Page 1 of Hugo
1
Claire
“I’m soproud of you, Claire!” I press my phone to my ear with my shoulder. My hands are full of coffee. Cups and cups of the stuff. The big morning order for all the people in the office. “My little girl working for a big-time billionaire! I can’t believe it! All the girls at the salon, they’re so in awe.”
“That’s great, mom,” I roll my eyes and wait to cross the road. A strong wind blows my hair all over my face. Covering my eyes. I can barely see and I don’t have any hands free to fix it, “but I really have to go.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do, honey,” she says. “I’m sure they have you working hard all day long. A place like that. Busy, busy, busy. It must be really exciting for you. I hope you’re taking your vitamins and getting enough sleep. And remember to wash behind your ears in the morning. Nobody likes a person with dirty ears. That’s a fact. And remember to feed Lilac, your cat, before you go to work. You don’t want him at home all hungry and meowing and starving to death just because you’re out there saving the world.”
“Mom,” I say, “I'm not saving the world. I'm an intern! And of course I’ll remember to feed Lilac.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“Yes.” I use my elbow to push through the entrance to the office building where I work. A doorman tries to help me, but he gets there too late. Instead, he just holds the door open and I have to duck under his arm, getting a full whiff of his body odor. “Look, I really have to–”
“And have you met any nice men?”
“Urgh,” I knew this question was coming. I’m surprised it wasn’t the first thing she asked when I answered the phone. My mom’s fifty-one years old and she’s still boy mad. “It’s my first day. I’m trying to make a good impression. This is my dream job. Not a speed dating event.”
“I know, I know,” she says. I can hear her little dog, Chewie, yapping in the background. Probably spotted a squirrel or something running through the backyard. “But, you’re not getting any older, Claire. You’re twenty-one years old now. It’s time to try and find a nice man and settle down. You don’t want to be single at my age. You have no idea how hard it is.”
“Yes, mom.” I’ve heard this speech a million times before. There’s no point trying to stop her.
“I know you think I’m crazy, but I’m just trying to help. You leave it too long, and you’ll miss out. One day, you’ll turn around and all the good men will be married and you’ll be left with the dregs. You’re too good for that. It’s all very well and good you taking your career seriously. And I couldn’t be prouder. You’re the kind of daughter every mother dreams of having. But at some point, you’re going to want more than your work. You’re going to want a family. A husband. Children. There’s nothing better than being in love, Claire. And I should know. I’ve been married five times.”
I step into the elevator. It’s packed full of important-looking business people. Tailor-made suits. Windsor knots in their ties. Straight backs. Briefcases. Lawyers, accountants, investors, political advisors, and lobbyists. My phone’s not on speakerphone, but it’s loud enough for them all to hear every word my mom’s saying.
“And make sure you remember to use protection, if you do find a man. I know it feels nicer without the rubber, but you don’t want to get yourself knocked up.”
“Mom,” I hiss. “Please. Stop.”
“And remember to wear that nice bra I bought you, too. You have such a lovely cleavage. Why not use those assets to your advantage?”
A man standing next to me immediately takes a look. He’s old and I can smell his breakfast soup on his breath. He notices me noticing him looking at my breasts. He winks. Smiles. And then turns back to face the front of the elevator like nothing has happened.
“I’m not having this conversation.”
“And your hips, too. Some men like a curvy woman. It’s not all about these super skinny, fake-breasted girls anymore. Not like it was in my day. God, you’d never believe the kinds of things we use to do to lose weight. Now men want a woman with a booty. They want a big, thicc ass to play with.”
The doors open. It’s my floor. I have to push through the throng of men to get out. One of them growls quietly, “I like ‘em thicc,” as I pass by. My whole body shudders. I don’t know whether I want to throw up, turn around and kick him in the balls, or run to the nearest restroom and cry.
Instead, I march forward into the foyer of the office. I put the stack of coffees on the reception desk. “It’s been lovely chatting with you, mom. But I have to go. Have a great day.” I hang up before she has a chance to answer. It’s like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.
Anna, the receptionist smiles at me. She’s slim and blonde and absolutely perfect. My mom seems to think men like curvy women, but I can’t imagine anyone choosing me over Anna. Not in a million years.
“Green tea?”
“That’s me,” she smiles, showing off her sparkling white teeth. “Thank you, Claire.”
I pass her the drink. She takes a little, dainty sip and lets out a sigh of pleasure.
Brad, one of the chief fundraisers and the man who is effectively my manager, approaches me with a stern look on his face.
“Claire,” he says. “Where’ve you been? The boss wants you in his office. Now.”
“The boss?” I stutter. “Hugo? He knows who I am?”
“Apparently so.”
