Crossing Figures

Monday morning. I stood in front of the red light. And now that I overslept myself, I didn’t have time to wait. Ideally, I would now rush between all the cars , so I’d still get a phone call from Miss Prada when I reached the crossing of the church and the grocery store, so I could wander a bit around at Starbucks to relax. But now I didn’t have the time for that. Great.

When the light turned back to green, cars slowly started to flow forward again. Just as I wanted to kick hefty on the accelerator so I could tear through the orange like crazy, the light jumped back to red, and it felt like the light started to laugh at me straight in the face.

Frustrated and cursing, I hit the steering wheel with my flat hand, of course, right on the horn. A shrill, loud sound blasted out of my much loved car and other drivers gave me a bewildered look. Ashamed, I sank a little further away into my chair, until my mobile phone started to go off in my expensive Gucci handbag. Hastily I began to grab the giant bag with an eye focused on the traffic light, and finally snatched my mobile phone as it was still ringing out of a side pocket.

Just as I pressed the green button to pick up my phone, the light jumped back to green and I whizzed by it like a street racer, the other cars I left miles behind me.

"Hello, you are speaking to Lux Nicholls."

“Finally! I thought you’d never answer!”

I sighed and cursed under my breath that this time she also wanted a latte coffee from her favorite store Starbucks. Couldn’t she ask someone else to go get her daily caffeine?

"Sorry, I couldn’t find my phone in my purse," I replied still polite. "But how can I help you, Mrs. Peterson?"

Peterson was Miss Prada's real name. Many company members had trouble remembering her name, because the nickname was used more than ever now that we were busy with one of the most major deals ever and she was making everyone scared. Thierry almost mentioned the Prada name into Mrs. Peterson’s face, but had quickly brought up an excuse with some Prada handbags he had seen somewhere in a shop. Thank god Thierry was such a smart kid.

“A latte coffee, please. But bring him personally today,” she said shortly.

"I'm afraid I won’t be able to go past Starbucks today, Mrs. Peterson. I'm a tad late due to a queue in front of the traffic light."

A car honked me off when I was chasing with one hand on the steering wheel and struck a street without looking whether there was more traffic behind me, but I ignored him wisely and tried to get as quickly as possible to the crossing.

"You're my secretary, and I insist. Then drive a bit faster or take a street with less traffic. I need that latte within half an hour."

"So it’s okay if I’m a little bit later at work, but I have your latte coffee with me?"

I heard Miss Prada sigh at the other end of the line. "Yes, yes, fine. But if I don’t have that coffee within half an hour on my desk, there will be consequences."

"Got it. See you in thirty minutes, Mrs. Peterson," I said quickly and hung up.

With two hands on the steering wheel, I felt much safer than with one hand to my ear, especially when Miss Prada made me more nervous than ever. It took five minutes before I had arrived at Starbucks, and I needed my latte within ten minutes, or I’d be dead at work. I felt my heart swell in my throat at all the horrible thoughts if I would be too late.

Like an idiot I stole the last free parking spot in front of Starbucks from a slightly older woman, and flew out of the car as a failed superhero. Thanks to the high heels that I wore to make myself look better into Miss Prada’s eyes, I wobbled awkwardly to the door, braced myself and went into the fragrant shop.

There were only two people standing in the waiting line, and I was lucky because one of them took her orders with a thanking nod of the counter and went outside. Now I was hoping that the person in front of me didn't need much.

"A blueberry muffin, please."

This could perhaps be my lucky day, though I had woken up with bad luck. My radio alarm had broken down, making me wake up half an hour late out of my short sleep and I had to rush around like a headless chicken. But now everything started to turn back in the right direction.

"What can I get for you?"

A young blonde girl with a tangled tail on top of her head, stared at me from across the counter. I had never seen her before, otherwise it was always one young lad with a huge amount of freckles on his cheeks and nose who served me.

"Oh, uh ... a latte coffee, please," I said. Then I glanced to the plate with special offers. "And also a caramel cappuccino. Both are takeaways."

The girl nodded and began to work on my orders. With my head in the clouds, I walked to the other side of the counter and waited patiently until the coffees were ready. I was waiting for five minutes when I noticed the great scented stuff coming in my direction.

"That would be six dollars and thirty-five cents please," the girl said kindly.

Without another word, I put the money on the counter, took my coffee from the table and stormed out of the Starbucks. I didn't have much time left, and Miss Prada would explode if I would arrive late at her office. And I really wasn’t in the mood for some angry outbursts or a discourse that could be heard throughout the office.

With the caramel cappuccino in hand, and the latte coffee in the cardboard box on the passenger seat I pushed my way through traffic to the building. It seemed as if I gasped for the first time for breath after a long time holding it as I entered the elevator and pushed on the buttons until I got number 10.

When the doors closed in front of my face and isolated me from the outside buzzing world, I got aware that I had rolled into a new, busy day. Only today, I didn’t fancy that thought much, because when Miss Prada ordered to give her the latte coffee in person, she wanted to talk to you about something important, otherwise Thierry or another staff member could’ve done it like the other days.

But it did leave me with welling curiosity, what was so important that secretary Lux Nicholls - I - needed come to her office? She could’ve announce it as well by phone, or by email. Even fax was still available in this company.

Probably because many chances would hang by a thread, I prepared myself mentally for everything in the elevator. The iron cage that brought me to the top floor calmed all my senses because there wasn’t much to see in the small space. So I could put my thoughts in a row and I could be sure I wouldn’t have any serious nervous breakdown when Miss Prada would tell me bad news.

I only worked for three years as a secretary at Fashion Supersize, but that job meant everything in my life. But what if she was thinking about firing me?! That horrible thought stayed in my head when the elevator showed with a small ‘ping’ noise that I had reached my destination; the office from hell.

The grotesque oak door still looked the same as two weeks ago, the last time I was called by Miss Prada herself. Other times she let her employees pass the message as little slaves, but that day she wanted to make me clear that there was only one big boss in the building, and that was her.

My heart was working overtime when I gently tapped with my knuckle three times against the wood, not much later I heard a voice call "Come in!". I opened the door with hesitation and saw Miss Prada behind her desk. Her dark blonde hair was tightly into a high bun on top of her head, behind her square glasses with black frame her chocolate brown eyes flashed from left to right across a form she held in her perfectly manicured hands, and I suddenly felt terrified.

I was standing at least half a minute in her office, and not once did she snap something at me in a haughty tone. I would either hear great news, or I could already give my resignation to Jeanine at the information desk.

"Here's your latte coffee, Mrs. Peterson," I said as she seemed to ignore me.

With long strides, I shuffled to the back of the office where Miss Prada’s desk was, right in front of a giant window. A bright sun shone on Miss Prada's back and she waved her hand uninterested as I sat down the coffee on her desk.

"What did you want me to speak about, Mrs. Peterson?"

Miss Prada sighed and laid her silver pen down. "Thierry," she said curtly.

"I, uh ... Thierry, ma'am?"

Without waiting for an invitation I put myself down in the chair and crossed my legs. I was relieved to be honest that it was not about my discharge, but I was also rather surprised that Miss Prada wanted to talk to me about Thierry - or rather, discuss.

Miss Prada took the forms and put them neatly in a drawer of her desk. Then she turned her full attention back on me, her elbows resting on the tabletop, and she looked disdainfully over her fingertips at my frightened little body that sank deeper into the comfortable armchair.

"I have the impression lately that his attention to details seems to be deteriorating," she said. "I think it's better when he has one job to focus on, rather than two, as now."

I shuffled my feet uncomfortably on the soft, white, woolen carpet. As a 23-year-old career woman I wasn’t really strong, more shy to be truthfully, but when it came down to Thierry, I would go to extremes to defend him.

"I think Thierry is working very well," I said cautiously. "All the documents are completed to perfection ..."

But Ms. Prada interrupted me by snapping with her fingers in the air. Abruptly I closed my mouth and turned my eyes ashamed to the ground.

"Thierry will only be my assistant from now on. I have hired a new help for you, Miss Nicholls," she said sternly.

"A man," she added when I opened my mouth to protest. "He begins today, Thierry has already transferred all his belongings to his new office on the third floor. And now leave, there is still a lot of work to do."

Disappointed I got up and slunk off with my head bowed. Without Thierry, the work wouldn’t be as much fun as it used to be.

A bleak sigh went over my lips when the doors of the lift closed again before my eyes, in a few moments I would stand in an empty office, just my little spot in the left corner would be crammed with all my stuff.

Arriving on the second floor I didn't hear Thierry's excited voice echoing through the hall like other days, enthusiasm seemed to have disappeared in the sector, and Mrs. Dickinson - the grumpy woman in the office next door, she was the boss from the second floor – seemed to be even more depressed.

I trotted past her office as quietly as possible, Ms. Dickinson was hidden behind a lot of covers of other magazines and behind her stood a huge closet full of books and magazines for helpful tips. For the first time in three years that I worked at Fashion Supersize, I noticed just how small her office was. And if you took a few steps to the left, you came to the office that I used to share with Thierry.

The large, white, open space was an oasis of light and we had a wonderful view of the city through the window on the right. There was even enough space to put down a park of rare plants. But one plant was new to me.

A man in a business suit sat at Thierry's old desk, a new laptop was already on the antique table and his brown briefcase stood next to his leg. He didn’t even see me enter, he didn’t hear me even though my heels made a loud ticking noise on the floor. The whole time he kept his eyes focused on the screen, a muscular, quite hairy arm supported his chin and no wisp of hair fell into his bright green eyes.

Because he did not begrudge me any attention even when I leaned against my own little desk and put my hand on my hip, I cleared my throat loudly and clearly.

"Ah, Miss Nicholls, already heard the news?" said the intruder.

He dropped his hand down and showed me a promising grin that I totally didn’t like. When he his pearly white smile came onto his face, I noticed that his cheek bones were standing a little too high, it gave him something unnatural. And at the look of the few strands hair adorning his upper lip he tried to look like a man, but failed. I guess he was around 25 years old and thus still quite young, but very sure of himself.

"I have nothing against you, but I do have something against the fact that you replace Thierry," I said frankly.

Irritated at his presence in the room I sat down with such a bang on the desk chair with wheels that one of the wheels creaked menacingly. I waited anxiously to smack harsh on the floor, but the chair was surprisingly strong.

With another sigh of relief I focused on the work that remained to be done; a lot of forms and documents, and at the look of the post it that Thierry had left on my notebook I needed to lunch into his new office, office number 401.

But mister Intruder interrupted my thoughts.

"I'm sorry that I have taken his place," he said calmly. "But he has moved two floors up, you can still see him."

"That’s not the same," I snapped at him.

Rock hard I rattled on the unstable keyboard of my computer and hoped that a key would miraculously jump straight in the eye of my new colleague.

"What’s your first name?"

That guy couldn’t really understand signs! How often did I have to press the 'enter' key down like a maniac before he would realize I was trying to make his eardrums explode? Still, I replied politely.

"Lux. What’s your full name?"

"Daniel Smith."

Daniel Smith ... Never heard of him before. And I wanted to keep it that way.

I could feel his eyes stab in the side of my face, but I ignored all his attempts to get my attention. I scribbled down heavily important dates on my calendar, and displaced a few on the computer. New names of rising stars were stored in a folder full of photos and a few phone calls were answered before Daniel gained courage again to talk to me.

"Do you know where the coffee machine is?" he asked.

"The passage through to the left."

Daniel was not only a burden, he was also as blind as a bat. Maybe one day I would even have to help him find the office, because that was a difficult task, wasn’t it?

I knew it would be very long days with this Daniel at my side.