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My head boomed in pain from worry, exhaustion, and insecurity. When I asked Lucy about Chase’s prior assistants, she’d simply explained that the last three died—suicide with prescribed sleeping pills, accidentally electrocuted in a pool, and attacked leaving the office.
“We’re calling you lucky number four,” Lucy had admitted. “A lot of sick people are making bets on whether you’ll make it. Just ignore that.”
The hallway light blinked on and off. I dropped my shopping bags full of new work clothes. Samba music blasted from next door. For once, I wasn’t upset the neighbors were having a party.
Tonight I’m celebrating too!
My phone buzzed again. I checked the screen. Mom.
She probably needs money.
With my brothers in jail, most of their kids stayed with my mom. The kids’ mothers usually landed in jail for accessory to whatever crime my brothers committed. Therefore, Mom always needed money for medical bills, daycare, winter clothes, etc.
I’ll send her some money tomorrow.
A grin spread across my face. This was the first time I could give her money and not experience a stomach ulcer.
I tucked a huge binder under my left arm. Chase required so much from his assistant that Lucy was forced to compile a binder that listed my responsibilities, his likes/dislikes, and information on his fiancée, associates, and relatives.
I’m in over my head.
Conferences, business meetings, test runs, and negotiations crowded his calendar. He had no day off, not even Sundays. And with each expected appearance of Chase, I was supposed to be next to him, taking notes, assessing the quality of business deals, reminding him of an event’s significance, and carrying out his personal stuff—gifts for holidays/birthdays, booking travel arrangements, and anything else he thought of.
When do I sleep? I guess when you’re making six figures, you can sleep when you die.
That bizarre news flickered in my head again.
All three of his assistants are dead. Crazy.
Although the last assistant’s death had been two years ago, unease still nipped at my thoughts. If Mom discovered this, she would forbid me to work there. Now that she was three years clean of drugs, she spent her days devouring religion and preaching to anyone who would listen.
“This is a sign from God that you shouldn’t be working for those rich white people,” she would probably say. “Work on filling your soul, instead of your bank account.”
Meanwhile, you need me to send you money to fill your bank account.
I yanked my keys out of my favorite pocketbook. Sadly, Lucy told me I couldn’t bring the purse back to the office because it might disgust Chase. Two-inch pieces of coconut shells covered it. A multi-colored yarn cord served as the strap. I’d explained to Lucy my style represented an eclectic flair for odd things.
“Oh, that’s so cool,” Lucy had replied. “But definitely don’t return with the purse.”
Shoes, suits, and accessories filled my shopping bags. Lucy had dragged me around Merrick Square and towed me into stores with flashy titles and clerks who greeted us at the door with glasses of champagne and wide smiles on their faces.
For hours, I’d tried on clothes I would’ve never considered for myself—form-fitting pencil skirts, brightly colored blouses with ruffled collars and revealing cleavage lines, uncomfortable shoes that didn’t possess a heel; instead, the back of the shoes arched upward into torturous slants that mimicked four inch heels and forced me to focus on every step.
Each time a cashier reported the total, I’d cringed. The costs surpassed the value of my car. Yet, Lucy never flinched and just charged it to Stone Industries.
“Chase demands elegance,” Lucy had explained when we entered Fantino Spa. “I’ll walk you through your makeup. Take notes. Be aware of current trends. Fashion is important to him.”
“Okay.” I inhaled a floral perfume as we walked down a hot-pink passageway.
“When in doubt, just have a clerk from one of the shops we went to dress you.”
“And what about hair styles?” I was still trying to get out of the perm.
“Each month, Chase emails Fantino what he wants your hair to look like. Get used to it. I’m actually a blonde. Chase decided to make me a redhead. You’ll have monthly salon visits unless you both are out of the country. By the way, is your passport current?”
“Yes.” I trailed behind her and held in my irritation over Chase’s control issues.
“Good. Always keep your passport, ID, credit cards, and a pair of clothes with you. Sometimes you’ll have to hop on a plane with only ten minutes’ notice.” Lucy guided me down another pink passageway. “Sign all the documents I gave you. Especially the thirty page non-disclosure agreement. You can’t discuss anything about your job with anyone.”
