✏️ Professional Baby

7: Make It All Real

I woke up and went to sort out breakfast. I wasn't even thinking about my new job; more about finding my way around an unfamiliar kitchen, and wondering whether I was suffering a mild hangover or still a little drunk from the night before. I knew that I shouldn't have partied quite so hard last night, but hindsight is always twenty-twenty. On the other hand, I'd woken up next to a beautiful woman, which meant that my judgement the night before hadn't been too bad; although a part of me wished that I could remember her name.

While I was hunting through the kitchen cabinets for something edible, I heard a chime from the corner of the room. My phone; I hadn't lost it. That was a good sign as well. And it was reminding me that I was supposed to be treating Yana to lunch today, so that I could repay some of the money that I owed her in time to pay the first instalment of this year's college fees. My brain had been working overtime on my excuses, but I still hadn't come up with any believable reason for not having the money. As far as she knew, I was a successful psychiatrist; that didn't really fit with never having a paycheck in my hand.

I was, however, pretty late. I dressed in a hurry, thankful that it didn't take much of a morning routine to get my hair into its usual tousled state. I still didn't have anything to eat, but I had to put first things first, so I grabbed a can of some energy drink from the kitchen and started drinking it in the elevator down to the ground floor of this building. Wherever I was. At first I thought that I might find myself emerging from a university residence building, but as I emerged onto the street it seemed more like an upscale apartment building. I shrugged, and tried to get my bearings so that I could hurry to meet Yana.

In the end, it turned out that the first familiar street I ran across was only a short distance from home, so I called in to check if there was any mail waiting for me. And there was; a brown envelope with a return address printed on the back, starting with "Girlzz External Holdings Inc.".

My paycheck! I was impatient to see how much money had actually reached me after taxes. And for a moment, I wondered if that meant I would actually be able to give Yana some of her money back. I hoped so, because every minute that passed now seemed to make me feel worse about the problems I was causing for her. I tried to tell myself that it wouldn't be a big deal, but I really didn't want her to have any sign of difficulty. Not just because paying her back would slightly reduce the number of lies I had to keep straight in my head, but because I knew deep down that she deserved better. Sure, Yana was a gorgeous nymphomaniac, but that didn't mean I should respect her any less. She'd actually sought out help with her issues, after all; even if I hadn't been the most helpful therapist in the world. She deserved better.

And I deserved better from myself. I was going to be better. Not just doing a better job of being honest with Alma because she had caught me in a lie, but being more honest because I knew I should. I was going to treat them both better. Yana and Alma would both start to see the best side of me. And the other girl too, if that turned out to have been more than a one night stand once I could remember her name. I promised myself that actually having a job was going to have a knock-on effect on the rest of my life. I'd spent too long telling myself that as soon as a career floated into my lap I was going to be a success. I knew that I'd just been making excuses, and I'd known that for years. I'd just kept putting it to the back of my mind, telling myself that gainful employment was the first step towards self-improvement, while not actually making any real attempt.

I wasn't going to let myself skate by with excuses now. And that meant not being late when I had arranged to meet my girlfriend at a specific time. I rushed out, not even opening the envelope, and found myself diving onto the metro just as the doors closed. There was still a chance that we would be able to meet up at the time I had promised.

All the way there, I stared at the envelope in my hands. It was strange, seeing something like that. Not something from an anonymous agency, but from an actual employer. I didn't know why it seemed so important; this was probably only a short-term career. But it was a real job, and both the photographer and Miss Jordan had seemed like they actually appreciated what I had been able to bring to the role. I still didn't know how much money they had sent me; I was sure there would be some tax deducted before the payment reached my bank. A part of me wanted to see the figures, but this felt too important.