The Labyrinth of Love

Chapter Four

The Vortex building was a striking architectural wonder of glass and steel, its structure integrated into the magnificent skyline of Manhattan. When she stepped into the lobby, the emotion that surged through her was excitement at the prospect of a new beginning, not to mention awe at the sophistication and opulence of the grand space. It was state-of-the-art; the walls were adorned with bespoke paintings, and the furniture exuded comfort and class. They seemed so plush that she briefly contemplated carting one away—the knowledge of the kind of security this behemoth establishment would have nipped that thought in the bud. The floors were marble, and a grand crystal chandelier hung down the ceiling daintily, adding to the charm; even the elevator was elegant and seemed like a portal to another world.

The lobby was as busy as it could be on a Wednesday morning, with people coming in and out, walking briskly and purposefully. The space smelled of rich oud, coffee, and a mix of conflicting colognes. It was not altogether a chaotic nasal experience; in fact, it was homey and almost nostalgic.

Lettie was dressed formally in a mocha-hued skirt and blazer and a beige-coloured button-down that matched her shoes and purse. Her knee-length skirt fit like a glove, but its hue did nothing to accentuate her curves. She, however, accessorized with a zirconia teardrop necklace and matching stud earrings. She went for a minimal look, applying just mascara and lip gloss, but her auburn hair was styled immaculately in a sleek knot-updo.

She walked elegantly toward the receptionist, a blonde woman behind a counter, who had a cheery smile plastered on her face. She greeted, and the woman replied, rather, recited in a sing-song voice, “Good morning, Ma'am, welcome to Vortex. How may I help you?”

“Hi, I was invited for an interview here,” Lettie replied softly.

“An interview? Oh alright, hold on, let me confirm...” The receptionist picked up the telephone and dialled a number. Putting down the receiver, the lady said, “I'm sorry; it looks like there's been some sort of mistake.” Her face was strewn into what was meant to be an apologetic smile but truly came off as a knowing one, as though Lettie was some kind of pathological liar. In her mind, she wondered why anyone would lie their way into an interview with Vortex, but it went without saying so she didn’t voice it out.

Unsure how to react, Lettie smiled a little. She moved such that she was now backing the receptionist and leaning on the counter. For a brief moment, she revelled in the lull of activity—people coming in and going out, the clink of shoes, the humming of the elevator, the smell of freshly baked snacks, and store-bought coffee—then she chuckled, smoothed down her skirt, took a deep breath, counted to ten, and slowly turned around. The apologetic smile that had been on the receptionist's face was soon replaced by one of pity, as if to say, ‘I feel your pain, I was a sore loser too.’

“You think I'm making this up, don't you?” She blurted as realization hit.

“No, Ma'am. I’ve not said anything like that,” the receptionist said softly with clenched teeth, raising her voice a notch and looking sideways, silently calling for an audience.

“But you’re insinuating it,” she deadpanned with an angry huff.

“Now, ma’am, I’m going to ask you to please calm down.” The receptionist stood up abruptly like she was being attacked by a maniac, gesturing for her to ‘calm down,’ still smiling sweetly and raising her voice ever so slightly. Lettie had to give it to her; she succeeded in arousing a few people’s attention, as, even though no one had stopped in their tracks to watch, or gotten up from their seats, a few eyes lingered in their direction.

At that moment, only one thing went through her mind—how satisfying it would feel to smack that sick smile off her face. To think she had thought the woman professional and, god forbid, nice. However, being the one desperately in need of a job, she inwardly counted to ten again, trying to restore calm and keep the crazy at bay.

Lettie’s gaze flitted to her name badge; her countenance perked up, and she tried again with a peachy smile, “Uhm… Candace right? I couldn’t make this up even if I wanted to… you see, I got an actual invitation from this company for an interview today at 9:00 am, and as much as I’m enjoying this little back and forth, I have less than fifteen minutes before it’s scheduled.”

“Did you get an invitation letter?” She questioned, squinting her eyes and craning her neck a little, as though she were interrogating a juvenile delinquent.

“Hmm… alright… uhm… crazy, but I feel like I’m getting uncooperative vibes from you, am I going to have to show you this letter?” Lettie whispered, leaning in, her fingers impatiently rapping the countertop.

“Forgive me, Ma'am, I didn’t mean to be too obvious,” she said sarcastically, enunciating every word. As soon as she found the mail, she flashed it before Candace’s face with an ‘Aha’ smile.

Candace yanked the phone from her hands, “let me see that.”

“Hey! iPhones are expensive!” Lettie all but screamed.

“Well, hang on a second ma’am, I’ll ring upstairs.” She said after taking her time to scrutinize the letter.

“Son of a b***h, she didn’t ring upstairs before!” Lettie mused as she listened to the animated conversation between Candace and whoever was on the other end of the call.

Covering the receiver, obviously having heard her, Candace asked sweetly, “I’m sorry did you say something?”

“Nothing… it was nothing.”

“Thought so,” she muttered under her breath, returning to the call.

“Well?” Lettie inquired as soon as the call ended.

“Tenth floor, first room to your left. Have a lovely day.” Candace said stiffly. Lettie replied with a derisive chuckle.

** * *

Stepping out of the elevator onto the tenth floor, colloquially referred to as "upstairs" by colleagues, felt like entering another world. The space was not merely elegant or state-of-the-art; it could only be described as delicate brilliance. The entire tenth floor presented an antithesis to the grandeur of the lobby, charming in an elusive yet exotic way, gradually growing on anyone who entered. Appreciating it required intentional observation, as its brilliance might be mistaken for mere practicality. Various shades of cool grey, sturdy ebony-trimmed furnishings, statuettes, and abstract art lining the walls created a palpable and imposing aura.

Hearing shuffling sounds, she clutched her purse and walked toward the source. The door was slightly ajar, so she tapped on it and slowly pushed it open. In the room stood the most genteel, if not straitlaced, woman she had ever seen. Her tweed plaid dress, an inch below the knees and in a drab brown colour, complemented her pristinely slicked-down hair in the tightest of chignons. Her countenance was blank, and her posture unbelievably straight.

"I don't believe we have met," the middle-aged woman said mirthlessly.

Lettie gulped, nerves acting up. She opened her mouth to speak, but the woman's severe gaze turned her words into constipated gibberish. Lettie took a deep breath and tried again. "I'm here for the interview."

"Oh, yes, thank God. Please sit," the woman gestured toward a chair. Though her words suggested relief, the monotony of her voice hinted otherwise. Lettie refrained from sitting until the woman did.

"I trust Melanie has filled you in on the exigencies of your job. There'll be no formal interview as I have an important engagement to get to right away. However, this is a trial run that should last for 14 days. If we're satisfied, we'll keep you on. The job pays $25 hourly and you’ll work from 7 am to 6:00 pm throughout the duration. If you are retained after fourteen days, new employment terms will be reached. Until then, please report to the address on this piece of paper, first thing tomorrow morning. The contract will be ready for you to sign." The woman spoke in a breeze.

Lettie, bewildered, could only manage a question, "Melanie?" She was unfamiliar with anyone by that name. The hourly rate of $25 was a significant increase from her former $9 rate, but it seemed the woman had confused her with someone else. Realization struck as the woman briskly questioned, "Aren't you from the agency?" while arranging her bag.

"No, Ma'am. I'm here about the Personal Assistant job." The woman paused, looking at Lettie as if she'd just heard something absurd.

"Personal assistant? There's no such vacancy. We're looking for a nanny!"