When I moved to the Bay Area, it was because that's where the work was going to be for me. When Zoe moved out with me, it was for no other reason than to avoid moving back home. We met at college, first day of freshman year.
I was already sitting in our dorm room, my parents having dropped me off first thing, when she walked in. I looked up from the game I was playing on my laptop and my face dropped. She was not what I was hoping for. If the word 'bimbo' had a personification, it was Zoe. Or so I thought at first blush.
Blond and thin with too much makeup, irritatingly perfect tits squeezed into a white tube top which left nothing to the imagination and skintight yoga pants which became translucent when she bent over, Zoe was the exact cliché. I must have rolled my eyes... well, actually, I know I rolled my eyes, because she subsequently told me that I did.
So,
when
I rolled my eyes, she strode to her side of the room in her pristine Uggs, set down her iced Starbucks on one of the posts of her new bed and folded her arms judgmentally at me. Despite the glower, all I noticed was the fact that when she crossed her arms, it caused her breasts to lift and form I perfect line of cleavage.
Butterflies filled my stomach, reverberating off the walls of my body and my mouth went dry. She might have been the very quintessence of dumb blond, but she was easily the most attractive woman I had ever seen in person. Inadvertently, I began fingering the tips of my auburn hair as my heart thrummed in my ears.
"Okay, let's hear it," she said and I couldn't have been more shocked if she had turned into an alien.
"W-what?" I stammered, feeling myself flush crimson.
"You've got a fucking puss on your face like I just shit in your cereal, so, out with it," she demanded cocking an eyebrow. She had done a good job of obviously training the accent out but my uncle lived in New York and I could spot the accent a mile off.
Her comment took me by such surprise that I couldn't even formulate words and instead simply barked a laugh which seemed to come out of nowhere. I clamped my hand over my thin lips.
"You laughing at me?" she said and it was hard not to hear Joe Pesci.
"No, no, no," I forced through my fingers, "I am laughing at myself."
She dropped her head in a
yeah-fucking-right
sort of way.
"No, really," I said, pulling my hand away. "I am. You just caught me by surprise and totally called me out on my shit."
"I'm good at that," she said and for the first time, I saw a hint of her smile.
"I believe it," I said. "I'm really sorry that I looked at way. It was totally uncool."
She outright laughed at me. "Right, 'totally uncool,' Grandpa."
I dropped my head, hair falling in front of my face. This girl seemed to have my number from the word 'go'. I had never been anything even approaching cool and knew that I talked in a way that would keep me from ever being called cool. It didn't matter though. Being good at the kind of things I was good at meant that I would soon have the wealth needed to not care about being perceived as cool. Or, at least, that's what I told myself at the time.
"I'm Zoe," she said, extending a hand and giving me a genuine smile, showing off two rows of perfect teeth.
"Madeline," I said, shaking her soft hand.
"Anyone call you Maddy?"
"My brother, just to annoy me," I admitted.
"Okay, Maddy it is," she said. "That's for the look you gave me when I got here."
The butterflies were back and I heard a grunt by the door. "Oh, honey, here you are," an older man wearing what I could only describe as private-yacht-casual stepped in with two suitcases dragging behind him.
Four years later, her dad had brought her bags into our new place before pretending that he wasn't crying as he left, just as he had the day we met. The place was small but we each had our own room and a common space, so, for two people fresh out of college, we were happy. I was paying the full rent with Zoe's father giving me her half under the table until she got a job.
I could afford this because I had been recruited by Titan Industries straight out of school. With my twin master's in computer science and engineering and my extra coursework in cybersecurity, I was the ideal candidate. Plus, though I didn't want to admit it to myself, I was also hired to fill a quota. Mixed race and female, I ticked a lot of boxes for a company which had come under scrutiny in the past for their hiring practices (that is to say, hiring all white dudes).
So, I took the job and brought my best friend along with me.
Unlike me, Zoe struggled to find a job straight away. After switching majors what felt like a dozen times, she finally settled on Art History. I supported her the way she wished her dad would, telling her that she would still be able to find... something... after college. But jobs were difficult to get and even harder when you had no marketable skills.
The first few months were fine, with Zoe going for job interviews whenever she could and trying her best not to get discouraged. But I could tell that she was. With each and every instance of her getting dressed up, going in and meeting with the store manager then waiting for the email letting her know they had 'gone with another candidate,' she grew more and more miserable.
It was hard for me to watch and I wanted to do something for her. She had done so much for me and I wanted to return the favor. During her freshman year, I had not made a good impression on anybody else, just as I had with her. I'm awkward and tend to say the wrong thing whenever possible. Zoe was the opposite and let me glom onto her for the freshman orientation, introducing me to people as though we were old friends and elevating me to a social status I had never before experienced.
She had made my collegiate experience something that it would never have been otherwise, and I wanted to do something for her in return. That's how I found myself walking into HR and changing both of our lives.
"Come in," the pudgy man said and I walked through the door. Mr. Simmons had held up a hand and forced me to stand just on the other side of the threshold for a few moments as he finished something on his computer. "Just had to wrap up an email," he said as I walked in and stood before his desk but I could see his screen in the reflection of the window looking out over the San Jose skyline behind him.
It was definitely not an email. It was a girl being railed doggy style. At least he had the 'decency' to have it muted.
"It's Mackenzie, right?" he asked, his eyes flashing between me and the screen. The lecherous look he was giving me made me think that he was probably imagining my face on the girl he was watching. Bile rose in my stomach and I wanted to stomp from the room. It was just fucking perfect that the HR manager was such a creep. Corporate America at its finest.
"Madeline," I said, trying not to sound like I was correcting him.
"Ah, okay, and what can I do for you, Matilda," he said with a smile suggesting that he was making a joke.
I forced a laugh as he gestured for me to sit. He obviously couldn't tell that I was faking it and he smiled that I was laughing at his joke.
"So, Madeline," he said, minimizing his porn and actually looking at me, "what can I do for you?"
"I was wondering if we had any job openings," I told him.
His brows furrowed and he looked at me like I was an idiot. "You have a job."
The fact that he managed to mansplain in only four words felt like some kind of record.
I chuckled, playing it off. "Oh, I know, but it's for my friend. She is looking for a job and the market is just so hard now."
He sighed and leaned back at his desk. I swore he was about to ask, 'how much I wanted her to get this job?' before pulling out his cock, but, mercifully, he just asked, "Do you have a resume?"
I did. It was a bit odd bringing something like this in physically. I had gotten the job offer and accepted it without cutting down a single tree, or even stepping foot in the state. But, here I was, handing him a laminated piece of paper with nearly nothing written on it except obviously padded waitressing experience.
He looked at it quickly and then flipped it over to find the back side blank.
Mr. Simmons looked up at me pityingly. "What position do you think she could possibly fill?" he asked and I had to admit that I didn't have a good answer.
I couldn't believe what I said next.
"She's hot," I blurted and wanted to cover my mouth.
The grin that streaked his face was enough to make me regret what I had said but at least it worked.
"How hot?" he asked and I, once again, couldn't believe that this man was the head of Human Resources.
Despite my beliefs and everything I stood for, I pulled out my phone and started scrolling through pics, realizing just how much Zoe and I photographed one another. She looked cute in so many of them but I knew the one I was hunting for. Clicking the pic, I turned the phone to show him Zoe in a sheer white tanktop. She had sent the image to me as a joke with the text, 'this is too seethru even 4 me lol,' but I knew it would be perfect for Mr. Simmons.
What was odd was that I knew I shouldn't show him it and, even though I told myself it was to help my friend get a job, there was some other reason I did it. I wasn't sure why and didn't give it much thought in the moment, but maybe I should have.
He nodded and looked back to me. "I'll email you when a position opens," he said and I pulled the phone away before he could save the image of Zoe's nipple in his mind any more than he already had.
"Thank you," I said and stood, watching his eyes roll over my body as I did. Not that there was anything to see. My intentionally loose clothing was as uninteresting as it was unflattering. Being a cute girl in a job where I was surrounded by tech bros, I knew better than to wear anything even remotely attractive.
"You're welcome," he said before adding, "I'm sure you'll make it up to me."
I wanted to vomit as I left his office but at least I might have opened the door Zoe.
***
The email came only a few weeks later and I squinted at the screen in disbelief. I had heard the term 'mailgirls' once before but couldn't believe that it was real. For some incomprehensible reason, companies would replace emails, which work perfectly fine, with naked women delivering memos between offices. These women would be numbered, collared and treated as lesser beings.
