Diary of a Working Girl by Daniella Brodsky Read Free Book Online

you have sent in. You are a complete genius. We hope it will not be too inappropriate for us to offer you four dollars a word to write sixteen hundred words on the topic.” But, of course it never is.
    It’s just another press release. “We would like to tell you all about Kim Holbrook, the Hair Color guru from France who is coming to America to open her very first stateside salon. We hope you will join us for cocktails and a free blow-dry to celebrate.”
    Sure, I would love a free blow-dry. And maybe, instead of thinking of a bigger story idea, I will just pitch it as a small bit, announcing that the Hair Color guru from France is coming to the Big Apple.
    Let’s see. “French Hair Color Guru Dyes the Big Apple Red, Blonde, and Even Gives a Head of Shimmering Highlights.” That sounds very cute. I’ll send it to the usual Nobody’s-Ever-Heard-of-Them publications I write for, and then maybe a couple of bigger ones.
    I get started. Boy, I am a work machine today. I ignore the possibility that perhaps I am just motivated by the fact that I have no desire to finish this resume and take computer tests at a job placement agency.
    It’s 4 P.M. by the time I have put together three packets pitching the idea to some of the big-name glossies, along with copies of other articles I’ve written for the no-namers, and my list of assignments, which is quite long, despite the fact that all of the publications are so unimportant. Gosh, how many magazines are there in this world? Unbelievable that I can’t make ends meet. Maybe I am at fault. Perhaps I am not meant to be a writer. Staggering to con-21430_ch01.qxd 1/26/04 10:04 AM Page 35
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    sider that out of the millions of people who want to do this for a living I think I will make it.
    I am feeling blah. Hopelessness overtakes me. The only thing that will make me feel better is chocolate. I quickly consider eating that fake frozen yogurt that has no calories and no fat and no carbs (what the hell is in there anyway?), but then remember reading that when you have cravings, you should just indulge in the real thing, otherwise you will be on your way to a binge of Grand Canyon proportions. Of course, I have been binging since I broke up with James, but, still, every opportunity to do the right thing is an opportunity for a fresh start. And, I’m going to the gym tomorrow.
    And, after this I will eat like a saint, or a celebrity rather, (in paint-ings those saints always seem to be surrounded by food) for the rest of my life.
    I am just unlocking my door, chewing on the most delicious chocolate croissant I have ever eaten (still warm!), when I hear my phone ringing. I try to say “Hello,” but with the croissant still in mid-chew, it’s more like, “Re-ro.”
    “Is this Lane Silverman?” the voice asks. Oh, no. Which bill have I not paid now? I look at the unopened pile on my desk and realize that this call could pretty much be about any of them.
    “Who’s calling?” I say in that bitchy voice I reserve for bill collectors. I can’t believe they have the audacity to call me in the middle of my workday. Don’t they know how busy I am? I mean, really. How am I supposed to get anything done?
    “This is Karen, from Cosmopolitan . Is this a bad time?”
    Oops. Note to self: Refrain from using bitchy bill-collector voice until you are sure you are speaking with a bill collector deserving of bitchy bill-collector voice. Cosmopolitan . Okay, don’t panic. Cosmopolitan has just called me .
    Trying to be as nice as possible to make up for the not-so-nice 21430_ch01.qxd 1/26/04 10:04 AM Page 36
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    opening, I defer to mortifyingly spineless ass-kisser mode, “No, not at all. How can I help you? I just want to tell you that I have been reading Cosmo ever since we got off the phone and I absolutely love it so—”
    “Listen, I am really busy and I don’t have time to chat but I’ve just gotten back from one