Sage. Wendy Anne
can become inundated with minutiae detail to the point of torture. For today’s look, I paint my face with an array of shimmering neutral colors, adding the charcoal powder to my eyebrows to deepen the definition of my arch, and comb my lashes with thick and lengthening black onyx mascara. While scrutinizing, there could be more symmetry regarding my winged eyeliner, and my foundation isn’t as flush as I’d like, but it’ll suffice.
Lost in this morning transition, I feel a sudden surge of thought about last night’s episode. Something was puzzling about the events of my dream. I cannot remember it, but I recall the digital clock numbers burning the times of night into my eyes every time I stirred from sleep.
I even woke Bruce several times last night in a sweaty fright. Panic attacks often wake me, and I am lucky that Bruce is an understanding husband. The demands of my job and the shrewd memories of my childhood manifest in all forms of anxiety. I have learned to deal with it to a certain degree, and so has he. I occasionally take sleep aids to help rid my anxiety long enough to drift from the chaos of my analytical frame of mind, but I am a bit wary of most prescription drugs, and so they’re typically over the counter or herbal sleep aids.
The longer I stray from the realm of my sleep, the less I tend to remember. This is not a bad thing. I couldn’t see the benefit in allowing it to corrupt my day as well. I’m adept at distracting myself until their hold on my emotions stops influencing my mood. Sensual dreams are a bit different because I inadvertently feel overcome by nymphomania for hours of sexual frustration, whether I fully recall the dream or not.
Bruce is capable of falling back into slumber when I wake him, and he doesn’t seem particularly affected by his dreams. Fortunately, he’s been a morning person all the years I have known him, many of which we bedded together. God blessed me with an amazing husband during this existence. It is a wonder how he deals with so many of my idiosyncrasies as graceful as he does. My unconventional undertones can be a bit difficult for some people, even him at times, but he knows and appreciates that I every so often need to relish in eccentricities to break the monotony of life, and he handles my sleep disorders with great resilience and compassion.
II
The Professional Woman
We are treated to such an enchanting and picturesque sight during New England winters. There is constant change in the rolling hills, accompanied by various types of precipitation. The weather is cold and crisp today; white-blanketed trees, beautiful rock formations, and old Victorian homes serve as a magnificent backdrop during my long drive. In the dead of winter, it is as if the gods decided to trace and magnify each line to mark it in perfect crystalline white. The myriad fixtures on the highway, ice statues, some with a hint of light blue, are entrancing on the eyes. The hollow trees, if not standing so tall and glorious above me, would seem like skeletons, once fruitful with bright foliage are now leafless and empty. Even the bluest skies cannot refuse the beautiful gloom of winter. I half wonder if it is the danger of driving in such weather conditions or nature’s deceptive tranquility that cause people to drive so slowly on these days.
At this moment, traffic at a full halt, so I manage to reach into my purse and apply some more final touches to my daily transformation while my car is infused with vivid natural lighting. I dab blush powder slightly over my nose and cheeks to brighten my foundation, as I amuse myself with a full reach-around of my tightly fastened hair, its weight already seeming to pull on my neckline. In my peripheral vision, I catch a glimpse of the cars starting to move around mine impatiently. Alas, I have briefly become one of the reasons traffic is slowed instead of my typical speed-thirsty self who’d usually find a parade of cars following my lead. The honking and middle fingers of New Englanders aimed in my direction during this lovely morning traffic are met with smirks that work like gasoline on a fire that is the typical Mass-hole temper.
My phone rings as I step out of the car, but I let it ring while attempting to iron out any visible creases in my skirt. Using the one area of my Lexus not covered in sludge as an imprecise mirror, I unfold the larger tucks of my suit coat to better compliment my waistline. It’s Rose, my secretary. She has a knack for calling me at the most inconvenient times. That or I am simply annoyed that there are not many times I enjoy hearing her high-pitched, overly flamboyant voice so early in the day.
“Yes, Rose?” I answer impatiently, hoping to deter her from keeping me long. “I am on my way to a closing. Is there something I can do for you?”
“Elliot will be running late,” she replies, “and needs you to wait for him before you make your closing.” His negligence is frustrating, but I am useless without my lawyer present in most cases. I am not sure if I need him in this particular case because I was careless regarding their file. However, better to have him and not need him, than need him and not have him.
The conversation is cut short as I impatiently stride into my client’s office. At first glimpse, the office is dusky and disorganized. There are too many uncomfortable plastic chairs scattered about a small area with no practical placement. The walls are busy with patches of yellow cigarette stains that are visually unpleasing. In an instant assessment, the business demands heavy aesthetic transformations. I am the CEO of a business consultant corporation called Executive Business Correspondence. I am the founding owner and have a handful of executive consultants to handle much of the work, but I still enjoy the rush of deadlines and new clients, big or small.
As a consultant, my credibility is based on my ability to run my own business. This also enables me to relate to my clients as a fellow company owner. I have my surveyors follow guidelines with instructions once the businesses are evaluated by some of my top financial advisers. I collect information regarding profit and loss and make charts based on analyses and censuses to offer plans that help organize my client’s business affairs. Likewise, I spend a great deal of time teaching clients how to advertise properly. Because I have many pending and ongoing contracts that incorporate a vast arrangement of willing businesses, I can corner the market in ways. I am a walking referral, a network in myself. I get my clients to scratch each other’s backs if you will. This makes my job much easier, and I have built outstanding credentials throughout the years. I always loved the concept of barter trade in early eras, and so I adopted similar—yet more evolved—business practices. Elliot’s services come in handy when pursuing breached contracts or feeling out new ones, but it’s wise to have Elliot present for legal reasons, and of course, he is one of my favorite male comrades when dealing with reluctant sexist men. I show up to businesses that have potential but are under poor ownership. My profession can be complicating and trying sometimes. They need me, but most do not necessarily want to have a woman to tell them how to run their business or, worse yet, sign an agreement that requires them to pay me to do so, especially when one considers that men dominate the business world. My position can occasionally bruise the egos of male business owners. For this reason, I take precautions before the execution of any new client contracts and usually bring the perfect male specimen to soften the blow, and Elliot is that perfect man.
He is a young and brilliant corporate lawyer and extremely self-confident. We have worked together for several years, and although he sometimes has issues with time management, he compensates in all other avenues, especially when motivated by money. And, I admit, there have been occasions where he has provided the customer with more consultation than I have.
Elliot and I are long-term associates and business partners. I am very particular with keeping a steady work base, and most of my employees have been with me from the beginning, but I would only consider myself his boss by way of steady clientele, while we are in all reality, by and large, business partners. The truth is, Elliot and I have made a large profit together, and we have helped other people do the same by securing contracts. It is my job to see the contracts through and bring businesses to succession, but obtaining contracts and handling legal affairs is half of the job—hook, line, and sinker.
I wait for him impatiently and piece together a game plan to make this as simple as possible. Avoiding tension is necessary to keep my positive composure, and my face could easily exert the disenchantment I feel regarding the obvious lack of charm in their business, and Elliot’s tardiness, but instead, I seem like a ray of fucking sunshine. Though it is true that I haven’t mastered my poker face, I have