Entry 7

I found Rachel in the kitchen the next morning, dressed in a way I'd never seen her before. She was wearing a sheer, white silk blouse, unbuttoned low enough to show the lace edge of her bra-and a charcoal pencil skirt that ended just below her butt. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun, and she had on actual reading glasses, the kind with thin black frames that made her look like a corporate secretary from a cable drama.

She was organizing a schedule on a tablet, her pen moving in brisk, efficient strokes, her posture straight and professional. There was a cup of coffee beside her, black, two sugars, and a notepad filled with what looked like dictation. There were several high school textbooks and what looked like a few research papers printed out and stapled together professoinaly

"You're up early," I said, pouring my own coffee.

Rachel looked up, and her face transformed. Not the sharp, critical expression she'd worn for thirty years, but something almost... glowing. "Melissa! I'm so glad you're here. I wanted to tell you-Danny gave me a job!"

"A job?" I leaned against the counter, studying her. "I thought you were a lawyer."

"I am," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Or... I was. I mean, I still have my license, but this is so much better. It's an internship, really. A learning opportunity."

"An internship doing what?"

"Executive assistance," she breathed, her eyes bright. "Personal secretarial work. Scheduling, correspondence, dictation... hands-on training in... in executive support." She was practically vibrating with enthusiasm, her pen tapping against the notepad. "Danny and I got to talking after dinner last night about his comment, and he said I had 'executive potential' and that he wanted to 'mold me from the ground up.' Isn't that amazing? So now, I do this in my spare time!"

I stared at her. Rachel, who'd once called administrative assistants "corporate furniture," was gushing about filing and dictation. "You're working for Danny? As his secretary?"

"Executive assistant," she corrected, but she was smiling. "And it's not just secretarial work, Melissa. It's a comprehensive development program. I'm learning so much about... about service. About anticipating needs. About being useful."

"Does it pay well?"

Rachel's smile faltered for just a fraction of a second. "Well... it's an unpaid internship, technically. Actually..." She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I pay him."

"You pay him?"

"For the training," she said quickly, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. "It's a tuition model. I pay a monthly fee, it's actually quite reasonable, all things considered, and in exchange, Danny provides personalized instruction in executive-level service. It's an investment in my future. My career trajectory. I'm moving back home, into Chloe's room so I'm more available for him."

I set my coffee down. "Rachel. You're paying an eighteen-year-old to let you be his secretary."

"Executive assistant," she said again, but her cheeks were flushing. "And it's not like that. He's... he's teaching me things I never learned in law school. How to prioritize someone else's needs above my own. How to anticipate requests before they're verbalized. How to..." She glanced toward the clock, and her voice dropped to a reverent whisper. "How to be truly useful. Not just professionally. Personally."

She reached out and grabbed my hand, her grip surprisingly tight. "You should ask him about it, Melissa. He's always saying you have the best mind in the house. Maybe he has a program for you too. A... a specialization. Something that uses your intellect."

"I already have a specialization," I said. "Pre-med."

Rachel laughed-a bright, brittle sound. "Pre-med? Melissa, I used to think like that too. I used to think my degree mattered. My title." She leaned in close, her perfume sharp and floral. "But nothing...NOTHING...feels as good as being exactly what Danny needs. When he snaps his fingers and I know what he wants before he says it... when he finishes dictating and tells me I've done well..." Her eyes were glassy, distant. "I'd pay double. I'd pay anything."

She released my hand and turned back to her tablet, her fingers flying across the screen. "I have to finish his morning correspondence before he checks in. He likes his emails sorted by priority, and I still haven't mastered his filing system. Then I have to get these papers and homework back to him before he leaves for school in 30 minutes. He told me what happens if I make a mistake..." She shivered, a small smile playing at her lips. "He has to correct me. Personally."

I watched her for a long moment, this woman who terrifies opposing counsel, now trembling with excitement over email sorting. "Rachel. Are you happy?"

She looked up, and for a second, the old Rachel flickered in her eyes, sharp, assessing, slightly cruel. Then it was gone, replaced by that radiant, vacant glow. "I'm fulfilled, Melissa. For the first time in my life, I know exactly what I'm for. And when he finally lets me move from correspondence to... to direct client service..." She pressed her thighs together under the desk, her breath catching slightly. "I'll be ready. I'll be the best he's ever trained."

She turned back to her work, humming softly under her breath.