Before You Begin

Before You Begin

Kate tiredly put her BlackBerry down on the table. It was attached to a charger, as it always was at work. While she was working, the flux of emails and calls were so numerous, it had to be, or it would die in an hour. The calendar beeped every half hour, reminding her of everything that would happen in the day, so she could run Owen Parker’s life a little more easily.

She took the heart-shaped Post-It, with her careful printing, and placed it on the folder to her left. Initially, Parker disapproved of them, but over time, he had seemed to soften. Besides, her Post-Its were key to his day—he looked for their reminders on everything. They cued him on names, personal facts, and past business ventures with all of his clients.
Across from Kate sat Norah, who was twenty-five and married. She had twins last year, but you wouldn’t know from looking at her. She was petite and thin, with a cherubic face that guaranteed that she would be carded for years to come. Norah spoke on the phone in her clipped way, shifting between lines and topics with ease. As she re-crossed her legs under her glass desk, she shot Kate a disapproving look, and continued talking as though she hadn’t done anything.

Kate swiveled her black chair toward Parker’s office door, seeing a blur of a man in a dark suit, leaning back in his executive chair. She fought the urge to reach into her desk drawer and grab a few pretzels, just about the only snack she was allowed to eat these days. It wasn’t her fault—running Parker’s life was difficult, and had allowed Kate to develop a nasty habit of stress-eating. Instead, she tucked her brown hair behind her ears, and smoothed a crease in her pencil skirt, as a reminder that it barely fit as it was.

From the corner of her eye, Kate watched Parker’s ambiguous form stand up, and walk to the office door. She sat up a little straighter, and started to collect the labeled folders he would need for his next meeting.

He opened the door, and stood there for a moment, surveying his office’s antechamber. His gray eyes fell on Kate. “Kate, can you come into my office? I need to have a word with you.”

From the other side of the room, Norah smirked.

“Yes?” Kate asked, letting the glass door shut gently behind her. She looked at Parker’s overwhelmingly large black lacquered desk, which he leaned against, instead of sitting behind. “Is something wrong?”

Parker sighed. “Oh, Kate, what are we going to do with you?”

Kate gnawed at her bottom lip fervently. She fought her impulse to start playing with a stray strand of brown hair.

“I’ve talked to Mr. Mayer,” was all he said. He looked down at her from his unprofessional perch on the desk.

“You have?” she practically squeaked. Damn. She fought to regain some sort of control or composure, or something.

He nodded. Parker picked up an expensive pen and weighed its contents in his hand. The pen slid gracefully from one hand to another. “He was quite impressed.”

Kate’s spine went rigid, and she looked up at Parker in disbelief. “He was?”

Parker’s face creased into a rare smile. “Don’t sound so surprised, Kate. He said you were fantastic, and commended me on my choice of assistant.”

Trying not to beam, Kate continued to watch Parker’s body language. He seemed loose, calm. Maybe she wasn’t getting fired, after all. “Thank you, Parker, I’m glad I well-represented you.”

“No need to act so formally, Kate,” Parker scoffed. “I think we’re well past that now.”

“Okay,” Kate said slowly. Although she was slightly more relaxed, she did not feel at ease. There was the horrible prospect of a catch still hanging in the air.

Parker checked his BlackBerry from his suit pocket. He pushed a few buttons, and slid it back away. “Now, there’s the matter of a bonus,” he said casually.

Her eyebrows pulled together, confused. “What?”

“A bonus,” he repeatedly slowly, as though Kate was having a hard time understanding English today.

“What for?” she asked. “I only did what you asked—”

“I’d say you far surpassed my expectations,” he said with a conspiratorial wink. “So, you deserve a little something, I think.”

Kate stared down at her pointy-toed shoes. There was a little scuff on the left toe, which she hoped no one noticed.

“How did you feel about your bonus the last time?” Parker asked.

She continued to stare at her feet as a crimson flush spread from her cheeks, to her ears, and then her chest.

“Did you like it?” he continued to press, with a cheeky tone to his voice.

“Well, yes,” Kate answered slowly. “But—”

“And you didn’t tell Norah?”

Kate looked back up into Parker’s handsome, stately face. “Norah? No. Why would I?” “Then shall we arrange something similar?” Parker asked.

Kate’s cheeks flushed even redder, and she looked back down at her ruined Marc Jacobs shoes. “Yes. As long as you don’t think it’s too much.

“Nothing’s too much for my favorite assistant.”


Finally, Kate was able to kick off her heels with a sigh. With a bigger sigh, she unzipped her skirt and enjoyed breathing for the first time all day. Barefoot, she padded to her room and slid on a pair of her college sweatpants, which always fit, thanks to their handy elastic waistband. It paired nicely with a freebie pep rally t-shirt, and had gotten her through many rough nights in the library. In five minutes, Kate had gone from corporate back to college.

Next to her closet hung a huge watercolor of the Eiffel Tower, which Kate paused to study. She had bought it from an old man in Paris, who sat painting miniatures for tourists. In broken French, Kate had asked if there were any bigger paintings. The old man grinned, showing uncharacteristically perfect teeth for a man of his heavy-tobacco generation. He got up from his stool, packed his stand in less than a minute, and began toddling down the street. With a curious look around, Kate cautiously followed him down to a quiet (but not deserted) side street, to a small storefront. Inside, sat an old woman, assumedly his wife, surrounded by walls covered with poster-sized paintings, or bigger. Kate’s eyes sparkled as her eyes danced over all of Paris, laid out in one little room.

When she finally selected the Eiffel tower, with a purple and orange evening sky, the man rolled the painting carefully into a sleeve. Kate pulled out her wallet and counted out the €150, which was what the tag had read. The old man looked at her, then at her Euros, and took the stack. He counted out €50, and pushed the rest back into her hands.

“No,” Kate protested, forgetting her French in complete surprise. “I can’t—”

“Mademoiselle,” the old man interrupted. Kate’s second-favorite thing about Paris was being called ‘mademoiselle.’ The first thing she loved about Paris was, of course, the art. She had spent five hours in the tiny Orly the day before, staring at Renior’s ballerina drawings in awe. The old man gestured to the painting, and then back at her, and simply said, “C’est l’amour.”

“Kate,” called Trevor, her roommate (who would never be anything more because it was too weird to even think about).

“Yeah?” she called back, not bothering to leave her room.

Trevor appeared in the doorway to her room. “I’m not yelling across the apartment.”

“You started it,” she pointed out.

“Technicality. So, Owen Parker asked you to seduce another client, huh?”

Kate gave him a steely look. “Don’t call it that. You know that’s not true.”

Trevor narrowed his eyes at her, and asked, “So what do you call it?”

“Well, since I don’t sleep with any of them, I definitely wouldn’t call it seduction,” she said primly.

“Fine. You make them think they’re going to sleep with you.”

Putting her hands on her hips, Kate stared down Trevor. “I’m not having this conversation with you, anymore.”

“I just don’t understand how you justify what you do—you go out with Parker to flirt with the clients, and make them forget about the fact that Parker’s an asshole.”

“Parker can have his…abrasive moments. I just go to smooth them over. That’s nothing like sleeping with my boss’ clients. And I don’t appreciate you talking down to me. We can’t all have our dream job at twenty-five.”

Trevor pursed his lips as he leaned on the door frame. “Just because you don’t have your dream job doesn’t mean you have to keep a job you hate.”

Kate huffed past Trevor, across the living room into the small kitchen, and got out a bag of lettuce and began chopping, which helped her soothe her seething anger. She knew Trevor had followed into the kitchen, and was waiting for her to be done being angry. Or until she had food in her mouth and couldn’t protest any longer. Kate added tomatoes, and sadly skipped the dressing. She sat at their small kitchen table and waited for him to continue his motivational lecture about her life.

“Kate, I just don’t get why you keep working there. Parker’s an asshole, and you hate advertising!” Trevor began again, once Kate was chewing, as predicted.

“Who said I hate advertising?” she asked between mouthfuls.

“You did! All through college, you bitched about how much you hated being a marketing major. I don’t understand why you didn’t stick with art history, instead.” Trevor went to the fridge and cracked open a can of soda. He refused to drink during the week, because he claimed his liver was still taking a break from college. Trevor boosted himself up to sit on the counter. “You always loved art history.”

“I told you,” Kate said, spearing lettuce. “I couldn’t finish both majors in four years, and couldn’t afford to pay for more than that. So, I picked something where I can get paid. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to live here, I’d be living in a cardboard box and looking for a gallery job for some bad performance artist who runs around the room, throwing jelly beans at the audience.”

He just stared at her. “Why do you like art again?”

“Because it shows the evolution of society over the past two hundred thousand years. It can convey a point of view and a social commentary without using words. Everyone in the world is capable of making art. I love that,” Kate tried to explain. She was frustrated, because her explanation was coming out much more scatterbrained and much less poetic than her true feelings.

“And why do you like advertising?”

Kate sat there silently, staring at her salad. She knew this was what Trevor had hoped to do, the point he was trying to illustrate. “The benefits I get from that job are amazing, Trevor, and you know it.” He went to speak, and Kate cut him off before he could say anything. “Don’t you dare say that sleeping with Parker’s clients is a benefit. I mean, the guy took me to Paris, cost free, for a week. And…he offered me a trip to London next month, when he meets with some chef.”

“I don’t know, Kate. I mean, it’s your life, you can do whatever you want.” Trevor hopped off the counter, and walked into the living room.

After a long time, she got up and slowly washed her bowl. She stood by the sink for a long time, staring out the window into their townhouse’s small yard. Quietly, Kate poked her head into the living room, resting her cheek on the doorjamb. “Hey, Trevor?”

“Yeah?” he replied, looking up briefly from ESPN.

“Do you think I’m making a mistake?”

Trevor turned all the way around, actually meeting her gaze. “Do you feel like you’re making a mistake?”

Kate narrowed her eyes. “Don’t answer my questions with a question.”

“You know I can’t answer that.”

She sighed and turned back to her room. “Neither can I.”


“You’re late,” Parker said crisply. He eyed his glass of wine, and the client’s empty glass (what was his name, again?). This was obviously supposed to make Kate realize how late she was. She felt harried and disorganized. Her tweed skirt had wrinkles from two hours of driving, and her sweater had a spot that was not perfectly lint-rolled. The ribs of her tights were slightly skewed. There was nothing good about her appearance right now.

“I’m so sorry,” Kate apologized, aimed more at the client (what was his name?) than at Parker. She hated when he got snarky like that. “There was an accident on the interstate, and traffic was at a standstill for five miles.” That wasn’t totally true, there was an accident that had backed traffic up, but Kate had also left her apartment late because while she was rushing in the shower, she nicked the back of her knee with her razor, which turned into a horror-movie torrent of blood that took fifteen minutes to clot and then clean the bathroom, so Trevor didn’t think she’d killed anyone. The skirt she was planning on wearing left a roll of fat hanging over it. So, for ten minutes, Kate proceeded to have a mental breakdown because she was apparently basically starving herself for no reason. Her car was nearly out of gas, so she had to stop. Then, the traffic started. Kate was more than a half hour late to this random, overly expensive bistro, two hours from her house.

“Sit down, please, Kate,” Parker gestured.

The client (she was so screwed if she didn’t remember his name soon) smiled at her, and pulled out her chair. He owned a vineyard, she knew, and needed to revamp his packaging and was looking for a wider range of distributers. The name of the vineyard was Afternoon, so that didn’t really help her with his name.

“Allen was I were talking about his label’s redesign.” Parker signaled with waiter, motioning for a glass of wine to be brought to Kate.

“Oh, right. What have you been thinking?”

“We haven’t made much progress,” Allen admitted. “We have opposing views on what the consumer wants.”

Kate started to get nervous. “I have some drawings that Parker and I did right here—” Kate started, reaching into her big leather bag for her folder.

“We’ve already discussed them. I think they’re completely unusable. They’re pseudo-modern, and they’ve all been done before by other companies who are willing to put out this kind of shit,” Allen told her.

Kate sat with her jaw clenched, trying to keep the vulgar rebuttal on the tip of her tongue from getting out. Her indignant anger, at both Allen and herself, continued to grow. Parker had been particularly interested in having Kate help with the artistic portion of the deal, using this (apparently alleged) eye for art she had to try to break her into the field a little more. This was the first time Parker had let her contribute as an advertiser, not just his assistant. And what had she done? Proven that she wasn’t ready to work.

Allen was the kind of businessman who can only be described as a cocky bastard. As he continued to talk about how terrible Kate’s drawings were, he seemed incredibly unconcerned with listening to anything Kate tried to say. He mostly wanted to boast about how successful he was. He didn’t seem interested in changing anything about his business and Kate was beginning to wonder what the point of all this bullshitting was.

Another thing that was bother her was that Allen continued talking to Kate like this was all her fault. Parker had given Kate most of the concepts to expand upon. Really, only one or two of the eight were hers. The rest all belonged to Parker. But, here he was, letting her get slammed.

“Well, when Parker and I were talking, he said—”

“I was still unsure of the direction you wanted to take the company, and Kate seemed very attached to these. So, we brought them to you to see how you felt. But, obviously, we both have a better understanding now.”

Allen smiled widely and took his wineglass, gently touching it to Parker’s. “At least someone here knows what they’re doing.”

Angrily, Kate’s face began to turn an unflattering shade of red. Parker was completely throwing her under the bus. His ideas had been so wrong, he was blaming her for them, as the inexperienced nobody, rather than look incompetent. Maybe that was why he always brought her along. He had just been lucky that the clients had always liked his ideas—or at least like them enough that a little bit of Kate’s charm could fix it.

For the rest of dinner, Kate sat very rigidly, refusing to say much. She barely touched her chicken, which was probably good news for her waistline, but other than that, the dinner was one of the worse meals she’d ever had to sit through.

When the ordeal was finally over, they all stood. Parker shook hands with self-pleased grins, since it had been affirmed that they were two cocky bastards who now shared a vision and a future business venture.

When Allen turned to Kate, he shook her hand, allowing a sympathetic expression cross his face. “Don’t worry, darlin’, you’ll get your turn, someday.”

Who the hell did this guy think he was? He was one of the smallest accounts Parker was working on. That was the main reason why he hadn’t hesitated to farm it out to Kate in the first place. Rather than risk giving Allen a well-deserved expletive-filled lecture about treating people decently and having a realistic view of both his life and his business, Kate just clenched her teeth and gave him a tight-lipped smile.

As soon as Allen was out the door, Parker let out a big breath. Smiling easily, he looked over at Kate. “Well, that was a rough one, huh?”

He’s your boss, Kate told herself. If you yell at him, you’re going to get fired. She just nodded, and put her things back into her bag. She stood up, and said quietly but firmly, “I’m going home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Parker leaned back further in his chair and swilled his wine in his glass. “Oh, come on, Kate. Stay and unwind.”

“I don’t think so,” she said.

Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “Are you angry?”

Was this a time for the truth? Did Parker really care? She scrutinized his handsome face, which looked sincere. “A little.”

“It’s nothing to take too seriously. The guy doesn’t know what he wants. Those drawings you did were exactly what he described. Clients never know what they want. That’s what we’re here for.”

There it was again—the drawings she did. “Parker, those were your ideas,” Kate finally pointed out.

He regarded her very carefully. “Mostly.”

“Well…” Kate started, beginning to get flustered under his intense gaze. “You said they were all my ideas. Because they were wrong.”

The more she spoke, the more sinister Parker looked. “Yes. If I’d admitted they were mine, he probably would have found another company. I’m the name he came to the company for—I can’t seem like a talentless shmuck.”

She couldn’t believe he’d admitted it. “So, it’s okay for me to look like an idiot?”

“Better than for me to look like an idiot,” Parker said simply.

Why the hell was she putting up with this? She was only twenty-four, held a bachelor’s degree from a good school, and just because she was an assistant didn’t mean she had to be a doormat. Besides, she hated this job—Trevor was right. The only reason she kept it was the pay. She didn’t care about being an advertiser. She thought about the half-finished re-application sitting on her kitchen table. She had been working on it before she left, which was the reason the whole chain of events leading up to her lateness had happened in the first place. “If that’s the way you feel, Parker, maybe you need to find someone else to play idiot for you.”

“What?” Parker asked, looking rather taken aback. That was obviously not where he assumed this conversation was going.

“Parker…I’m resigning. I don’t think this is the sort of company I want to work for.” Kate’s voice became sturdier as she became more sure of her decision.

“What?” he repeated. “Kate, you can’t resign. You’re the best assistant I’ve ever had!”

“Right. I don’t want to be your assistant forever. I’m overqualified to be your assistant—I want a real job. Actually, what I really want is to go back to school and finish my art history degree.”

He looked stunned. “You’re quitting to be a student again?”

Kate thought about that for a moment. “Yes, actually. I am. I’ll have an official letter of resignation on your desk tomorrow.”

“Kate, I’ll never be able to find a replacement for you! You write me novels worth of reminders on those stupid sticky notes! This is the best the business has been for me in years.” Parker seemed to be genuinely flabbergasted that she was quitting.

“I’m sorry,” Kate said, taking her purse and walking out the door of the restaurant. It was when she got to her car that she realized she wasn’t sorry—which made her smile.


Kate stood in front of the stone building. It felt like she was in a time warp, like no time had passed. She was eighteen again, walking into her first college class, wondering what the hell she was supposed to be doing with herself. Around her, people streamed, rushing, talking, laughing. Kate was doing none of those things. She stood somberly in front of the building, trying to get the courage to walk in. Was she really ready to do this? Was it stupid to go back to school at only twenty-four, having recently decided you hate the career you only picked out three years ago?

Her phone buzzed in her bag, and Kate reached for it, expecting a text message from Trevor, who would undoubtedly somehow known she was chickening out. But it wasn’t Trevor, it was a phone call. From Parker.

“Hello?” Kate asked tentatively.

“Kate, this is Parker. I’m not going to bother with pleasantries right now. I’m here to offer you your job back.”

Kate held back laughter. “Why are you offering me my job back? I quit.”

“Because I can’t run this place without you! I’ve tried three assistants since you left, and fired them all. I need you!

“No,” Kate said firmly.

“I’ll raise your salary by twenty grand a year.”

Kate hesitated. That would pay for her last year of school and her living expenses. She wouldn’t be indebted to Trevor, who was letting her live rent-free for her last two semesters, or the US government, who was picking up the bulk of the bill.

“Would I be working just as your assistant?” she asked.

There was a moment’s pause on the other line. “Well, yes, mostly…”

Kate didn’t need to hear any more. Her moment of weakness was over. “Parker, I have better things to do with my life than be your assistant for the next ten years. I have to go to class now. Good-bye.” Kate hung up the phone and resolutely climbed the steps to the building, and stepped inside.