media accounts. It was surprising how many companies had not yet embraced the benefits of onIine marketing and, even worse, the many that had but were doing it all wrong. We were in high demand, so much so that Lila was looking to compile a fourth team and she’d need someone to lead it. I was hoping that someone would be me.
That meant more than late nights and working on the weekends. It meant staying on top of the latest social media trends and figuring out ways our clients could use them to connect with their customers. I’d already had my work recognized in several team meetings, doing nothing to raise my popularity with the other assistants. I told myself that they were just intimidated by my hard work, but Myra suspected it was because of my race. It didn’t matter to me what was behind it, I didn’t let it stop me. Lila and I had hit it off immediately. She knew what it was like to work harder just to get the same rewards given so easily to male executives. She didn’t let the inequality stop her from getting what she wanted, and recognized that I didn't either.
Lawrence had made a nice sounding board to come home to, and I would miss that: someone there at the end of the day who would listen to you, sympathize, rub your back, and then make love to you until your toes curled.
Snap out of it, Chloe.
Inner-self pep talks kept me sane.
Pull yourself together, Ms. Brooks. You will get through this, even if it is the worst week ever.
***
I considered staying in bed all day Saturday. It didn’t seem like such a bad idea to pull the covers over my head, cocoon myself in the new comforter from Bed, Bath and Beyond, and lie there until my mind realized that my body wasn’t moving and resigned itself to sleep again. Then I remembered that I had charged that comforter to my overdue VISA card. One thought led to another and they all seemed to lead to my financial situation.
I wasn't poor, but I wasn't exactly living like a Kardashian either. The savings I had tucked away were nothing to get excited over. There was no way I could afford to pay the next month’s rent on my own, at least not without making some sacrifices—like food—and I’d become accustomed to eating regularly. If I were forced to pay for the apartment alone on a long-term basis, I’d quickly deplete my modest savings. My top priority had to be finding a new roommate even though I wasn’t looking forward to living with a stranger.
Grace had been a temp for B&L when I learned the rent was being raised on my Greenwich Village studio. She came to my rescue and told me she was looking for a roommate. A rent-controlled midtown apartment was damn near impossible to find anymore. The landlord, Mr. Tucci, was a nice enough man with clear rules: one person per bedroom (that meant don't even think about having three grown-ass folks living in a two-bedroom apartment), no loud music after ten at night (weekends included), and he expected the rent in full the first of each month. If your roommate moved out, well boo-freakin'-hoo, rent in full on the first, please.
I was allowed to find my own replacement as long as he was able to meet them and check their references. If you were over twenty-one, had a job, and weren’t wanted for any crimes, you were basically in. I placed an ad in a few papers and on Craig’s List, hoping for quick responses. It had only been a few days since the ad first ran, but I was getting a little discouraged; I hadn’t received any inquiries.
Once I’d established that hiding in the bed wouldn’t provide a solution, I dragged myself to the bathroom. After a long shower I threw on shorts and a tee and went down to the small lobby to grab one of the newspapers provided each day, compliments of Mr. Tucci. Over a cup of tea, with my feet propped on the coffee table, I thumbed through the pages. During the week when I was preparing to go out and face the big bad city I needed a
That meant more than late nights and working on the weekends. It meant staying on top of the latest social media trends and figuring out ways our clients could use them to connect with their customers. I’d already had my work recognized in several team meetings, doing nothing to raise my popularity with the other assistants. I told myself that they were just intimidated by my hard work, but Myra suspected it was because of my race. It didn’t matter to me what was behind it, I didn’t let it stop me. Lila and I had hit it off immediately. She knew what it was like to work harder just to get the same rewards given so easily to male executives. She didn’t let the inequality stop her from getting what she wanted, and recognized that I didn't either.
Lawrence had made a nice sounding board to come home to, and I would miss that: someone there at the end of the day who would listen to you, sympathize, rub your back, and then make love to you until your toes curled.
Snap out of it, Chloe.
Inner-self pep talks kept me sane.
Pull yourself together, Ms. Brooks. You will get through this, even if it is the worst week ever.
***
I considered staying in bed all day Saturday. It didn’t seem like such a bad idea to pull the covers over my head, cocoon myself in the new comforter from Bed, Bath and Beyond, and lie there until my mind realized that my body wasn’t moving and resigned itself to sleep again. Then I remembered that I had charged that comforter to my overdue VISA card. One thought led to another and they all seemed to lead to my financial situation.
I wasn't poor, but I wasn't exactly living like a Kardashian either. The savings I had tucked away were nothing to get excited over. There was no way I could afford to pay the next month’s rent on my own, at least not without making some sacrifices—like food—and I’d become accustomed to eating regularly. If I were forced to pay for the apartment alone on a long-term basis, I’d quickly deplete my modest savings. My top priority had to be finding a new roommate even though I wasn’t looking forward to living with a stranger.
Grace had been a temp for B&L when I learned the rent was being raised on my Greenwich Village studio. She came to my rescue and told me she was looking for a roommate. A rent-controlled midtown apartment was damn near impossible to find anymore. The landlord, Mr. Tucci, was a nice enough man with clear rules: one person per bedroom (that meant don't even think about having three grown-ass folks living in a two-bedroom apartment), no loud music after ten at night (weekends included), and he expected the rent in full the first of each month. If your roommate moved out, well boo-freakin'-hoo, rent in full on the first, please.
I was allowed to find my own replacement as long as he was able to meet them and check their references. If you were over twenty-one, had a job, and weren’t wanted for any crimes, you were basically in. I placed an ad in a few papers and on Craig’s List, hoping for quick responses. It had only been a few days since the ad first ran, but I was getting a little discouraged; I hadn’t received any inquiries.
Once I’d established that hiding in the bed wouldn’t provide a solution, I dragged myself to the bathroom. After a long shower I threw on shorts and a tee and went down to the small lobby to grab one of the newspapers provided each day, compliments of Mr. Tucci. Over a cup of tea, with my feet propped on the coffee table, I thumbed through the pages. During the week when I was preparing to go out and face the big bad city I needed a
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