Working It by Leah Marie Brown Read Free Book Online

best friend’s advice, I made a list of things I have always wanted to do, like open a boutique, fall in love, make friends, deepen my relationship with my dad, push my boundaries, go on an adventure, and be buried in a vintage Dior gown.
    The weak, whiny side of me wants to close the blinds, pull the covers over my head, and sink into the oblivion of sleep, but the tougher, no-time-for-tears side knows I’ll never achieve my goals if I hide out in my bedroom.
    So I sit up, reach for my iPad, open my lists app, and make a To Do list.
     
    To Do:
    1.        Exercise.
    2.        Return laptop, Blackberry, and keys to store.
    3.        Resist the urge to go to Walgreens, buy a bottle of Purrfect, and liberally spritz perfume in Nicola’s air vents.
    4.        Buy new cell phone.
    5.        Forget L’Heure and Dior.
    6.        Find my purpose.
     
    * * * *
    Three and a half hours later, I have checked the first four items off my list and am feeling surprisingly empowered.
    Returning to the store was every bit as excruciating as I had imagined it would be, but I walked in with my head held high and looked Nicola in the eyes as I handed her my keys and Blackberry.
    On the way out, Curtis gave me a hug and his “You Better Work It, Bitch” coffee mug. He snagged the mug from the craft service cart when he was a contestant on Project Runway. It’s one of his prize possessions.
    “Girl, don’t you dare cry,” he said, handing me the mug. “I have constructed a world with you as a ferocious diva. Shattering that illusion would just be cruel. Besides, you don’t want to look like a hot tranny mess with makeup running down your face.”
    Curtis’s unexpected praise and generous gift did bring tears to my eyes.
    “Thank you, Curtis,” I said, taking the mug and cradling it against my chest. “You are a terrific assistant. I will miss you.”
    “Uh-uh,” he said, wagging his finger. “I am not last season’s lady loafers. You can’t get rid of me that easy.”
    I left L’Heure happy in the knowledge that Curtis just might be an enduring trend in my life. He might even become a two a.m. friend.
    * * * *
    Fuelled by an intense desire to prove Nicola wrong, a need to be productive, and three espressos, I return to my apartment and spend the afternoon submitting resumes to all of the major couturiers, as well as half a dozen corporate head hunters in Paris and New York.
    When I finally turn off my computer, it is dusk. Outside my window, the San Francisco Bay is as black as the heavens, the distant silvery lights of Sausalito winking like stars on the placid surface.
    I am too exhausted to go out to dinner and too hungry to wait for Happy Bamboo to deliver an order of their delightful green noodles, so I pour some Muselix into a bowl, add a splash of almond milk, and eat standing at the window, staring into the darkness.
    For the first time, I feel like my future is as murky as the flat cloud-blackened sky outside my window. What if nobody wants to hire me? What if my father was right? What if I have squandered my familial connections and expensive education simply to become a bourgeois salesperson?
    I walk back to the kitchen, wash my bowl and spoon in the sink, dry them off, and put them back into the cupboard. Then, I strip off my clothes and fall into bed.
    The last thought to flitter through my brain before I fall asleep is: What if I end up selling Dickies at Walmart?
     

Chapter 9
    Big Girls Swallow
     
    Text from Vivia Perpetua Grant:
    Did you know that Coco Chanel’s father sent her to live in a convent for orphans? Talk about not having any two a.m. friends! Yet she went on to build one of the most influential fashion houses in the world. Don your Coco pearls and find your purpose. You got this one.
     
    The first thing I do after waking up and reading Vivian’s motivating text—the first text received on my new iPhone—is to check my email.
    The first email is from my