Never Let Them Define You

TAKING THE FIRST STEP

As she walks up to work, she looks at the giant Mills Production Company sign, and notes how each word is red, yellow, and then blue. Primary colors, I guess they do understand some things about art.

"Cassandra!" yells a strung-out middle-aged man in tattered clothes holding up a picket sign, "How are you?"

She keeps walking and doesn't look at him. "Not good, Albert, not very good at all."

"God bless you, Cassandra, I hadn't known an honest woman until I met you."

She flips him the bird, then pushes through the revolving door, and steps into the lobby. The sounds of paper shuffling, all kinds of machines beeping for all kinds of reasons, and the constant chatter of workers and guests fill the air.

"Cassandra, so good to see you!"

"If it isn't the queen bee, David Mills, I'm stunned."

Low laughter surrounds him, but he continues to smile, and then hugs her quickly. "Did you get the memo? I was worried I was a bit too harsh," he says hushedly.

"Oh, yes, the memo regarding my termination," she says at a normal volume, "well, I wanted to let you know that I want to start working on the project as soon as possible."

"Oh, that's wonderful news!"

"Yes, your words were so eye-opening for me, I was really quite moved, and I knew I had to stop the dilly-dallying and head over right away."

"Well, clearly, you didn't even let a blizzard stop you." He puts his hand on her shoulder and leads her out of the lobby. "That's what we love about you, Cassandra, your dedication to this company and to art; I'm moved by you as well."

"I'm quite flattered; I was wondering if you had any ideas regarding the Big One, since even though I am a great artist, it's still quite an undertaking to go for the world as an audience."

"Don't worry, I completely understand your fears; it is quite a frightening task, but fret not Cassandra, you will be our biggest star in no time, I mean, not that you aren't already." He laughs.

They approach an elevator with a wooden frame around both doors, which is polished and clean, but cracked in several places. He pushes the call button, then looks at her, and smiles widely; she smiles back half as wide and brushes her hair behind her ears. Is he really buying this? I mean, I've never been overly dismissive of the project, but I never had any leanings towards it, and I've never once presented any ideas or made an effort before. Maybe he'll think that something really did click inside me...maybe it actually did. She shakes her head and pushes all her hair back.

"Something wrong?" The elevator dings and the right door slowly opens.

"Oh, no, nothing at all, why do you say that?"

"I don't mean to be presumptuous," he says in a flustered way, "you were just messing with your hair, and you shook your head."

"So observant." She chuckles as the door closes behind them, then looks around at the walls of mirrors around them, and bends her head to the side as she stares out at the infinite reflections of herself stretching out through a million elevators. "Isn't that fascinating?"

"What?" He looks around, trying to find what she's looking at, then looks up at the ceiling. "That drawing?"

"No, the way we're reflect-" She stops as she sees the drawing above them. "Who would draw something like that here?"

They both kept their eyes on what looked like a black-haired woman having missionary sex with a brown-haired man.

"Is that what I think that is?" asked David.

"No, I mean, not unless you think it's two people having intercourse on the ceiling."

"I'm gonna be sick." He holds his stomach, then his forehead, and begins to stagger.

"Hey David, calm down, it's not that-"

"That's Mr. Mills to you! This is disgusting! I cannot condone this behavior and I-" the elevator door opens and he steps out quickly, "I'll send someone else to help you with your assignment."

"Wait, what am...what?"

"Wait there, Cassandra!"

She looks around at the small lobby area outside the elevator, the plants in white ceramic pots, the ornamental chandelier, and the upholstered leather benches beside the doors of the elevator. She watches as he exits from sight, then stands flabbergasted for a moment, and sits down hurriedly. He seemed like he was gonna puke, Jesus, that may be too much company pride right there. Who would draw something like that, though? And the hair color, it looked like-

"Hi, Cassandra, so sorry about that!" says Josephine who stands before her in a turquoise floral dress with white heels and pink lipstick.

She jolts and blinks. "Ah, sorry, you startled me."

"Oh my God, I am so sorry!" She laughs. "Well, Mr. Mills was very upset by that obscene drawing, as you could probably tell; he's working on getting it removed right away," she looks right in her eyes, "but I wonder who would draw something like that."

"Likewise," she scoffs, "it was horrendous; I think I'll bleach my eyes soon, if necessary."

"Well, we wouldn't want to hurt those pretty little diamonds, now would we?" She laughs again. "Who'd you get those blue pearls from anyway, your mom or dad?"

"Grandpa, actually, but all this small talk is getting in the way of what needs to be done; did David tell you what we're doing?"

"Mr Mills." She giggles. "You meant to say Mr. Mills, right?"

"Yes, so sorry." She laughs. "I just heard him talking to some superiors early and the name popped in my head."

"Oh, I totally understand that, um, well, yes, he did tell me about the haps, but are you sure you're ready? You've been pretty resistant in the past."

She smiles. "Nothing like a termination notice to get the creative juices flowing."

"I wouldn't know." She chuckles. "Anyway, let's get down to business; follow me." She turns around and takes off at a brisk pace.

She rises quickly and jogs after her. "Do you have any ideas regarding the project? Just curious."

"Didn't I just say I don't know anything about creative juices?"

"Oh, well I think we all have an artist in us."

"Awe, that's so inspiring," she looks back and forces a smile, then continues, "but not me, I got nada; well, except actually, I did want to be a singer when I was a girl." She squeals and swings her arms in the air. "I don't have dreams like that anymore, though." She sighs.

"What stopped you?"

"Ugh, anxiety attacks; I used to get 'em so bad I would puke."

"Jesus, do you still get them?"

"Oh, yeah, well," she chuckles and face palms, then continues, "I do, but my doctor recommended I use a vibrator for medical reasons, and ever since they've been so much better. It's not like I don't get them, but they're more manageable, that's all."

"Do you ever think about singing now?"

"These old chords are too dusty to even speak without a crackle, and you think I can sing?"'

"Just wondering."

"Maybe you wonder too much."

"Isn't that what they pay me for?"

She laughs genuinely. "You're funny."

"Thanks."

"Don't let it go to your head."