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Madison Taylor was always on time, yet there she was, dangerously close to being late for an interview she’d whittled her way into getting. An unannounced prospect presented itself in the happenstance chain-of-events way so many opportunities tend to happen.

And it was all thanks to a very pissed-off but well-dressed lady ranting non-stop on her Bluetooth in the bathroom last week. The woman had seemed very much oblivious to the presence of anyone else during her conversation, though the intermittent flushing should have given it away.

“Fuck that motherfucking bastard. So, I took a few bucks from his wallet. Like he’d miss it between buying companies and islands and shit. I type 140 words per minute and do the work of three people while looking smoking hot in my $1500 blazer ... and they fire me? Drake Global Industries can kiss my perfectly Brazilian waxed ass.”

Madison had hardly believed her ears. Her blazer costs $1500 bucks? That’s almost a month’s rent!

Honestly, Madison had long since stopped peeing, but couldn’t tear herself from the seat. From the slit between the door and the wall she could see the woman, and the unmistakable red-bottomed soles of her Louboutins, as she paced in and out of view.

She was furious, and Madison hated confrontation. So, she remained seated, and couldn’t help hanging on this woman’s every word. True, she’d always shied away from shouting. Being raised by a Gunnery Sergeant dad hadn’t helped. But the most likely culprit to her lingering in a bathroom stall as her vagina air-dried was that, deep down, she couldn’t dare ask the woman what she was dying to know. Who should she call about the obvious vacancy at Drake Global Industries?

The woman calmed for a moment, listening intently, with her fingers softly twirling the end of a cigarette clockwise, then counter-clockwise between her lips, over and over again. She couldn’t smoke here, but the activity seemed to satisfy her need enough to prevent her from stepping outside and puffing to her heart’s content.

“Well, Gina Sawyer can kiss my ass too because she said under the circumstances, she couldn’t be a reference.” That tidbit was just the intel Madison needed.

A week later, Madison had scored an interview with Ms. Gina Sawyer, Director of Human Capital at D.G.I. When she’d requested the interview, the person on the other end of the line explained that Ms. Sawyer wouldn’t be back for a week, but would go ahead and pencil her in as the vacancy hadn’t yet been publicized.

“Ms. Sawyer’s always saying I need to be more proactive, so here goes me taking the bull by the horns. She’s out this week, but how will Monday at 8:00 a.m. work?”

“Yes, that’ll be great!”

“Monday it is. And don’t be late. Ms. Sawyer hates tardiness. She also hates puppies, smiles, and happiness in general. You catch my drift? Just email your resume to our HR account today, and you should be good to go. Good luck.” Madison got the picture loud and clear: be ready for a ball-busting interview.

Early Monday morning, Madison was ready to hit the day running. Almost literally. Raised in Small Town U.S.A., city blocks were just a hop, skip, and a jump long. But in New York City, the blocks were formidable, stretching endlessly into the distance.

The subway exit had landed her part of the way, but she still had three blocks uptown to go. Not too bad if she weren’t wearing stilettos. She had a few casual and workout shoes, but these were the most business-looking pair she had. And even if she showed up a little out of breath, she’d look sharp, professional, and like she belonged in corporate America.

The vibrant energy of the day pulsed through her veins, and propelled her pace. Realizing how early she’d be, instead of slowing, she pushed faster, filled with the anticipation of a whole new life. Charged with pure adrenaline, she earnestly circled the corner towards the entrance to the building, but hit something mid-step, like she’d crashed into a wall. The wall, in fact, was a rock-solid man.

“Watch where you’re going,” the deep voice commanded before vanishing into the building.

Nearly knocked down, she heard herself meekly shout after him, “Sorry.” On second thought, that jerk should’ve watched where he was going. She just never seemed to have it in her to stand up for herself. And to add insult to injury, Mr. Suit and his brick-wall body left her a souvenir before disappearing behind the double glass doors.

A quick glance down revealed a dark streak now covering her pristinely pressed, white silk blouse beneath her black jacket. It wasn’t much coffee he’d spilled on her, but it hit all the wrong places, striping every ruffle on its way down. And that wasn’t the best part. The piece de resistance was the overwhelming smell of bourbon.

She glanced at her watch. With roughly five minutes to figure something out, she rushed into the building and found the nearest bathroom.

Among the opulence of the marble floors and gold-trimmed faucets, the only thing out of place was her. Her reflection stared back, petrified. Her hair, which had been so beautifully swept up, was in shambles. Although part of its condition could be attributed to her brisk, three-block jog, the rest was the result of the wrestling-federation-caliber body slam. Half the clips dangled pathetically from loose wisps of hair, while the remainder were long gone, leaving no hope of re-accomplishing her polished updo. Her black suit seemed fine, but her blouse was a wreck, and completely reeked, as if she had a propensity for overindulgent day drinking.

She stripped off her blazer and blouse just as a woman walked in, breezing by with a disapproving shake of her head as she made her way to a stall. Madison closed her eyes, taking in a calming breath. Do not panic. Her last streak of luck from a semi-public bathroom had led to this interview, and she had just the right blend of tenacity and naivety to push onward. Let’s do this.

She tossed the blouse into her purse, hoping to rescue it with a sink wash later. Her Michael Kors bag was now enhanced with eau-de-booze. Times like this reminded her how handy a zipper on this handbag would be. Her nude, lacy camisole was unscathed, thanks to all those ruffles on the blouse, and she slipped the black blazer back on over it.

She sized up her new look. Her protruding cleavage totally nailed naughty librarian, but wasn’t exactly interview material. There she stood, very tall, hunching her shoulders forward, determined to make it work. She couldn’t help fidgeting with her blazer and desperately wished it had more than one button, but time was up. Ms. Sawyer hates tardiness replayed over and over in her head, looping steadily to the beat of her pounding heart. She removed the remaining hair clips with her jittery hands, then tousled her wavy locks forward to gently fall over her peekabooing breasts. Racing out the door, she neared the front desk with barely a minute to spare.

2

A bit out of breath, Madison arrived at the security desk. “Hi, I’m here for an interview with Ms. Sawyer.”

The guard dialed the phone. His badge said “Fife, Chief of Security,” and she wondered if he kept his one bullet in his pocket. His mouth dropped as his eyes quickly fell from her face to her breasts heaving in and out from her brisk jaunt. She straightened her blazer and tried to breathe more shallowly. He handed her a key card and grinned annoyingly.

“What’s this?” she asked, and waved it a little to break him from his hypnotic boob glare.

“Oh, um, when you get in, hold it in front of the magnetic pad on the wall. It’s your access to the Executive Suites. Press E after the pad turns blue.”

She went to the elevator and got in. There, a bright silver pad glowed blue as soon as the key card closed in. Only one of the elevator buttons lit up. “E.” She pressed it, and the elevator lifted swiftly with a soft whirring sound. From the perspective of the glass wall the lobby looked beautiful. She was too distracted to notice it when she’d entered, but couldn’t take her eyes off it as it grew smaller and smaller. So small, in fact, she wondered what floor she was going to.

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