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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 become aware of the thoughts that perpetuate expression, which helps me to control my body language cues by way of channeling my focus on facilitating optimistic thoughts leading to a more cheerful appearance. Thus far, I can tell that this business could use more love and ambiance, which is my forte and absolute favorite thing to do. This perks my demeanor, and I need to do this because I am selling myself—more like a concept. I cannot hand them a product, only a service. Therefore, I need to be adept at the self-presentation. My business demonstration is sometimes malleable and requires a lot of improvisation, but there are no amount of files or mechanically derived lists quite as revealing as personality attributes and the atmosphere that I create. And this is just as true for clients as it is me. Calculations and reports are necessary, but they certainly don’t tell the whole story.

The obnoxious screech of Elliot’s Porsche temporality distracts the interior renovations and stories conjuring in my mind. He is here, and perfect timing, because my clients arrive at the moment of his loud entrance. Elliot always dresses sharp. He enjoys the intimidation factor of showing up in expensive tailored suits. He trusts that this is eye candy to a struggling businessman.

Moreover, he prefers to assert his image among larger corporations. Thus, he is rarely seen wearing anything but his Brioni two-piece buttoned or solid wool suits. Elliot is true redheaded ginger, with a light brush of freckles across his deceitfully youthful face. He is average in physical size but exerts larger-than-life confidence.

The closing is simple today, as hoped because the overall dynamics are pretty typical. These people are small-business newcomers in a very competitive market, and they are struggling in a weak economy. They used their home as collateral and were desperate to pull themselves from impending disaster. I pitied them, decent people, without a clue. They were lucky by way of being handed a family business and never having to partake in the difficulty of creating a business from scratch, but it is unfortunate that they inherited virtually no knowledge of how to keep it running properly.

In my line of work, I have a great deal of enthusiasm for helping businesses succeed. I feel as if I am doing something great for the economy—a healthy percentage of the jobs in this country are comprised of small- and medium-sized businesses, after all.

Elliot and I proceed to my office after catching a quick lunch to tie up loose ends. More bearable than this morning, Rose greets us at the door with overly happy chuckles and smiles. She’s a rather attractive woman. Her overall structure is petite, including her slender face with short, tiny, well-proportioned features. Her caramel-colored eyes reveal a hint of green in just the right lighting—nothing stunning but put together quite well.

It was no shocker that Elliot called the office on his ride here simply to flirt with Rose. Rose has a weakness for any flirtatious man directing interest towards her. Pathetic compliments or flattering remarks spellbind her. Elliot thrives off this need, and I suspect that these two have paired before. Elliot, being the more educated of the two, enjoys the strategic advantage he has over Rose. Her codependency and naiveté create the need for someone to have some hold on her. They have great chemistry. It would be a match made in heaven whereby Rose provides the heart and energy, while Elliot provides the financial structure and intellect—if only Elliot could keep his dick in his pants. I can understand Rose’s interest in Elliot; if not for his obvious chauvinistic characteristics and his accompanying taste for sleazy women, he would be quite the catch.

Nonetheless, Rose is a predominantly bright character, infused with innocence and genuine kindness; and the sharks Elliot plays with have the potential to rip her apart. He attracts some of the shadiest people I’ve ever met and relishes around criminals and felonious types.

Maybe he spends too much time protecting and manipulating laws by playing the game of semantics with fellow wordsmiths and needs a break from golf club parties, forced formalities, frenemies, and small talk. Either way, he enjoys the type of people he wouldn’t meet at a country club, golf resort, or boardroom; and I get that. I don’t get why he wouldn’t try to roll with people who have less murk to their energy and has no issue spending time with people who require him to pay their bar tab and would steal his watch if he wasn’t careful. If I spent as much time around the toxic energy of the legal field as he does, I’d probably spend time around Buddhist monks or jump into a mosh pit regularly, and spend less time around criminals. And, boy, does he love belligerence. All of his language that is suppressed during business meetings or in a courtroom is well compensated for during his after-hour trips to strip clubs, football games, and biker bars. He once mentioned how he enjoyed the raw thrill of the unfiltered and naked realities of life, which is why he loves those places. He believes that profanity in its crudest form is no match to the evil found in a room full of lawyers eloquently perpetuating conflict for profit. In his eyes, there are just as many criminals prosecuting criminals or finding shady loopholes to make money, as there are innocent people found guilty. He argues a good point, but again, he’s a very convincing lawyer, which is why he makes the big bucks. Nevertheless, on a purely selfish level, I’m glad his field of expertise encompasses my own, and I’m protective of Rose, so I attempt to cockblock him every chance I can. As a result of the nature of their interaction, trying to have an intelligent conversation with either of them while they’re sharing the same air is like trying to quench thirst with sand.

Sighing, I take shelter in my office and allow the charade going on outside to continue.

My work area is modest in size, equipped with a small cherrywood desk, a sleek black reclining chair with ergonomic support, and a few dusty plaques from clients thanking me for our success. The office walls are a light mint-green, which works nicely to enhance the coral window trim and to add to the liveliness and promote my family unit; there’s an 11 x 17 family portrait along the windowsill in conjunction with various trinkets my daughter, Cheyanne, made several years ago. Finally, on top of my desk is my workload consisting of files that demand attention and a list of clients who I routinely call.

Staring out the window at the city streets now paved in salty, grimy snow, I hear the muffled sounds of voices outside my office begin to fade. Just a few more moments, and I will be heading home as well.

Sage

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