Two days and I want to quit…

Okay, so as much as I wanted to fuck my boss (not literally) and his uncompassionate ways, I didn’t. After all, I didn’t want to call my Midwest family back, two days into the job, to say I had already quit. I didn’t want to be a quitter. So I followed Dean into the house, he went back to bed, I went into the home office.

Now, Dean had told me there were two desks in there, one for me, one for his wife (Chloe). His office, on the other hand, was many, many hallways away. Kind of nice, when you think about it. I walk in… and can’t see the desks. Papers and craft supplies are all over both desks, making it look like an art store had had a flood. WTF? I try to figure out which computer is Chloe’s and which is mine. Finally, I guess mine’s the one without the screensaver of Dean on it.

I decide to clear away the surrounding area, trying to categorize everything properly – keeping the pink pipecleaners separated from the fingerpaints (what could they possibly be making, I wonder). I surreptitiously put everything on Chloe’s desk. I also set my cell phone alarm, so I can wake Dean up in an hour. Man, this blows. I sit at the desk for about five minutes. After not being able to get an internet connection and figuring it’s too early to text people (I don’t want to wake them the way I was awakened), I decide to lie down on the couch… after all, it is only a bit after 7 a.m. at this point. I reset my cell phone alarm for fifty minutes, instead (so I can wake up a bit before I have to wake up Dean), and close my eyes…

What seems like a few minutes later, I feel my eyelids being pried open. I look up to see Spring and Summer hovering over me, giggling. I have never hated six and eight-year-old girls so much as I did now. Remind me to never have kids.

“Why are you sleeping at work?” Spring’s chipper six-year-old voice says. “Yeah,” Summer pipes in. “Does my Dad know?” Uh. The good ol’ “Does my Dad know?” threat. Again, did I tell you how much I hate these kids…? I don’t care how cute they are in their blonde pigtails.

“I wasn’t sleeping,” I mutter while rubbing my eyes awake. “Were, too,” Spring says. She’s awfully bitchy for someone who has such a pretty name, I think to myself. Then again, lots of girls with pretty names are bitchy, like “Amber”s, “Heather”s, “Tiffany”s… But that’s not the point right now. “I just closed my eyes for a second,” I tell them as I sit up. But it’s too late – they run out, chanting in their little sing-songy voices, “We’re telling Daddy, we’re telling Daddy!”

I knew I should have just gone home…

“Don’t worry about that prick of a boss you have”

As I am being hauled off toward the police car, the tears in my eyes now falling in disbelief, I hear a voice. “What the hell’s going on here?” I turn around – it’s Dean, groggy and still in his pajamas. “Did you have to blast your sirens so loud?” he asks, to no cop in particular. They don’t answer him. And how could they? I doubt sirens have volume control, like “loud” and “louder.” Then, Dean spots me and says, “Avery, what on Earth…? What happened?!” I take a few deep breaths in an attempt to stop crying and mutter, “I tried opening your door.” “Damnit!” he yells. “I told Logan and Chloe to make sure this wouldn’t happen. Mother-fucker.” So it’s not my fault, after all, I think. And is he actually being compassionate? “If it hadn’t been for those damn sirens, I could have gotten another hour of sleep.” Um… was he kidding? And what was I doing here – at 7 frickin’ a.m. – if he was home?!

“She’s clear,” he tells the cop as I am de-cuffed. Maybe now I can go home and get that extra hour of sleep Dean was talking about… “Well, since you’re here, you may as well start the day,” he says. Honestly?! “And wake me in an hour.” He goes back in, leaving the door wide open. The cops roll their eyes and give me a sympathetic look. “Sorry, miss,” one says. “Yeah,” adds another. “And don’t worry about that prick of a boss you have. You won’t have this job forever. None of ‘em do,” the first cop says. I thank them, grab my jeans from my car, and go inside. I don’t know how my day could possibly get worse…

But wait a second – haven’t I had enough for a day-and-a-morning’s worth of work? Maybe I should just drive home. Fuck this guy and his uncompassionate ways… What do you think?

Damn this personal assistant job…

We left off with my being at my boss’s house, having dinner with him and his family, when he asks me what “penance” he is supposed to do before his next Sex Addicts Anonymous meeting. A meeting I went to for him tonight. Damn this personal assistant job…

My mind is racing with bullshit on what to say and I even start to open my mouth when — his wife speaks. “Not in front of the children, dear,” she says to Dean pointedly. Phew. Did I mention how much I love his wife? (I am being sarcastic – mostly – but she did serve a nice purpose right now.) I give Dean an “Oh, well” look and eat the rest of my sandwich in three gigantic bites. I also manage to text myself under the table, so that my phone will buzz and I will be able to get the f*** out of here. It works. “Is that your phone?” Chloe asks sweetly. “Sorry. I thought it was on silent,” I innocently mutter between bites. “It’s probably my roommate wondering where I am,” I start to say. “I promised I’d drive her to the airport –“ “Don’t be silly, you have a life, too,” Chloe says. I do? I think to myself. They could’ve fooled me. But I need to take full advantage of it. As I quickly chew my last bite, I stand up and say I’ll see them tomorrow as I head for the door. “Great. Meet me on set at 10,” Dean says, not even looking up. Would it have been so hard for him to look up? Really? Whatever. “Sure,” I say pleasantly, happy to be free at last.

The next morning, I get a frantic call from Chloe – at 6:49 in the blasted morning. WTF? Thinking I’m dreaming, I let it go to VM… until my phone rings five more times. She was nothing if not persistent. “Hello,” I mutter. “Avery, is that you?” a way-too-chipper Chloe says. “I think so,” I say. “Thank goodness,” she says. “I need you to come over.” I look at my clock: 7:01 a.m. “Now?” I ask. “Yes. I have a last-minute audition in a half-hour and need you to watch the girls,” she says. She didn’t even ask me, just demanded it. Isn’t it funny how people do that? Even if she had asked, what would I say – no? And who knew she actually got auditions? “Let me get dressed –“ I start. “No need,” she says. “Just get here now.” Maaan. “The girls are still asleep. If I’m gone before you get here, I’ll leave a key by the door, above the motion detector on the right. And the code to the gate is pound, six nine six nine.” Was she serious? “Okay. Got it,” I mutter back. Was this really happening? Dean said 10. Not 7. Uh. And where was he?

But I do as Chloe says and drive over in my Paul Frank pajamas – which can almost pass as cargo pants. Almost. I also managed to shove some jeans and a tee-shirt into a bag, for when I meet Dean on set later. Paul Frank PJs may pass at the house, but…

I arrive and punch pound, six nine six nine into the gate intercom. It works. I drive up the long driveway and park behind the Lexuses (or Lexi?) again. I try to figure out if one is missing, to see whether or not Chloe has left yet, but it’s no use. There are too many to count and who knows which she was in the mood to drive today? I make a mental note to pay attention to this next time. But in the meantime, I go up to the door and see the motion detectors: two on either side of the gigantic front doors, as well as every way I turn. The doors are probably over eight feet tall. How’s a girl to reach the key? Hmm. And couldn’t Chloe have just left the door unlocked – or left the key under a more easy-to-reach location, like under the “Welcome” mat? I look down and see the mat. I stomp on it a few times in frustration as I brainstorm on how to reach the key…

A few minutes later, I see one of the girl’s pink dirt bikes nearby and park it right under said motion detector. I step onto the seat, teetering a bit as I stand on my tiptoes, trying to reach the key (if this sounds scary, imagine actually doing it; I kept envisioning being the only girl in the ER with a concussion from falling off a bike… trying to reach my boss’s house key). Finally, I jump up and get the key – score! But as my foot feels around for the bike seat to land on, I notice the bike has fallen. Damn those kiddie kickstands. I fall to the ground, bracing myself with the palms of my hands. Ouch. With my hands bloodied and cut, I fumble for the front door – the key won’t go inside. WTF? I look up – yep, that was the motion detector on the right… I try the key again. Nothing. I grab the bike again and decide to look on top of the other motion detector; maybe she meant stage right. I wipe my bloodied hands all over poor Paul Frank’s cute little monkey faces as I position the bike under the motion detector on the left…

I’m standing on the bike seat when I hear a deep voice behind me, “Don’t move,” which only makes me want to move. I turn around to face the voice – falling off the bike as I do so. From the ground, I look up to see a cop. And more behind him, their cop car lights flashing (but without the blaring sirens). I blink a few times, then do hear cop car sirens as more cars pull up. WTF is this? “What were you doing,” the cop closest to me says. “Trying to get in the house,” I whimper. “Obviously,” he says. “You’re bleeding,” he adds. “Yeah,” I say. “My balance was a bit off—“ “Obviously,” he interrupts again. Maaaan, is this guy an ass. “Nice PJs,” he says as I start to stand up. Was that really necessary, I wonder, to humiliate me even more? He walks toward me, removing his handcuffs from his belt as he does so. No frickin’ way… “The silent alarm went off. I’m going to have to arrest you for trespassing,” he says. “But… I wasn’t trespassing,” I stammer out, making myself sound even more guilty than I look. “I’m their assistant.” “Since when?” he asks. “And their assistant’s a guy,” he adds matter-of-factly. “Not anymore,” I say, confused. Why would Chloe leave me the wrong key, I wonder. Unless she did this on purpose…? Do you think she did this on purpose? “Logan, their assistant, is the only one on the list of approved key-holders,” he says. “So you’re coming with me,” he adds as he cuffs me and starts to read me my rights… (And to think that this is only my second day, readers. How much I have yet to look forward to…)

The Wife knows about Dean’s SAA meeting!

Continued from last week…

(We were at the part where my boss, Dean, comes home and I’m sitting with his wife (Chloe) and kids (Spring and Summer), terrified he will be mad that I am not at his Sex Addicts Anonymous (SAA) meeting, instead.)

Dean comes in and kisses Chloe, then Spring and Summer, while I try to nonchalantly eat the potato chip Chloe so nicely pointed out in my hair. Crunch. All turn and look at me, especially Dean, who acts as though he’s noticing me for the first time. “How was the meeting?” he asks. Guess that answers my “Does his wife know he goes to Sex Addicts Anonymous meetings?” question. “Fi-fine,” I stammer out. I have never stuttered in my life… until now. “Aren’t you going to thank her for going?” Chloe says. Then she turns to me and says, “I’m trying to get him to say “please” and “thank you” more.” “Thanks for going, Avery,” Dean says like a little boy who was just scolded by his mother, but with an earnest twist. Amazing, the power Chloe has over him. And all just in the first minute of his being home. But I don’t mind – he doesn’t ask me anything else about the meeting – or about why I am back so soon, so Chloe can do all the talking she wants. Dean’s eerie calm also makes me wonder if bi-polarness runs in the family – or perhaps they’ve rubbed off on each other? Whatever the case may be, I don’t want to catch it.

By the way, did I mention that Chloe is about half Dean’s age? They are the typical middle-aged-guy-going-through-a-mid-life-crisis-who-meets-and-marries-a-young-girl Hollywood couple. And the cliché gets worse – she was an extra in a show he directed, and she was barely legal at the time (eight years ago). To make matters worse, she and I are only a year apart; she’s older (thankfully). “What’s for dinner?” Dean says, interrupting my thoughts. “Tea sandwich?” Chloe offers. Dean shakes his head. “Real food,” he says. “We could send Avery out,” Chloe says. Hey, I think. What happened to being her new best friend? If I really were, I would offer to go get them some food, not be asked. And do they remember that I am sitting here? Can’t they look at me, instead of talk about me in front of me? But alas… I must remember I am the hired help, the Cinderella in the Ken, Barbie, and cute kids to match scenario I am now in. And, ironically, we are in the Barbie Dream House as I speak. But the clock in the dream house says it’s nearly nine o’clock; shouldn’t I be going home now, not going to get them dinner?

Ten minutes later, I find myself at the grocery store, holding a list written in Chloe’s loopy writing in one hand, money in the other (she had told me to get something for myself, too – the only bonus in this scenario so far). I am ordering various sandwiches at the deli: this one with extra cheese and no mayo, that one with no cheese and mayo. As I wait, I wonder why Chloe couldn’t just make these sandwiches herself – were they really much harder than triangular ones? And wouldn’t it be cheaper to make their own (not like they had to worry about money, but…) I also try to ignore the neon “WE DELIVER” sign flashing before me. Uh. I just want to go home. Finally, the deli guy hands me my order and I put my high school waitressing skills to good use, as I double and triple-check every sandwich; all correct. I get to the cash register and am appalled to find that each “gourmet” sandwich is nearly ten dollars. Hell, I should have bought all the ingredients, made the sandwiches for them, and pocketed the change. Ah, well. Before my sandwich is rung up, I run out of money – and pay out-of-pocket for a sandwich I never would have normally bought for myself. And it’s not exactly the kind of thing you can go put back on the shelf…

I bring the sandwiches back, hoping I am done for the day. Everyone starts to eat, but I can’t take it anymore; I’m exhausted. “Well, do you need anything else—“ I start. Chloe interrupts (of course she does). “Avery, you should certainly eat with us. Right, Dean?” His mouth full, he nods. “Yes, stay!” Spring says, excitedly. Aw, that’s cute. Fine. Why not, I think. I unwrap my $12.95 sandwich and take a big bite. “So what penance am I supposed to do before next week’s meeting?” Dean asks. Shit… I knew I should have gone home, I think. Didn’t he realize I left early? Guess not… But now what? Do I make something up? But if I do, will he know? Or do I tell the truth…? Any ideas, readers?