The Bedroom Blog

When Your First Real Job Isn't Quite What You Thought It'd Be

Chloe's interview gets weird.

By Alessandra Torre

A dog. Chanel was A DOG.

I stood on the side of the crib and fought to keep my expression normal as I took in the tiny pink outfit and the body that couldn't weigh more than five pounds. It lay on its side, brown poufs of hair spilling out of each opening in the ensemble, a fur-lined hoodie lying loose across its back and snored, stretched out across a duvet. 

"She's sleeping," Mrs. Brantley whispered loudly. 

Duh. I attempted a polite smile and looked back at the dog. I was going to get a thousand dollars a week to puppy-sit? A mixture of glee and disbelief washed over me, this job infinitely more appealing. Honestly, I had been a little freaked out by the childcare thing. The idea of burping and diaper changes had filled me with anxiety, but now, with the cupcake job of the year dangled before me? All I needed to focus on was not screwing it up.

"When can I start?" I whispered, careful to give the proper respect to sleeping Chanel. 

She glanced at her diamond-studded watch. "Can you work today 'til four?" 

"Absolutely." I smiled brightly and returned my eyes to the bundle of cash before me. 

Mrs. Brantley patted my arm in what seemed to be approval. "I'll let you explore her playroom on your own. I've got to hop on a call. If you have any questions, hunt down one of the help."

The Help. I nodded politely, watching her heels click out the door, and performed a cursory sweep of the room.  Decorated in three different shades of pink, the suite included a miniature treadmill, a dog closet that trumped my own, and dressers stocked with supplies and toys. Unsure of what exactly a Dog Nanny does, I settled into a leather chair and waited for Chanel to wake up, the gentle snores from the crib creating a soothing lullaby.

I may or may not have fallen asleep. Let's pretend, for the sake of my future generations who may stumble upon this blog, that I diligently watched over Chanel's sleeping form without a single head droop. That's me. Best Dog Nanny EVER.

4:05 p.m. I nodded a goodbye to the maid, grabbed my coat and stepped into the street, the afternoon sun minimizing the chill as I pulled the door tightly shut behind me. Success. I wanted to dance — right there on the street, strangers brushing by — in celebration. I wanted to wave my arms and revel in the fact that Chloe Madison was officially independent. I had my own job. Would not become homeless. Would not fail. It is liberating, exciting in a way that my privileged upbringing could never afford. Yes, a thousand a week will barely make a dent in my mountain of debt. Yes, I'll be eating Ramen noodles and taking the subway. Yes, I'm being financially supported by a dog. But still! I am on my own and for the first time, it doesn't feel scary, it feels great. 

I strutted down the street, swinging my purse, and dug for my cell, the phone to my ear by the time I hit Park Avenue.

"Hey, beautiful!" Cammie's voice shrieked through the phone, her greeting seconded by Benta, and I could imagine the two girls, faces together over a pitcher of margaritas, the phone held between them.

"Hey, you tan goddesses," I teased. "Enjoying the Florida sun without me?"

"Ummmm, yes." In the background, I heard the familiar thud of house music. "How'd the interview go?"

I delivered the good news, the girls squealing, a laugh spilling from my mouth at their reaction, "I wish you guys were here to help me celebrate."

"Girl, hop on a plane and get down here! We'll save one of these hot dudes for you."

"Don't tempt me," I warned. "I'm so sick of New York guys I could scream." A vision of Clarke Brantley appeared in my mind, his hand against the window. I closed my eyes briefly and fought the urge to check my lower lip for drool." Anyway, I've got to run. I'm going to check out apartments, try and find a place to live. I just wanted to let you guys know the good news."

"That's great, babe," Benta called out, her voice overshadowed by the background noise. "Go have fun tonight! Celebrate without us!"

I smiled at her order, said my good-byes, and ended the call before jogging down the subway steps, the warmth of the afternoon sun fading as I stepped underground.

But my phone rang just as I hit the bottom step, the muted song chiming from my purse as I stepped to the side of foot traffic, digging frantically as my Beyoncé ringtone neared its end. I followed the glow of the screen, pulling out my cell just in time. My finger froze mid-swipe, and I stared down at my screen, my eyes widening at the name that I had hoped to never see again.