By Rhea B. D’Costa – Class of 2016
Bbrringg! The shrieking trill of the alarm clock jolted Tamara out of her beauty sleep. Dammit! Why was life so unfair? The magazine launch after-party last night had been a terrible mistake and she couldn’t even remember why. She peeled her silk eye mask from her face and glanced at the clock. It was half past nine, just two hours away from the board meeting she had to chair as the editor-in-chief of Vogue magazine. There was just enough time to pick out the perfect power-suit and go through the latest market figures. She quickly clambered out of her goosefeather bed and threw the genuine Egyptian cotton sheets to the floor. Laura would take care of that later.
Tamara sauntered over to the big bay windows that lined the walls of her luxurious West Village apartment. The Hudson River glistened in the sunlight like the Lapis Lazuli earrings she had haggled for at Sotheby’s. The cranky old gentleman who had tried to bid her down hadn’t stood a chance. Tamara smirked; she always got what she wanted. She would wear the earrings today, to accentuate her Chanel ivory tweed suit. Speaking of Chanel, she needed to confirm her appearance at Marc Jacob’s fall showcase tonight. She would sit in the front row with the other bigwigs and smile condescendingly from behind her oversized Fendi sunglasses. It would be a complete waste of time, but Marc had practically begged her to come. Plus she would try chatting up that yummy Broadway lead; what was his name again – Hugh? She would then invite him over for a glass of chardonnay and who knew where the night would take them…
Tamara snapped out of her daydream. This morning was strictly business. She could almost picture the looks of awe and envy on the faces of her subordinates as she presented her vision for next month’s cover. Oh Tamara, you have done it again dah-ling! She fiddled with her Rolex. Shit, it was nearly ten. When was Laura going to bring in her breakfast? That good-for-nothing wench had no idea how to get things done. Maybe it was time to fire her. “Laura, where the hell is my breakfast?” Laura scurried into the room and presented her with a tray of eggs, toast and a glass of orange juice. “Carbs?! You idiot! How many times do I have to explain that I only have miso soup for breakfast?” In a fit of rage, Tamara hurled the plate – contents and all – onto the floor.
A pair of attendants, clad in sterile white uniforms, quickly rushed in to pin ‘Tamara’ to her bed. Laura sighed as she jabbed her patient with a syringe of sedative. Poor Tammy, thought the elderly nurse. We go through the same routine every day. Tammy drifted back to sleep and Laura stealthily exited the hospital room before latching the door behind her. Although she loved her job as the head nurse at the Stoney River comprehensive psychiatric ward, there were days when she wished she could just retire. She could not help but feel sorry for Tammy. Why was life so unfair?