Hot Mess (10 page)

Realizing that the waitress was not going to give him a degree of fishiness, he said, “Fine. I’ll have one order of those and a Michelob Ultra.”

I ordered the salad and a soda, and when the waitress came back a few minutes later with his beer and my Diet Coke, I examined the glass to be sure that it was spittle free.

I slurped as he launched into a “back when I used to be fraternity president” rant that lasted all the way through the busboy clearing the plates. The check finally came, forcing Derek to stop talking about his 1987 keg stand record as he picked it up and looked over the tab.

“Em baby, looks like your share is going to be about thirty-five clams.”

My heart stopped. I had to pay? I thought that first-day lunches were on the company. Where did I hear that? Maybe
Office Space
. I silently cursed Hollywood for feeding the youth overglamorized versions of reality and started to really panic. After my designer day-planner purchase—fine,
fake
designer day-planner purchase, but it still cost
real
money—I only had about fifteen bucks left in my wallet. Maybe I could work some sort of IOU out with Derek.

Derek must have been able to sense my budget breakdown and he started chuckling. He pointed at me with finger guns and whooped, “Gotcha! Of course this is on me. That’s the first thing you’ve got to know about me. The Dorf is a jokester, Em. But don’t try to pull anything on me, girlie. No one can out-prank The Dorf!” He slid his AmEx into the check folder. “Like you could even pay for this. You’re probably getting paid peanuts for this internship, right?”

My boss just punk’d me? There had to be a rule against that in some kind of company manual or corporate regulations video.

“Actually, Dorf, I’m not getting paid anything.”

“Wow! That sucks! And it’s
The
Dorf, Em. Not just Dorf. You got that, kiddo?”

I had to consciously try to keep my lunch down as he said “kiddo.” It was going to be a long summer with this guy.

Once we were back on our floor, Derek led me through the maze of printers and cubicles to my little work area.

“Emma, you’ve got to get a computer log-in name and password,” Derek told me. “Well, actually, I probably should have done that for you before you got here. But I didn’t. So call the tech geeks and have them come up here and set you up.” Then he disappeared into his office, slamming the door behind him.

“Okay, The Dorf. Thanks for lunch,” I said to his closed door.

Derek gave me no clues as to how to get in touch with “the tech geeks,” so I cracked open my cell and dialed Ms. Pavese. Her number was in my phone from the first interview, and even though she was the frostiest bitch I’d ever encountered, she really was the only person that could tell me how to get in touch with the company’s tech team. And without some sort of MySpace or IM distraction, I could already tell that eight straight hours of The Dorf might kill me. Ms. Pavese was of course annoyed that I called, but she seemed more pissed that Derek hadn’t asked for my computer to be set up. She said that she’d take care of it and that someone would be up soon to help me.

Hours with nothing to do but read my saved text messages went by before the tech guy actually showed up. By the time he had finally logged me in, it was pretty much the end of the day. All in all, it was a first day that did not bode well for the rest of my summer.

At 4:59, I said a loud goodbye to Derek’s still-closed door and bolted out of the office. Rachel called at five o’clock exactly and we both decided that we were way too tired to do anything. Neither of us had been up before eleven a.m. since school ended two weeks ago. A 6:55 wake-up call was going to take some getting used to. We decided to meet at home and order in.

By the time I dragged myself through the front door, Rachel had already settled in on the couch and ordered for us, orange chicken, brown rice, and some egg rolls. Totally what I wanted. She was psychic—we were so Hilary and Haylie, except one of us wasn’t busted and talentless.

I dropped onto the couch right next to her and asked her about her first day as we waited for the fried Chinese-y goodness to arrive.

I was expecting her to have a similar my-boss-is-a-freak-and-my-job-is-more-boring-than-a-coma day, but she was actually amped about her internship. “It was awesome. My boss, Jamie, is so cool. She’s like twenty-three and has a nose ring. And it turns out that the website isn’t a lesbian thing, it’s a modern feminist blog. I always get lesbians and feminists confused. And it’s like a good brand of feminism. It’s more ‘Yay, women’ than ‘Let’s cut off all their dicks,’ you know?”

I sat up from my slump in the couch. I was so excited for her. The Sirlie internship sounded amazing. But I couldn’t stop myself from comparing it to my gig with Sergeant Psycho. What had I gotten myself into?

“I mean, there’s going to be a lot of admin work, like I had to go to Starbucks to get coffees for this meeting. But then I got to sit in on the meeting, which was awesome! And by the end of the summer, Jamie said that I should be up to the level where I’d get to write some copy and maybe even edit some stuff.”

“Did any girls hit on you?” Jayla asked as she came out of her room to join us in the living room.

“Nope! I was just telling Emma that it’s feminists, not lesbians. They’re really different. Well, kind of different.”

But Jayla wasn’t done with her lezzie rant. “You know what girl hit on me once? You’ll never guess who.”

“Who?” we both shrieked.

We scooted over and Jayla sat down. “Well, let’s just say that I was feeling experimental, okay? And I’m not going to name names, but the evening involved a certain hard-partying, exhaustion-prone, A-list starlet, four bottles of Cristal, and some very naughty Sidekick pictures that ended up on Perez Hilton. Well, like only for a hot second. Daddy threatened to sue and he took them down pretty fast.”

“That was you?” I squealed. “I totally remember those pics! Jayla!”

“I know, I know. But I’d just broken up with this guy, Carter, and…” She trailed off, her face darkening before she shook her head. “Anyway,” she said with a sharp sigh, “I was on the rebound. Nothing really happened. Those pictures were way worse than reality. How was your internship, Em?”

I filled her in on my day with a little less enthusiasm than Rachel. “Today was so boring it made
March of the Penguins
look like a Jackie Chan film. And my boss is totally weirder than I thought. His name is Derek Dorfman but he wants me to call him The Dorf.”

“Wait, he really said to call him The Dorf?” Jayla asked.

“I know, I wouldn’t believe it if I were you either. But seriously, it happened.” I kind of felt like I was telling a ghost story, except it was more frightening because it was really happening.

“Kind of like The Hoff?” she asked, still not believing that an adult could be this douchey.

“Yeah, just like that. Except The Dorf doesn’t have the
Baywatch
six-pack. He’s got one of those pregnant-man bellies going and he wears his khakis way down low, so that his entire gut sticks out over his belt.” I didn’t even mention that Derek had a beer at lunch and probably was an alky like The Hoff, too.

“That’s hot!” Rachel said in a perfect Paris/Jayla impersonation. I laughed, but was still really bummed about how my internship had turned out.

The phone rang and Rachel told the doorman to send our delivery guy up. I went to the door to get the food and it was the same delivery guy who’d served me Chinese food for the four nights I was abandoned by Boy Crazy over there.

“You no call last night,” he said, handing over our cartons.

Fabulous! I moved to the city hoping to meet socialites and Prince Charmings over fruity beverages and the only person I’d managed to make an impression on so far was the Chinese delivery guy.

Nine

W
ithin a week on the job with The Dorf, I’d decided that working for him was some form of karmic punishment. For what, I’m not quite sure. It could have been for all the times I farted on the school bus and then blamed James Messaine. By fifth grade, he had transferred schools. Or maybe for the time I stole a lip gloss from the M.A.C. counter at the mall last spring and then gave it to Rachel as a birthday gift. I don’t know. But really, I could have committed a felony and had a better summer than this. At least in jail I’d be working out.

On Friday morning, I got to MediaInc and sat down, preparing for another eight hours of Googling myself and everyone I knew.

“Yo, Em.” I immediately tensed at the sound of Derek’s voice. “You hungover today?” he bellowed loudly enough for the entire floor to hear.

What was he talking about? I hadn’t had a drop to drink since the baby sip Jake let me sneak at my birthday celebration. “No, Derek. I’m not even old enough to drink.”

“Really, Em? ’Cause you look mighty hungover.”

Look hungover? I looked the exact same that I did every morning that week, tired and bored, but definitely not hungover.

He leaned into my cubicle, his gut cascading over the fabric-covered fiberglass wall that separated my cube from the mail cubbies. “Because I remember when I was your age. I used to party all the time.” When he said “party,” he kind of shimmied, which I assumed indicated that back in his day “partying” actually meant grotesquely fat men moving their shoulders.

“You partied last night. Don’t think you can put anything past me, okay?” And then he did the two-finger point to his eyes and then to mine that I’d only seen pedophiles on
Law & Order
do. “I’m watching you, Em.” I wanted to give him a swift kick in the gut but instead just avoided eye contact and went back to my self-Google session. He chuckled to himself and then marched off to find someone else on the floor to torment.

Eight hours of Derek was exhausting, but when I came home every night, Jayla and Rachel would insist that I relive the daily Dorf incident, and there always was one. I kind of hated that they thought my daily pain was so funny, but at least it meant that someone was getting something of worth out of my lame internship. I certainly wasn’t.

That night, before I’d even shut the front door behind me, the nightly Dorf recap ritual started. “How was work, babe?” Jayla asked, fully knowing that work was never anything but miserable.

I threw my purse on the floor and sank into the armchair. My clothes were sticky and clinging to me from another million-percent-humidity day. “Ugh. You guys are going to love what he did today.”

I saw them both lean in closer, like this was story time at the public library. “So he calls me on the phone, even though I seriously sit six feet away from his door, and is all, ‘Come into my office
stat
! I have a great opportunity for you.’ I was all, Stat? Is this the ER, Dr. Doofus? So, I close the Fall Out Boy video I’m downloading before it’s finished and hustle the three steps to his office. He’s like, ‘So, Em, wanna make some extra cash?’”

I rolled my eyes. Just reliving this was making me nauseous.

“He’s going to start paying you?” Rachel squealed. God bless her.

Jayla joined the game of What Scent of Douche Was Derek Today? “He’s pimping you out to one of his fogie friends?”

“No!” Sadly, though, I could totally see that happening. “Babysitting! He wants me to babysit his three kids. He’s all, ‘Five dollars and fifty cents an hour, tax free, Em. It’s more than you’re making here. Plus, there’s probably some pizza in it for you.’” The shock on my roomies’ faces was enough to know that I wasn’t wrong in thinking that Derek was insane.

“Five fifty?” Jayla asked, stunned. “That has to be against labor laws, right? And would that even pay for the taxi ride to his dirty Jersey neighborhood?”

I nodded, surprised that Jayla had any concept of minimum wage. “I know. Re-dic. And then he was like, ‘Get back to me. You know my door’s always open.’ And then, as soon as I turn around, he says, ‘Em, could you close my door on your way out?’ I swear, sometimes I think I’m on
Candid Camera
or something.” And I really had looked around for hidden cameras that day.

The two of them laughed. “It’s like you work in
The Office
!”

“Yeah, but it’s not half an hour every week. Eight hours a day, every day—even with Steve Carell, that wouldn’t be funny.” I slouched down further in the chair, being as dramatic as possible, and turned on the TV.

Jayla interrupted my channel-flipping and came over to me. She petted my head like I was a lapdog. “Babe, why don’t you just quit?” she asked sweetly. She really didn’t get that not everybody can be a citizen of Jaylaville. Some people’s parents expect more from them than not destroying a million-dollar apartment over a summer.

I hated to break her glittery illusion of my financial situation, but I couldn’t help myself. “Oh yeah, good idea. I’ll quit and then ride away on my unicorn made of gumdrops and puppy dogs. My parents would kill me if I quit. And worse, they’d cut off my allowance. So we’d all be shit out of luck, because that means no one would be paying my rent.” Jayla nodded, feigning comprehension. But I was realizing that when it came to work or money, she totally didn’t have the slightest sense of reality.

I let her continue to pat my head—it was kind of like a massage. If I took this internship one week at a time, maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. I was ready to stop thinking about my job and start up some hardcore friend hang-out time. But just as I was going to ask the girls if they wanted to On Demand a movie, I noticed that Rachel was getting up.

“All right,” Rachel said, rising from the couch. “I’ve gotta start getting ready. I’m meeting a JDate guy named Jason tonight. He described himself as a Jewish Tom Welling.”

Another night alone? This was not happening.

Jayla cooed to Rachel, “Oh, JDate Jason, you are faster than a speeding bullet. More, more, more powerful than a locomotive. Mmmm.”

“Shut up.” Rachel chucked a throw pillow at her, and Jayla started fake making out with it and calling it Jason. “So not going to happen tonight. And I totally don’t want tonight to crash and burn like last night.”

“Wait, what happened last night?” I asked, realizing that I hadn’t seen Rachel since before work yesterday. “You went on a date and didn’t even e-mail me about it today?” Hello! I’m sitting in a cubicle prison all day watching Parkour videos on YouTube and she had real gossip that she didn’t spill right away! What kind of best friend was she?

“Oh, sorry. I just didn’t even want to talk about it. I was so grossed out. Like, it was a good date. We went to this concert at Irving Plaza because I had free tickets from work. And then we got Mister Softees and sat in Union Square Park. It was cute.”

“So what was the problem?” Jayla asked from her side of the couch, putting down her pillow lover boy.

“Oh, well, he walked me home, which was good. But then he was all over me and totally wanted to come upstairs. And like, I’m looking for a boyfriend, so I can’t just be a slut who makes out with every guy who buys me ice cream.”

Jayla’s eyes widened in shock at Rachel’s definition of what constitutes sluttiness. I think her perfectly curled lashes actually touched her brows. I sat there shocked myself, but more because I still couldn’t get over the fact that Rachel was dating and not letting me in on every single detail of it right away.

The two of them went to their respective rooms to pretty up for their evenings. I changed out of my black pants that were starting to get a little rank from daily wear and assumed my typical position on the couch. In sweats with my cell poised for takeout ordering, I waved to Rachel and Jayla as they left for their dates.

Once the door slammed shut, I sighed to myself. Another evening alone with my two new boyfriends, takeout and TiVo. I was starting to wonder just how different my summer would have been had I stayed in Bridgefield. My parents had DVR and my mom could whip up a mean stir-fry, so what was I experiencing here in the city that was new?

I pulled out my journal. I flipped through an entry I’d written in Bridgefield, back when Brian and I were still on. I couldn’t believe that I was the same girl who had scrawled seven pages about Brian’s prom. The lilac dress. The limo. The flask that we both sipped from. I hadn’t let one little detail go by undocumented. Seven pages on one night! I’d actually referred to his prom as “the best, most glamorous night of my entire life!” Gross. Had I really called sharing a hotel room with five other couples and not being able to use the bathroom all night because Warren’s date was puking glamorous?

After the trip down Emma and Brian lane, I put my pen to paper and began to detail more of my New York summer. I started with my life flashing before my eyes when I was lost in Brooklyn and then moved on to venting about my days at the internship—mostly about Derek. Writing about the office horrors was even better than telling the roommates. Like, cathartic or something. I’d barely gotten through my terrible fish taco lunch with The Dorf and I already had eight pages. Wow, that was more than I wrote about “the best, most glamorous night of my entire life!” I guess that even the bad days in New York were more interesting than the most glam evenings back in Bridgefield.

The doorbell rang and my Chinese delivery friend was there with my order. After paying him, I settled back into my spot on the couch and pulled the carton of lo mein out of the I
NY plastic bag. I glanced over what I’d just written and realized that even though I wasn’t living the Carrie Bradshaw dream, this summer was still shaping up to be kind of kick-ass in its own way.