Lore Weaver
Active Member
Isabelle squinted through the fog on her glasses at the time displayed on her laptop. Almost three in the morning and she was just over halfway done with her online presentation, If it was just displaying her designs and talking about them, she could float through, a butterfly dancing on a breeze. But TheNextFashionMguls.com insisted on business plans layered with detailed descriptions of every expense, potential expense and a nuanced plan for handling unforeseen developments.
"If they are unforeseen, howin the hell am I supposed to plan for them?"
Swatting the negativity away with a weary flick of her hand, she leaned back in her chair and sighed. She had taken enough business classes in college to get her fashion line off the ground and market it several local shops. Her gaze drifted over to the photo hanging on the wall, a pale yellow gown trimmed with pink lace adoring a mannequin. As always, a surge of pride swelled in her chest, but it faded when she shifted her attention to all photos of all the celebrities wearing other people's designs. To take her career to the level of her dreams, she needed an influx of funds,, and quickly. This presentation offered her best chance to reach a number of investors at once and she had already gotten the site to push the back twice. The third time had to be the charm.
As though wandering on its own, her cursor flitted over her e-mail folder where links to the contacts to several business mangers lurked unopened. Much like the links to the dating sites those same friends had sent her collected virtual dust. Trust of others, either professionally or personally tended to wither and die in her heart. Blinking through the strain in her eyes at the words blurring on her screen, she worked her bottom lip between her teeth.
"Maybe I should check out some of those business managers, I might save money on headache medication at least."
Never the dating sites however, she knew too well that relationships were just toxic drains on the psyche and heart. The smart-phone next to her buzzed. With a grimace, she glanced at the number and picked up the device.
"Exhibit A."
A swipe of her thumb illuminated the message.
Daughter, I have a meeting to make a big sale, should he able to send you the money soon. Hope your mother, God rest her soul, forgives you for demanding so much so soon. Will let you know when I have it.
The words stabbed both pain and anger straight to her heart, Even, no, especially when it came to getting money from or griping about paying her back, he knew which chords to hit with a hammer. Was the mother she had never met, who had died in labor with her, frowning down at her from wherever she was? After all, her mother's death had ignited and stoked his drinking and gambling. She had ruined tow lives just by being born.
In a daze of guilt, she turned back to the screen of the laptop. This was all she had, bhsiness plans and dreams of a fashion empire, of costumes women like her could dress up in so that they didn't have to be themselves for at least a few hours.. So other women could have that special ,an or women sweep them off their feet. If she couldn't have her own happiness, if she didn't deserve her own happiness, she could play a small part in the happiness of others.
Maybe then her mother would be a little proud of her.
"If they are unforeseen, howin the hell am I supposed to plan for them?"
Swatting the negativity away with a weary flick of her hand, she leaned back in her chair and sighed. She had taken enough business classes in college to get her fashion line off the ground and market it several local shops. Her gaze drifted over to the photo hanging on the wall, a pale yellow gown trimmed with pink lace adoring a mannequin. As always, a surge of pride swelled in her chest, but it faded when she shifted her attention to all photos of all the celebrities wearing other people's designs. To take her career to the level of her dreams, she needed an influx of funds,, and quickly. This presentation offered her best chance to reach a number of investors at once and she had already gotten the site to push the back twice. The third time had to be the charm.
As though wandering on its own, her cursor flitted over her e-mail folder where links to the contacts to several business mangers lurked unopened. Much like the links to the dating sites those same friends had sent her collected virtual dust. Trust of others, either professionally or personally tended to wither and die in her heart. Blinking through the strain in her eyes at the words blurring on her screen, she worked her bottom lip between her teeth.
"Maybe I should check out some of those business managers, I might save money on headache medication at least."
Never the dating sites however, she knew too well that relationships were just toxic drains on the psyche and heart. The smart-phone next to her buzzed. With a grimace, she glanced at the number and picked up the device.
"Exhibit A."
A swipe of her thumb illuminated the message.
Daughter, I have a meeting to make a big sale, should he able to send you the money soon. Hope your mother, God rest her soul, forgives you for demanding so much so soon. Will let you know when I have it.
The words stabbed both pain and anger straight to her heart, Even, no, especially when it came to getting money from or griping about paying her back, he knew which chords to hit with a hammer. Was the mother she had never met, who had died in labor with her, frowning down at her from wherever she was? After all, her mother's death had ignited and stoked his drinking and gambling. She had ruined tow lives just by being born.
In a daze of guilt, she turned back to the screen of the laptop. This was all she had, bhsiness plans and dreams of a fashion empire, of costumes women like her could dress up in so that they didn't have to be themselves for at least a few hours.. So other women could have that special ,an or women sweep them off their feet. If she couldn't have her own happiness, if she didn't deserve her own happiness, she could play a small part in the happiness of others.
Maybe then her mother would be a little proud of her.
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