By Tracy Kiely
Like my
protagonist, Elizabeth Parker, I graduated with a degree in English Literature.
Then I just sat back and watched as the job offers ROLLED in. So much demand –
such a variety of opportunities – the choices were endless!
I do remember
going to a headhunter at one point and having her ask what my typing speed was.
I think I gazed at her with the same expression if she’s just unleashed a
torrent of French upon my non-Gallic ears. “I don’t see what that has to do
with anything,” I naively replied. “I’m looking for a writing position.”
I was quickly
assured that I would indeed be writing – lots of letters and even the occasional
memo! The only snag was that these works would not be originated by me – only
typed by me. “But I’m sure they would value your input,” she added.
And so I ended up
fresh out of college working for a place which was about as far away from my
lofty goals as you could possibly get, but inasmuch as it actually provided me
with a paycheck, it was a hell of a lot more than anything my lofty goals had been
able to produce so far. We all start out somewhere, I thought, and a somewhere
that pays is a pretty nice somewhere. However, I think it was about a week into
the job when I realized that my boss was, um, horrible.
How can I describe
him? First off, he had a wardrobe that would make Herb Tarlek gag. (I’ve just
dated myself, eh?) He also shunned deodorant – which was unfortunate as our
office had no AC, and he kept his long hair greased back and firmly shellacked
in place. Now, none of this would have mattered if it weren’t for the fact that
this also guy thought he was a ladies’ man, man about town, a mover and a shaker,
and that his staff was as passionately interested in his life as he was.
Which, by the way,
was PASSIONATE indeed.
Staff meetings
routinely ran into multiple hour sessions because they needed to include
detailed updates about his mother’s health, his love life, and his past
successes. One of my duties was to duly
record these meetings so our five-person staff could stay apprised of each
other’s activities – something that obviously could not happen otherwise what
with us all working together in the same large room.
Now, in DC offices
there is something known as a vanity wall. It’s a wall that is jam-packed with
framed pictures of celebrities, complete with personalized inscriptions. Many
times the pictures will actually feature the owner of the office huddled in
close with the celebrities. A vanity wall says, “Hey, look at me! Look who I know!” My boss didn’t have one – he had three.
Which was fine,
expect for one tiny thing.
One of my
“writing” jobs was to send out daily “birthday hellos” to celebrities. These
letters included phrases such as “you are a beautiful, significant human being”
and “the world is a better place because of your glorious birth and the beauty
of your craft,” and I would send them to people like Linda Evans – the actress
who played Krystal on Dynasty.
Who is, I’m sure,
all of those things and more. That’s not the point.
The point was that
I quickly learned that these celebrities would then send back an 8x10 glossy
via a publicist with a generic note of thanks.
Guess what
happened then?
Yep – they
magically obtained an inscription and were added to the revered vanity wall.
I dare you to try
and keep a straight face at your desk, when Linda Evans is smiling down at you,
next to an inscription that reads: “Bill, Wonderful to see you again. Linda.”
Anyway, I used
much of what I learned on that first job to create Elizabeth’s work
environment. How could I not? It wasn’t so much that the job was horrible – it
wasn’t, really. It was just that it was my first real job, and I guess I found
much of it was filled with the ridiculous. I wanted to recreate that feeling of
“What the hell am I doing here?” for Elizabeth, as she looked around her life
and wondered what her next step was.
I think we all use
real people as the basis for some of our characters – the trick is to give them
other qualities and traits (or genders) so as to cover your tush should you get
sued.
Hey – it’s cheaper
than therapy!