Working It Read Online Free Page A

going on—kohl-lined eyes, sausage roll bangs, bandana tied around her artfully pin-curled raven hair, and a swingy polka dot dress.
    She tilted her head and pouted her crimson-painted lips, staring at me through her narrowed cat eyes. Then she shrugged and said, “It’s probably because you have resting bitch face.”
    I graduated with a dual degree in Business Management and Apparel Technical Design and started working for LVMH the very next day. I kept myself so busy grasping for each new rung of the corporate ladder, I had little time to feel lonely.
    This is the first time I have ever felt completely, pathetically alone. I feel like a cinder, lacking substance, just waiting for the first breeze to send me floating away.
    I return to the couch, grab my phone, and scroll through my contacts, desperate to find some two a.m. friends. Two a.m. friends are the kind of friends you can call in an emergency in the middle of night and you know they will pick up.
    Adriana Adams
    Nicole Apodaca
    Lena Bacon
    Curtis Bower
    Elizabeth Berg
    Victoria Brandt
    Nancy Bromley
    I keep scrolling, down, down, down, past Happy Bamboo and Ho Min Drycleaners, until I get to the last name in my contacts: World Fitness. Other than Vivian, I don’t have a single two a.m. friend.
    I scroll through the list again, and this time I see a potential two a.m. friend: Ashleigh Pratt.
    Yes! Of course! Ashleigh Pratt. How could I have forgotten about Ashleigh? She’s totally a two a.m. friend.
    I select her name to dial her number and press the phone to my ear. It rings four times before someone picks up.
    “Hello?”
    “ Coucou , Ashleigh!”
    “Who is this?”
    Her question comes out as a croak.
    “It’s me, Stéphanie,” I say, only slightly slurring my words. “Your good friend, Stéphanie.”
    “Stéphanie?”
    “ Oui! ”
    “Stéphanie, who?” She lowers her voice. “Look, I think you must have the wrong Ashleigh.”
    “Stéphanie who?” Suddenly, I get why she’s whispering. I lower my voice. “Oh, you dirty tramp! You’ve got some hot guy in bed with you. That’s why you’re whispering, isn’t it? You dirty, dirty shlut .”
    I laugh at my slurred word, but Ashleigh doesn’t.
    “Stéphanie? Is this Stéphanie Moreau?”
    “ Bien sûr! Why are you acting so surprised? We’re good friends, aren’t we? Two a.m. friends?”
    “No,” she snaps. “We are definitely not two a.m. friends.”
    I swallow past a thick lump in my throat. “Why not?”
    “Why not?” She chuckles softly, though not kindly. “Because we haven’t spoken in six years, remember?”
    “What?” I stare out the window and then close my eyes when the lights in the Bay start spinning like a disco ball. “It hasn’t been that long.”
    “Yes, it has,” she hisses. “We stopped talking six years ago.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Yes. Very sure. We stopped talking right after the birth of my first child because you said that baby talk bored you, and you just didn’t see how we could keep our friendship vibrant when we were pursuing such different life paths.”
    “I said that?”
    “Yes, you did.”
    An infant begins wailing in the background, an ear-piercing, shrill cry.
    Ashleigh sighs. “I don’t know why you are calling, but I want you to know that I have no hard feelings. We were on different paths. I hope your path has brought you as much joy as mine has. Gotta go. Take care.”
    The line goes dead. I open my eyes again and stare out at the lights until hot tears prick my eyelids, until I think I am going to be sick.
    That’s it. I finally know what is missing from my life: joy. I am joyless. Joyless Fanny, plodding down the career path with a Blackberry full of meaningless contacts.
     

Chapter 6
    Googling for Pleasure
     
    I wonder if Tiffany and Company sells joy tucked into one of their iconic Tiffany blue boxes and wrapped with a white satin bow. If only it were that simple.
    I half-roll, half-hoist myself off the couch and stagger