Chapter 1:
Cramped between bed and brick, atop dirty clothes and only god knows, stood a short, young and shapely brunette woman. Her name was Jennifer, and she was in quite a bit of hurry, dashing this way and that -- taking not her time, nor sipping slowly at her steam-topped tea. No, instead she was applying her makeup with one hand, all the while trying to stuff those items she might need for the day into her purse. She had to be prepared -- had to be ready, for it was a big day. A day Jennifer had been planning for, and working towards, for the last 379 days, as far as she was able to count it. Her journey began as few do, with the reading of an interview posted on a popular men's blog, one with a reputation for less than subtle content.
The subject was not just one man, but two: Aston and Bennett Bowman. They held the distinction, and blessing of being a pair of incredibly handsome twin brothers, who just so happened to also be the co-CEO's of Bowman international, a quickly growing, and world renowned technology firm. Their company began, as most computer startups do, in Silicon Valley. They had grown, through the application of sustainable ambition and millennial savvy, to heights most companies never reach, and did so faster than any firm had ever done before. The key however, to the interview, was that their company's rise was in their minds just beginning, and in fact, was about to embark on the building of a new headquarters in downtown New York. That plan, as the article read, was not undertaken because it was a business necessity, or because it was what the bottomline dictated, but instead, because it was a challenge. A new mountain to climb. A new sea to master. And though talk of brilliant business maneuvers and roars of unchecked bravado laced almost every question, and answer, Jennifer fixated on just the smallest of tidbits, set adrift somewhere near the end of the article.
Interviewer: "And ... uh ... you two are good looking guys. You've got the world at your fingertips, and happen to be single. What can the ladies of New York expect? What are your tastes. Who will be your prey, when you arrive in the city that never sleeps?"
Austin: "Well I have to say, as different as Bennett and I are, we have basically the exact same taste in women."
Bennett: "You could say it has gotten us both into more than a few fights."
Austin: "A couple."
Bennett: "Black eyes... No, i'm kidding. Actually maybe I'm not, didn't you...?"
Austin: "Let's just answer his question, B. We like short, thick, brunettes."
Interviewer: "How thick? Big breasts? Big butts?"
Bennett: "Thick thighs, big butt, huge breasts, and a tight tummy. Ariel Winter is a good example. Her and I broke up, but she was perfect."
Austin: "Yeah, she was."
Bennett: "See, that's where the black eyes came in."
Like manna from heaven, the description came down to Jennifer, who had for years and years held the most obsessive of crushes on Austin. He had, or more accurately, they had, described HER. They wanted HER. She was their dream girl. It was enough to have made her squeak and squeal, and in fact she did both upon reading those glorious words set to screen.
As her glee settled into sanity, and hope turned to hunger, the young woman decided that she had to meet them, or more specifically HIM -- had to put herself in Austin's life, and earn his heart and hand. Not because he was rich, but because she felt, honestly, that she loved him. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and Jennifer had spent hours, weeks to be truthful, googling pictures of her muse, and then Bing-ing the same, just in case there was a difference in what came back. She would watch YouTube videos, and attend business lectures he gave, at the latter hoping for a chance encounter or a Cinderella reenactment, though neither ever came.
All of that seemed like nonsense now, as a plan, a real plan took shape in her mind. One that she enacted without delay, hitting the gym religiously, not to lose weight, but to forge her body into something Austin could not resist. "Ariel Winter who?" She would make him say. And whilst she worked out, she worked up, doing her best to improve her resume, so that we're she to apply to the new building being built, she'd have a better chance of being hired.
Finally, the day had arrived, and Jennifer, now dressed to kill, and built to beguile, walked out her door and into the crisp New York air, ready to bag herself the man of her dreams.
Her optimism, however, quickly faded, as the elevator door opened at the 85th floor, and revealed just how steep her competition would be. Women -- seas of women, each dressed to impress, and bearing enough cleavage to draw even the Pope's eye, sat, stood, and strolled, waiting for their turn to meet with Austin and Bennett. Despite her rapidly declining confidence, Jennifer checked in, found he last available seat, and began waiting. Minutes, hours, days it felt like passed, and still she had not been called. Then suddenly, when she had almost given up hope, the brothers, each wearing the most expensive of suits, and most earned of smirks, walked out of their offices and surveyed the remaining crowd. They both seemed to catch on something that interested them, one on either side of the room. They whispered and pointed towards Jennifer's seat, then across the floor to another girl, who Jenn could not see. Jenn felt it was her time -- time for her to finally get her chance! She was certain they were about to call her name, and even stood to make the required traversal as quick as possible! But, just as a smile took to her beautiful plump lips: disaster.
Austin: "We have found our personal assistants, ladies. Thank you all so much for coming, but there won't be anymore interviews."
Bennett: "Yeah, we really appreciate all of your interest. Feel free to apply for the other jobs that we will be announcing in the near future. We need a good team here, and really have to fill all these floors with people, so ... don't get discouraged."
The words, though calm and kind, struck a cold nausea into Jennifer's stomach -- a feeling which twisted and turned as one girl after another passed by her. They left, one by one -- in groups -- each commenting on how upset they were that they didn't get a chance to interview. They were like ghosts to the brunette, who remained seated, lost on the verge of tears. Finally she mustered the strength to stand, but made it only to the on-floor bathroom, where she decided to hide herself in a stall and cry. Her sobbing continued, and hardened, robbing her of breath and balance, forcing her to sit, to avoid falling. How could she not have even gotten a chance? This was supposed to be! She thought to herself. But even as they swirled and swelled, the bitter questions she couldn't answer and agony she couldn't quell were interrupted, when Jenn heard the sound of another person crying in the stall next to her -- another woman.
Jennifer wanted to stifle her own sobs, as to not bother, something she imagined the other weeping woman would worry about as well, but neither could. And so locked together in sadness, but in separate stalls, on opposite sides of a knuckle-thin marble wall, they cried, each taking some comfort in knowing that they were not alone in their pain.
After about 40 minutes, both Jennifer and the mystery woman had gathered themselves enough to leave their stalls. As they each exited their stall, their gazes locked on to one another in the wall mirror in front of them, each allowing themselves to study the other's tear-glistened eyes, each softened by empathy, and silhouetted by wild smears of black eye shadow. And though there was something felt and conveyed in the moment, whatever it was found itself brought to an abrupt end, as both women found themselves once again overcome by sadness and embarrassment, which forced each of them to look away from the other. In that silence, they stood for only a moment, as they adjusted their clothing, and did what they could to wipe off running and ran mascara.
Then, having collected themselves as best they could, the two women began their walk of shame, side by side, heading towards the exit of the bathroom, still not having spoken a single word. Whilst on that trail of tears, neither could help but notice that the other looked nearly identical to themselves, in terms of hair color and length, breast size and build, and even in terms of dress, both having wore the tightest blue dress they could find, matched with a near criminally short skirt.
Despite their similarities, or perhaps because of it, they each decided to go their separate ways, intentionally taking different elevators, to avoid any discussion of what just happened.
Some hours passed, and Jennifer, intent on drinking away her disappointment, found herself at her favorite local watering hole, the "169 Bar" on East 169th Street. Before her sat 4 empty shot glasses, and two more ready to be so emptied. Her head hung, not just from the alcohol, or her exhausting bout of crying earlier, but from shame. Shame which kept her eyes laser focused on her phone, the apps she tried to distract herself with, and the next shot she planned on slamming.
Amber: "I'll take...*hic*...another one!"
A drunken voice called, from a woman who had just taken the stool next to Jennifer. It was a miracle she had even caught the voice, given how loud the bar was, and how little she cared about any and all of it, and yet, there was something about it. Something ... she couldn't quite put her finger on. Intent on finding out what that something was, the blitzed brunette turned to see why the voice sounded so familiar, and found, to her heart-stopping horror and dismay, that she had, in the entire city of fucking New York, found a way to sit next to the woman with whom she spent an hour sobbing earlier in the day. "FML" She murmured under her liquor-scented breath.
Despite the brevity of Jennifer's glance, and the speed at which she tried to look away, she and the mystery woman's eyes once again locked. It lasted only a blink, as each looked away with almost equal amounts of fear and desperation coursing through their bodies, but still they both knew. And with that knowing, and as if to hide from a moving spotlight or a pathing guard, each sat motionless, not but inches apart, too drunk to leave, but too terrified of the other to stay. Awkward moments passed, one by one, then ten by ten, until finally neither could keep silent anymore. Each wanting to at least say something, so they could breathe again, and possibly even keep drinking, turned to the other, and opened their mouth to speak. Their words however, were interrupted by simultaneous calls to each of the girl's cell phones. Rather than continuing their course, and breaking their silence, they reached into their pockets, and raised their phones to their ears.
Jennifer: "Hello?
Amber: "Hi! Yes, this is Amber, who's this?"
