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“Yes, sir. I try.” She smiled back as she left the office.
* * *
Maria Kant-Benowitz was waiting for Anne when she stepped into her office. The daughter of her mother’s best friend, Anne and Maria had been friends since the cradle. Literally. Currently, she was dressed in an ivory chiffon pleated skirt, matching blouse, and deep hunter green dress jacket that was definitelynotoff-the-rack. She was delicately perched on the edge of one of the two chairs in front of Anne’s desk. She glanced up when Anne walked in.
“Finally,” she sighed, as though sorely put-upon. Watching Anne round her desk and sit down, she frowned. “Why are you still in that ghastly uniform?”
“I had to pull a lunch shift and didn’t have time to change,” Anne sort-of fibbed. She didn’t want to bring up the weird impromptu “date” with the senator. Maria had been after Anne to find a man for months and she’d be like a dog with a really big, juicy bone if she told her.
“When are you going to give up pretending to be normal and find a rich investment banker or senator or tech billionaire to marry? Then you can be a lady of leisure who lunches and sits on the boards of charities.”
“Like my mom?” Anne asked, rolling her eyes. “We’ve had this conversation.”
“I know,” Maria, drawing out the words in exasperation. “It’s just because I’m truly bored without you.” Maria had British relatives and enjoyed emulating them. She said Americans were fools for an accent. Her diction and accent were precisely upper-crust without being Queen Elizabeth. “You won’t believe the affairs my mother drags me to.” Her voice was just short of a pout.
“So take Brian with you.” Anne shuffled through some messages that had been left on her desk. Brian was Maria’s husband just short of two years who doted on her as if Maria had hung the moon and stars. He was also one of those investment bankers she’d mentioned.
“Brian is alwaysworking,” she said. “And he’s an introvert. He can’t be bothered with the crowds.” She waved her hand in an elegant gesture of dismissal.
“Is that why you’re here?” Anne asked. “You want to drag me to something?”
Maria’s pout turned into a brilliant smile, lighting up her perfectly smooth skin and blue eyes. “You’re lovely, darling. I knew you’d come.”
“Hold on. I haven’t said yes. I just correctly guessed your intentions. You’re as transparent as a bubble.”
“It’ll be fun,” she wheedled, leaning closer. “It’s afashionshow! We get to strut our stuff down the runway, makeup and hair done by professionals, modeling the very latest couture, wearing Jimmy Choos and Louboutins. Tiffany’s is even letting us borrow loads of jewelry. All for charity, of course.” Another wave of her hand.
“Of course,” Anne said, her voice dry.
“Come, come, don’t be like that,” Maria chastised. “No being all holier-than-thou just because you have ajob. You still have your duties to the community and one of them is assisting charities. So, I expect you to put on your Big Girl Panties and crack on.” One perfect eyebrow arched as she leveled a hard look at Anne.
Anne sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ve just had a bad day today. This job is…more difficult than I’d expected it to be. Too many people that I can’t help. It wears me down.”
Maria’s eyes turned sympathetic. “I’m sorry, darling. That must be rough on you.”
“It is what it is,” Anne replied with a shrug. She took a deep breath. “Okay, when and where?”
“Excellent,” Maria beamed. “Tomorrow night at the W. Be there by four to have time to get your hair and makeup done and be dressed. There’s a lovely cocktail party afterwards and we can catch up. It’s been too long.”
She stood and blew a kiss before flowing out the door in a gauzy veil of expensive perfume.
# # #
That afternoon and Friday passed in a blur. Anne had to trade shifts at the restaurant because she’d been scheduled to work Friday night. She did call her mother back and promised to be there Sunday afternoon for the tea…wearing something not off the rack (as her mother again reminded her).
She scurried home to her tiny apartment and climbed the three flights to the top floor. She mightily wished they’d fix the damn elevator, especially when she was hauling in groceries.
As always, when she walked into her apartment, she thought again of why she was doing this. It would be so much easier to live off her parents, find a rich husband like Maria had said, and live her life.
But a part of her wanted to prove to herself that she was more than that. That she had more use, more value, than to be arm candy to a man. And part of that was being able to survive on her own. She just really wished the rent in D.C. wasn’t so damn high.
Heading for the sink, she dumped the coffee she hadn’t drunk from her go-cup and ran the water. The water didn’t drain.
Shit. Sometimes surviving on your own was really overrated.
Anne dug out her cell and called the super. “Hey, Tony, my kitchen sink is clogged,” she said.
“It’s after five on a Friday,” he said, his voice thick with Jersey and Bronx. “You know I don’t work on the weekends, sweetheart.”
