1
Natalie
“Are you really wearing that skirt to work?” Sierra asks as soon as I stroll out of the bathroom.
Sierra is a great roommate and even better friend. We both just finished our freshman years at the New School in New York City, and we adore Manhattan with its bustling bar scene, millions of coffee shops, and the rush of people going to and fro. I don’t even mind the tourists, to be honest, even if they do walk at the pace of snails. They’re a nice change from the regular New Yorkers who seem to talk too fast and always be stressed. But no harm no foul because this is the city that never sleeps, and there’s a place for everyone here.
Meanwhile, I’m afraid that my roommate has caught something.
“Why? Did I leave the tag on?” I ask, craning around to pluck at the waistband of my skirt with a frown. “I know I do that sometimes.”
Sierra sighs and smiles.
“Nats, you know it’s not the tag because you actually wore that out to the club the last time we went. But that’s the point: it’s a clubbing skirt and insanely short! You can’t wear it to work,” she admonishes. But I just smile and shrug.
“Oh okay, just that? No worries, girl. I appreciate your concern, but it’s actually going to be fine. I work in a cubical in the back of the office and the only person who ever sees me is this other disgusting intern, Harvey, who has the worst breath in the world. Besides, I chose this skirt because it makes me feel cute and the least I can do is to feel cute if I have to deal with Harvey all day,” I say with another smile as I rummage through the kitchen looking for something to eat.
Sierra giggles then.
“Ok, short skirt it is then, even if it makes the gross guys come running, and not the other way around. But you’re so lucky, Nats! I wish I had an internship at a place like Crane Technologies.” She makes a face. “Spending the summer waitressing at Le Coq Au Vin is just making me depressed. Every person who comes into the restaurant is slim, beautiful, and looks like they just got off the Concorde from Paris. I feel like a frumpy out-of-place weirdo and it’s even worse because they make us wear those funny berets. My head is too big for those things!”
I laugh but then fix her with a stern look.
“You are a beautiful, sexy, curvy woman, Sierra, so stop putting yourself down. Plus, at least you get to eat good food at Le Coq Au Vin. I’m stuck rummaging through the break room for snacks and then sneaking them to my desk like a criminal. I wish I made more money, even if I’m just an intern,” I say in a sad voice.
Sierra nods.
“I know, I know, same here. I mean, look at our apartment. We’ve made it cute, but still. This place can’t be more than four hundred square feet.”
I nod ruefully because it’s true. The two of us share a tiny one-bedroom apartment that we’ve partitioned into a two-bedroom using a fake wall. But the wall’s paper-thin (not that we’re bringing home boys or anything) and we barely have a living room as a result. The kitchen is minuscule and almost resembles a toy kitchen that kids play with, and it’s impossible to shut the bathroom door without making sure the closet door is closed first. We’re packed in like sardines, me and Sierra.
But it’s okay. We’re good friends and we both love art and life in the city. What could be better? So I merely smile and grab a granola bar from the cupboard before tearing the shiny foil wrapper. But then my roomie shoots me a sly look.
“Sooooo … have you met him yet?” she asks with a smile.
“Who?” I ask, pretending I don’t know.
She giggles.
“You know! Mr. Hot Boss himself!”
I laugh again.
“Rowan Crane? No, not yet. In fact, I’m so low on the totem pole that I doubt I’ll ever get to meet him. I’ll keep fantasizing about it though because he is a hot boss for sure. Most CEOs are seventy with comb-overs, but I agree: Mr. Crane is definitely gorgeous.”
Sierra melts a bit as she stares into space.
“He’s so dreamy. I’d literally die if I worked with someone that good-looking. Honestly, Nats, I’d do anything he asked of me,” she says while playfully sucking on the banana she just unpeeled.
“Sierra!” I exclaim, going red. “You can’t be serious!”
My friend just pops the banana out of her mouth before giving it a lascivious lick.
“What?” she asks airily. “I would! I’d give him something to think about that’s for sure.” Then she frowns. “But I bet he dates air-headed actresses and socialites who bore him to death. He needs a nice normal girl,” she says with conviction. “Someone who will keep him grounded.”