Freeing Colossus | H.S.

Chapter 1: Summer Jobs

She was testing me. I knew my face was about to do something unpleasant, so I tried to move my mouth quickly.

"Emma, please." My eyes were set on the crying blonde in front of me, trying not to let my agitation slip. "Of course people want to see you! You have 50 pre-sign-ups and there are going to be plenty of people browsing the store while you're there. Don't you owe it to yourself and your loyal readers to see this through?"

"I'm not going!" She finally looks up, tears downpouring and false eyelashes flailing at the corners of eyes. "This isn't going to get me famous! You want to know how many attendees Larisa Morgan averaged for book signings? 300! She closed off a road in Tulsa!"

Larisa Morgan, Emma's literary hero and natural competition. Fucking great, there was no coming back once she mentions her.

"It was a small road." I try, reassuringly.

She gasps and resumes her crying fit, shaking her head. "Tell Liza that I'm calling it off. And get me my green juice! I need to detox."

It is days like this I really wish I had taken to being a virtual assistant as opposed to an in-person assistant. VAs don't have to juggle clients' emotional rampages spurred by insecurities and fears about the feature all in the proximity of the same building.

Nope. All they get is a pithy: Sorry for going off the grid! I had a couple of things come up and needed a break. Hope all is well!

I walk out of her hotel room and down the hallway to my room, thankful for the space between me and my sobbing boss. I might have stayed to console her and get her to see reason but when Emma has her fits, it's better to just let her be. She might get over it in time for the book signing and she might not. I'm her assistant, not a freelancing therapist.

Yet still, as I called Liza, Emma's literary agent, I felt like a parent informing her child's teacher that she was out sick.

"Oh boy," Liza huffs through the phone. "Thank you for telling me as soon as you did, Valeria. Now let's see if the publicity department can still scrape together an event at Thunderbolt. Maybe on Thursday? I know these things take time but they might be willing if I tell them Larisa wants to do a signing there, too."

Leaning against the wall of my hotel room, I nod my head.

"That's fine, I'll add it to the calendar as soon as the publicist gives me the green light."

"You're a great assistant, Valeria... Honestly, you're the best! I hope Emma gives you enough appreciation for all she puts you both through."

"You do a lot for her too."

"Yeah?" She laughs. "Probably a lot more than the average agent would. But I helped get her mom's books published and her sister-in-law's tarot cards sold. They weren't nearly as..." Difficult. Tumultuous. Bratty. "Anyway, let's just hope that we don't hit any more bumps in the road this week."

I kind of had a feeling that a possibility for Emma's tantrums was calculated for in the itinerary but I didn't make any suggestions to Liza. Her team probably left things flexible for everyone's benefit.

"I have to run to a juice shop and pick something up for Emma. She's probably asleep, so she'll be more inclined to talk after she wakes up and has her juice." Like a literal child.

"Awesome, at least there's someone capable of managing her. Thanks again! You might as well take advantage of the free day and explore. It's LA, you'll find everything to do there."

I thanked her and ended the call with good wishes.

I let out a sigh I had been holding in for hours. We had just gotten to the hotel early in the morning or in the middle of the night if 2 a.m. is worth debating over. The plan was to nap until the late morning and then get going to the Thunderbolt Bookshop for her first book signing of this press tour. If I hadn't dealt with Emma on the five hour flight from Florida or her week-long spazzing before the trip, I might have thought we were set for this trip.

Working for Emma was an exercise in patience but it came with its many advantages. She was a multi-best selling author in her genre, which to this day I don't exactly know were to categorize her work. She's found somewhere between the self-help and new age spirituality section at book stores and at local Wholefoods.

I found her through my mom, who has been friends with Emma since they met at a group workout class. Yes -- my boss is friends with my mom. And that definitely adds a level of awkwardness and close proximity that no one wants to have with someone they work with.

Still, there were upsides to this line of work. Flexible hours, something to do with my liberal arts degree (literal employment is on my pros list), a chance for networking, travel opportunities (as is the case right now), and a look at the industry. Granted, this wasn't exactly the side of the industry I wanted to break into but beggars can't be choosers. And this beggar would have a lot to answer for if her parents found out that her degree didn't amount to shit post-graduation. Especially when I'm still in the process of applying for law school, so this does nicely in the meantime.

Even if this job has been feeling more and more like a babysitting job as the year has passed.

I look down at my cream colored blouse and black capris that could almost be called chicos (I have definitely entered the working adult world, oh fuck), and happily decide that I have no further use of this outfit for the rest of the day. Shorts and a t-shirt it is. Not as put together as I probably could to take advantage of photo ops in the city but I was planning on wandering nearby. And I wasn't exactly planning on taking pictures of myself. I grab my stuff and take a quick glance at the mirror.

My hair was still in wide curls, not yet frizzing, barely hanging above my shoulders. I'm definitely overdue for some sun exposure -- working in Emma's home office for 5 days a week for the last year had paled me yellow -- so a walk on the beach is a good use of my free day.

I made my way out of the hotel by the back entrance and was struck by my first sight of L.A., specifically Santa Monica, in the daylight. Cars speeding off on the road adjacent to the hotel, people crowding the sidewalks, and the smell of the neighboring beach, not unlike my hometown in Florida but somehow much more. I crossed the street and followed the path to the beach.

I stopped against a curb, farther away from the shoreline and all the pretty people and families making memories. I put my backpack down and took out my sunglasses, deciding that this was the right spot to take pictures. There was a glow that this side of the beach met with the other side.

I also retrieved my copies of Jane Eyre, Wide Sargasso Sea, and I Capture the Castle. I positioned each book for individual and group shots, happy to have time to contemplate angles and look up to admire the view itself.

I never thought I would ever be able to visit California. Coming from an immigrant family, vacations were exclusively saved for visiting extended family. But here I was, with a heavy May breeze tingling my skin and the sun bearing down on the top of my head. Exactly where I wasn't only a year ago and I felt for a second all the potential that a moment brings.

Life is not measured by time. It is measured by moments.

"Hello. Do you need any help?"