She looked down at her attire and frowned before she left my office; my safe haven.
I sorted through some e-mails and caught up on some phone calls for an hour or so before it was time for the meeting. I looked at the million notes that Madison wrote about calling my mother back, crumbled them in my palm and threw them in the bin. Why that woman even bothered with me, I could never seem to tell. She was a very annoying part of my life that I enjoyed keeping a distance from. Of all the things I had going on in my life, the last thing I needed was her negative energy clouding my good vibes.
I grabbed my phone and notepad, and headed to "Meeting Room A" were all the magic happened. I make it a habit to get all my dream weavers to take off their shoes, me included, to keep the positive energy flowing naturally through our bodies. I like to think that it makes us become more productive as a team.
I sat at the head of the table with about a dozen people or so waiting for me to commence. The chair to my right, however, was still empty. Monica was fashionably late.
'Guess whose back bitches', Monica's quirky voice broke through the chatter in the room.
Everyone took turns to welcome her back while I sighed a sigh of relief. Things were finally going to go back to normal. My faith in the world was restored again. Madison followed her around like a shadow. I hope I don't regret keeping her around.
She finally made it to my end of the table. I was more than happy to see her. She still had that glow about her even after she's already given birth. Come to think of it, Monica was always known for being a ray of sunshine. She wasn't your stereotypical, obnoxious personal assistant; she was a perky, lovely brunette that you simply couldn't resist falling in love with at first sight.
'Welcome back, mamma', I said, teasingly.
'I've missed you too', she said and gave me a warm hug.
She smelled like baby powder. I was so glad she didn't reek of any other unpleasant smell that is usually associated when one has a baby around. I silently thanked her.
'Let's get back to business, shall we?', I said as we all took our seats.
'Alright. Fashion, what's new this summer?'
'Swimsuits are taking a darker turn this summer with colors like black, purple and plum. I'm going to teach ladies how to match their skin tones and body types to these darker colors', said Derek, Femme's openly and proudly gay fashion guru.
I trust no one else when it comes to fashion advice.
'And health, how do I fit into these swimsuits?'
'Well, I'm glad you asked. I came up with the best cardio workouts you can do at home, with no equipment, and still get the beach babe bod. It's suitable for working women, stay-at-home moms and they can do it at any place, at any time', said Lilian, the health expert.
'I'd love a copy of that. I still have some pregnancy weight I'd like to shed off', Monica joked.
'Monica, I'd kill to have your body. My wedding is in two weeks and I still have four more pounds to lose', said Selma, the interior design columnist.
I almost snorted. I was allergic to weddings. I was allergic to the whole idea of marriage. I couldn't quite understand monogamy and why coupledom was such a sought after notion in our times. It just seemed like the perfect way to set yourself up for a lifetime of disappointments and get seriously emotionally and mentally, and in some cases physically, hurt.
I started getting flashbacks of my parents fighting. I suppressed them as soon as they surfaced.
Monica stared at Selma for a while before she shifted her gaze to me. I could see the dials clicking in her head. She had an idea and she wouldn't take no for an answer. I knew that look way too well. I knew that look because I taught her that look. I could only hope for the best and fear the worst.
'We should do a wedding issue!', she shrieked.
Her words hung in the air for a while before I managed to fully comprehend them.
'What?', I couldn't believe those words actually came out of her mouth.
What was she thinking? She knew better than to blurt out stupid, nonsense like that. Her post-pregnancy hormones must be messing up with the chemistry of her brain or something. Monica was clearly losing her mind.
'Come on! We're a women's magazine and we have never addressed this matter before', she got on her feet excitedly.
I've been practicing my whole life to keep my emotions in check and use only my head to get through any situation. It's the reason why I have the perfect resting bitch-face. But at this particular moment, I felt like every vein in my body was about to pop – no, explode. A couple of profound profanities coursed through my brain but I was gritting my teeth way too tight to manage to articulate any of them. I could only stare at her with disbelief. The traitor!
'But it's the beginning of summer. We always have the summer edition first', Derek tried to reason with her, although I wished his argument was much resilient than that.
'Summer is also the high season for weddings. It's the perfect time of year to get married, and we should teach women how to do it right. We'll be their guide to the perfect wedding!'
She addressed everyone in the room before she finally had the chance to look at me. The moment she saw the fury in my face her face went pale. She, of all people, should know better than to cross me this way. She, of all people, should know better than to hit all my buttons with her stupid, irrational ideas.
'Over My Dead Body', I stressed every syllable as I pressed my knuckles hard against the glass table and got on my heels.