Page 6 of Between Then and Now
He glances at me with a smirk. “I’m not exactly disappointed.”
“Oh my gosh, call the authorities, Ryan Miller just gave me a compliment.” I say dramatically.
He rolls his eyes, but he chuckles anyway. Once I gather all my stuff and open the door, Ryan asks, “What time will you be done?”
“Around six, I think. But Kate’s picking me up; we’re shopping for her school event.” Kate has a preschool story-telling event, and she needs buy costumes and props, so I offered to accompany her.
Ryan nods and says, “Let me know how it goes with your bosses.”
“Yes, sir,” I curtsy playfully once I’m out of the car. He snickers one more time, then goes on his way, his car seamlessly blending back into the Manila traffic.
When I enter the office, I go full-on assistant mode—getting office supplies, brewing coffee, and ordering snacks for talents. Ryan’s suggestion momentarily slips my mind as I get swamped with various tasks, but it creeps in every now and then.
Maybe it’s too ambitious to try; maybe it’s not. Either way, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s about to change.
CHAPTER FOUR
Bonita
“Bon,” Natasha, a senior producer and my immediate supervisor, calls out as I return from an afternoon coffee run, balancing two cups in my hands.
“Yeah?” I reply, already bracing myself for another absurd request.
“We need to have these costumes returned today.” She gestures toward the bag of clothing beside her. “The shop is near the laundromat, and if it’s not too much of a problem, could you please pick up my laundry on the way? You can use my car for both errands.” She smiles as she hands me the keys as if she’s the one doing me a favor.
Wonderful. Just fantastic. This is what I’m reduced to–a whole new level of errand girl. But I can’t decline that request when the laundromat is so conveniently–of course–on the way to the costume shop.
I plaster on a smile in return and say, “Sure thing.”
Stupid Natasha. Stupid laundry. Stupid job. Stupid everything! I hand out the coffee orders, then make my way toward the giant bag of overflowing costumes, which is heavier than it looks, and sling it over my shoulder. Not only is this job ruining my mental health, but it also seems determined to give me chronic back pain.
I clutch the keys in my hand and make my way to Natasha’s car. Maybe if I accidentally dent it, she’ll leave me alone. Or maybe just a small scratch to send a message. I groan as I carry the load into her trunk, muttering about the injustice of it all, then slide into the driver’s seat and make it out of the parking lot.
Of course, the traffic is terrible, and I’m stuck behind a slow-moving truck. The minutes drag on like hours, and my mind begins to swirl with thoughts about what I’d rather be doing–which is anything other than this mind-numbing, soul-crushing errand.
When the costumes are returned, I pick up Natasha’s laundry. The woman lives alone, but her laundry weighs like a family of four’s. Damn it. I hate her. I’m sorry but she’s the Miranda Priestly to my Andy–except this devil does not wear Prada. And at least Andy was actually hired as a personal assistant. I’m supposed to be a junior producer, for crying out loud!
Back at the office, I hand back the keys to Natasha, then zoom out of her office before I get another errand request. When I return to my desk, I’m met with a list—a freaking list!—of things Natasha wants done. I skim the list, feeling my patience grow thinner and my blood pressure shoot higher with each item. Dinner reservations? Seriously? If I didn’t throw a fit earlier today, it’s only because I must have been subconsciously reserving it for this moment. I can’t do this. I won’t do this.
Without giving it a second thought, I march toward the manager’s office, bypassing Natasha entirely. Hellspawn that she is, I’m done letting her walk all over me. As I approach Mr. Ramirez’s door, I quickly fire off a text to Ryan.
Me: Miss Satan pushed all my buttons today, so I’m going over her head to request that thing you suggested.
His reply is almost immediate.
Ryan: Show her who the real devil is.
I chuckle as I knock on Mr. Ramirez’s door. When he motions for me to take a seat, I tell him about my proposal. About wanting to create something on my own for a while, justso I can convince them all that I’m ready for more serious responsibilities. I emphasize my desire to contribute meaningfully to the team, to step out of the evil queen’s shadow and show that I’m more than just her errand runner. Not in those exact words, but you get the point.
At first, I thought he would scoff or make fun of me for being too ambitious for my own good. But after a few minutes, he says, “First of all, Ms. Santiago, that is ambitious. But thank you for taking the initiative. Not many people would do that. Most would just enjoy the light workload.”
Light workload. How adorably detached from reality he is. But I play along. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, sir. I enjoy the light workload. But I would enjoy it more if I were working on something value-adding for the most part.” I smile.
He chuckles. “Very well. I still need to take it up with our department heads, but how about you pitch me your idea by the end of the week. If it’s solid, we’ll discuss it then.”
“Thank you so much, sir! I won’t let you down!” I beam, unable to stop myself from squealing and making little claps.
“I know you won’t,” Mr. Ramirez says. “Remember, a good filmmaker starts with a good vision, so focus on that for now.”
