The Alpha For Her

“Boiling water in an atomizer, a very good putty knife, and a lot of hard work; four square-inches at a time.”

Jennifer sat up. If he was a prank or a scam, he was very good. Lisa raised an eyebrow. Jen took a breath.

“I found,” she said, “that a splash of vinegar in the water helps.”

“I heard that,” he replied. “But at the time, I could barely afford the water.”

All three broke into honest laughter. And then Lisa clamped her hands over her mouth and fell back in her chair, wide-eyed.

“So, Mr. Dryzek,” Jennifer said. “I’m sure that you are not calling to collect home improvement tips.”

“Indeed, I am not. Ms. James, as you may know, I have made a fortune through the Internet. I owe my success to a small gift of brains, hard work, and luck. I have sold Selfie-Nation, and now find myself in a position to do anything I want.”

‘Here it comes,’ Jennifer thought.

“And,” she said aloud, “what is it that you want to do, and how does that involve me?”

“I am holding a conference for enterprising, young Internet entrepreneurs. It will start with a small, casual gathering of some of those who my people have flagged as having the most potential. It will be like a seminar for a few days. Then we will take over the SSF convention center. It is my hope to help young up-and-comers with seminars, group discussions, and, of course, networking. I’d like you to be a part of that, Ms. James.”

Jennifer could only stare at the phone. Lisa’s eyes widened.

“A friend of mine,” Dryzek went on, “has been a follower of Jenny’s Gems. I, myself, know little of your content – cosmetics and all. But she’s been watching you, and your ads, and she sees something.”

Lisa tried to urge Jen to say something, but Jen was still flummoxed. Seconds ticked.

“Ms. James,” Dryzek continued, “let me speak frankly; for over a century the fashion and cosmetics industries have been dominated by a white demographic. And, despite the far-right’s efforts to deny it, this nation is seeing that demographic change. I believe that you may be on the cutting edge of that change. And I want to help.”

“H-how?” Jennifer asked.

“Well,” he said, “first, go to your computer.”

In something of a haze, Jennifer stood and drifted to her office. Lisa followed quickly with the phone. Dryzek directed her to a website. It was called Site-Legs-Con. Jen and Lisa stared.

“Don’t let the name fool you,” Dryzek said. “It has nothing to do with porn. It’s all about sites that have legs. Go ahead, look around. The convention is legit.”

Lisa navigated around the promo site. It was indeed at the South San Francisco Convention Center. Attendance was fifty dollars. But when they saw that the vendor booths started at three-fifty, Jen and Lisa looked at one another.

“Do I have your attention?” Dryzek asked.

“Yeah,” Jennifer said, nodding to the phone.

“So, that’s just the public convention. Before we open that, I am holding a small, private conference, with select individuals, at my house. Ms. James, I would like to invite you to that conference, and the convention to follow.”

“Really,” Jennifer said, trying to sound composed.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “You get a call out of the blue, from a stranger who claims to be me; and I know that you must get scams all the time. I understand. I get them too.”

“Right,” Jennifer said with what breath she had.

She looked at Lisa, but the wide-eyed girl was no help.

“And so, Ms. James,” he said, “as a token of my validity, have a peek at your website.”

Jennifer had the site on a constant tab. She clicked. She saw her glittery baubles rotating. She saw her navigation headings. Then, at the right, she saw her ads. And there at the bottom she saw a small block for Givenchy. It was an eye-catching, yellow, lace hem sheath dress. Like all of their ads, the woman was in a plain, standing posture, with her face cut off at the top, and her skin tone undeterminable. Attached to the bottom of the ad was a tab for Saks. Jennifer took a breath. Her fingers flew, and she was instantly at her blog account. When she saw the ledger entry from both Givenchy and Saks, she took a breath.

“Holy shii—“ Lisa began, but Jennifer clapped her hand over the woman’s mouth.

“I have some friends in marketing,” Dryzek said. “Consider this a bribe, though it’s about time that the high-end people saw you. Say that you’ll come.”

“I’ll come,” Jennifer said without thinking.

“I am so glad,” he said. “My secretary will get back to you with the details…plane tickets, itinerary, all of that.”

Lisa clutched her heart and stumbled against the wall, rather dramatically.

“No,” Jennifer said, “wait. I mean, um, what is it that you’ll want from me?”

“Just be yourself,” he said.

“What?”

“We’ll train you.”

“For what?”

“Chair a few working groups. Be with people. Share your wisdom. Just be you.”

“I – I can do that.”

“I am so glad. See you in next Tuesday.”

Jennifer stared at the silent phone.

“Ha!” Lisa cried. “You owe me a pizza!”

“Wh-what?” Jennifer said, finding her head. “That wasn’t the deal.”

“You are going to spend a week at a conference with Flint Dryzek. You are going to wallow in the lap of luxury, eat five star meals, hob-nob with up-and-comers, and maybe some stars, while I get to collect your junk mail. You owe me a pizza.”

“Oh. Right. Okay.”

Jennifer looked at her ledger again, and even as she did, she saw an entry pop in from Yves Rocher. Her heart raced. She flipped back to her webpage, and for the first time ever, she began seeing the ads swap out. It was as though, companies were competing for her people. But even as she began to brim with joy, her brain focused.

“Holy sh*t,” she said, almost breathless.

“I know,” Lisa said. “Jennifer, you’re going to be rich.”

“Not without working for it,” she said shaking her head. “Do you realize what I need to do to get ready for a five day trip?”

“Oh, poor you,” Lisa said, throwing a Rusty Zipper catalogue at her. “You gotta plan your outfits, choose your make-up and jewelry, pack, arrange for a cab to the airport, water your plants…my, god, the list goes on and on.”

“No,” Jennifer said, folding her hands and pacing. “I need to double – triple my workload over the next few days. I can’t have my website play reruns for five days; not with those companies looking at me. I have to get very creative very fast. And, I need to get my hands on some of their products.”

“Oh, I so pity you. A train ride to Manhattan will take four, maybe five hours.”

“Screw Manhattan, I can find that stuff in Darien and Greenwich. Wanna come along?”

“And abandon my postal customers?”

“I’ll buy you something.”

“Trash Day can wait till tomorrow,” Lisa said, gathering her bag. “Just let me go home and get changed.”

Jennifer was efficient in her blogging. She had always kept two days ahead of herself, so, that Thursday she was covered to Saturday. That meant that she needed to produce at least seven, maybe eight, productions in the time that she had left. Fortunately, she had the month’s ideas already planned. Unfortunately, her shopping spree was near frantic, and expensive. It was true that she had money pending, but the domain paid at the end of the month, and she was stretched. And, living as remotely as she did became another strain in gasoline and time.

Then, as Lisa had chided her, she really did need to plan her wardrobe and cosmetics; if she were going to represent a fashion and make-up guru, she had to look the part. So, beginning that afternoon in Darien she found herself eying so many things that she just had to have.

“That’s why the good lord gave us credit cards,” Lisa said. “Ooo, this is pretty.”