Chapter 1: In the beginning

Where Sarah's story began -

Chapter 1: In the beginning…

"Happy 27th birthday, Sarah…"

I look dully into the bright oceanic eyes staring back at me from the reflection of the oversized white framed mirror, perched above the modern Welsh slate fire place, situated in the centre of this plain, generically designed lounge room. The blond haired beauty staring back at me doesn't look any older. There's no noticeable change of appearance. No tell-tale signs that she's aged dramatically overnight. Her hair is smoothly straight as always with a few layered strands framing her long baby face. Her make-up is finished in exactly the same fashion, with a slight hint of white under her brow, a cream coat across her large sleepy lids and some gentle brown mascara to extend the false eyelashes she routinely has replaced. She uses only a hint of mineral foundation to cover the light freckles gained from too much sun exposure as a child and puts a dash of golden bronzer on her cheekbones to accentuate her already feminine features. Her small, slender frame is toned and tanned to perfection.

No, nothing has changed physically since yesterday. She appears the same girl with an appearance that is easy on the eye and just like every other day that preceded this, she still remains very much alone.

I turn away from the mirror, saddened by the reflection of my faultless face; the girl with the apparent perfect life. I should be happy. After all, I'm a semi-successful business woman with a world of corporate possibilities at my feet. I possess everything that I ever desired as a child. Many other women would kill to spend just one day in my shoes. But if everything in my life is so perfect, why does it feel like something is so desperately missing?

The empty feeling lingers on. It's been there for as long as I can remember. I may be physically identical in every way to that girl who shadows me in every reflection, but beyond the pretty blue eyes, I don't recognise her at all.

I hate these moments of self-loathing which thankfully seem to occur less frequently these days, now that I've learnt to adapt to being her. Only, every so often, something will trigger these dispiriting feelings of utter loneliness and grief.

I briefly turn back towards the mirror, scowling at myself and sigh heavily with discontent…

"I hate birthdays!"      

***

Commuting to work during rush hour, I begin to realise a distinct difference between myself and all of the other attractive women dressed in city chic attire. One woman in particular stands out with her supermodel figure and butt clenching black office skirt. She is sitting next to a handsome business man, the typical successful Gucci suit type that commonly catches the train at this ungodly hour of the morning, while the majority of the population is still tucked up snug in their beds. The woman in question, an Arabian goddess with amazing green eyes, which I haven't entirely ruled out yet as being coloured contacts, twirls strands of long dark coffee coloured hair through her pristinely manicured fingers while she laughs girlishly, touching his knee every now and then for maximum flirtation effect.

He's clearly enjoying her company, making no attempt to switch seats or look elsewhere at any of the other beautiful matchstick models who crowd the small carriage. She has somehow managed to attain his undivided attention and no doubt, if she plays her cards right, they will be exchanging business cards by the time we reach the City. Poor guy, I bet he doesn't know what he's in for. She clearly has no intention of having a casual sexual encounter with him, although she will lead him to believe otherwise.

She reminds me a lot of many other stereotypical business women my age, who are on the verge of hitting their late twenties. It's as though they have suddenly awoke from their established slumber and realised that after years of partying, selfish indulgence and corporate climbing, that their metabolic clock is rapidly nearing its peak and without warning they morph into crazed like dogs, sniffing out the last remaining potential 'husband' material left on the market before another woman marks her territory.  

A new trend is clearly emerging amongst my generation which I refer to as the 'settling down syndrome', whereby an urge to start a family and procure a mortgage sets in. But however alluring the simple life of responsibility may be for the masses, I'm not that way inclined. Kids and a life of expected domestic colonization, in hand with a mundane existence of working in a dead end job of imprisonment and occupational servitude, certainly aren’t on the agenda for me. No Sir, I'm working my way up the company ladder, aspiring to be somebody great, and I have my sights set firmly on relocating someday to Los Angeles.

I'm beautiful, busty (thanks to the b**b job I had at 22), tall, blonde, blue eyed, toned, tanned, driven and gorgeous; a very deadly combination when used as a tool for seduction. I have a unique ability to get exactly what I desire, by flaunting my assets when the opportunity arises. No red bloodied, heterosexual male can resist saying no to me. 

But I'm not a s**t. Not in the term that the dictionary describes anyway. So what if I show a little leg here and flutter my long feather lash extensions there. I only do so at moments which are essentially critical to my career. Wouldn't you if you had a body like mine?

But I'm not vain, just very smart!

No really, growing up you wouldn't have found a bigger nerd if you tried…books, glasses, braces… I was the quintessential dorky package, which made surviving high school a living nightmare! I was most unfortunate at that critical stage in my development, to not have a mother figure to turn to during moments of teenage despondency. Back then my b***s were a weird triangle shape and I hadn't yet grown into my ears. My hair was a dull, lifeless, frizzy mop of a mane and my face was an obstacle course of pimply proportions. To top off the sexy look, I wore braces which made my mouth look like the front grill of a Range Rover. The ghastly combination left me looking like a train wreck! That stage of my life seemed to be one embarrassment after the other, but I endured it and I survived.   

The turning point for me came once I started college, where I learned the true art of sexual manipulation. A substitute male member of the faculty offered me an easy A on an assignment just for wearing a short skirt to class…well actually; it was more of an accident then something I had planned. My usual red and green plaid knee-length piece had shrunk in the wash. I failed to check the settings on the machine after my eccentric roommate, Carly Gable, who had no idea about how to wash clothes or personal hygiene for that matter, decided to test a hot wash on her colourful hippy style attire.

The result was a shrunken skirt, one white cotton button down blouse and a woollen college jumper that resembled that of a five year old, was to my immense horror, the only clothes to survive the wash. It was impossible to squeeze my fat arse into anything else. Lucky for me my b***s were still the size of mandarins, or else it would have been incredibly embarrassing having to wear my fleecy pink and white heart pyjama shirt to class!

It was winter and I remember the lecture hall being like a tunnel, producing a blistering cold draft down the elongated corridor. I really had no choice but to wear the figure hugging jumper, along with my usual and quite responsible pair of perfectly polished Mary Jane shoes. I pinned my unruly hair back into a smooth bun, as was normal to keep it flat and tame - it was so wild back then before I discovered the miracle of hair products and GHD straighteners. I set off for class as normal, confused by all of the wandering eyes and over-friendly smiles.  

Who would have thought that I, Sarah Jessica Montgomery, would one day be idolised as an object of every red blooded male's fantasy?

It's okay, you can laugh. Believe me, I did!

I wasn't accustomed to receiving so much attention from the opposite sex. Actually, truth be told, I wasn't used to any attention - period! Well, except for the verbal taunts I experienced at the hands of my high school peers. I was the opposite of eye candy for the boys on the football team, who typically dated the more popular girls with skin so perfectly even that it made you want to vomit. It was a strange concept, not being invisible anymore.

It was then, on that uncomfortably bitter winter's day at college, the moment that changed my life forever -

I recall holding my report card triumphantly in my hand and shaking my head in utter disbelief. Reading back through the essay and realising it was still the same half-arsed essay that I had handed in.

"This is merely of mediocre quality at best," I gasped, horrified by the standards set by the curriculum council, knowing full well that I had purposely left this paper until very last minute for another assignment which I considered to be of far greater importance.

"Surely this can't be right?" I pondered the reasons behind my bewildering achievement as my eyes wandered down to my now-a-mini-skirt-and-should-be-illegal attire, triggering in me an idea that made me wonder if the missing link to my future success, the deciding factor that would determine the degree of accomplishment I would acquire, could possibly have something to do with the two hopelessly small humps that sat inertly on my chest?

Tits versus brains…hmm…I bet on the b***s! The smarts I evaluated would help me to keep the job once I'd procured it. I could always work on establishing myself as a fierce contender later. 

After such an overwhelming response to my new transformation, I decided to spend the money I'd saved from my casual job working at the local bar on weeknights and weekends since I was sixteen, on something practical and sought to obtain the incredible marvel of my new pair of bouncy and bountiful plastic fantastic boobies!

Boy did the tits work wonders for my social life! My status raised almost overnight from being a nobody to that of a popular fashion icon, admired by all. My new fun bags gave me a new lease on life and I was no longer the girl people wanted to punch in the face, but actually talk to and for the first time in my life, my opinion mattered.

To finish off the new me, I decided to use what was left over in my bank account to revamp my wardrobe. I also invested in make-up and treated myself to my very first blow-dry, colour and cut at the local salon which resulted in a provocative goddess with vast sexual experience under my belt.

What? You would have done the same given the amount of attention received - replacing the reading books for a new found hobby - Sex.    

I discovered a newly found confidence too. I was going places. But the one obstacle standing in my way, the problem that placed me a few hundred thousand kilometres from Los Angeles, where I longed to be, was being stuck in the wait-a-while state of Western Australia, located on the other side of the world.

So you could see my predicament. I was living the simple life, stuck in the boring zone whilst LA was another world away. I'm sure my view of Perth would have been very different if I had family to keep me grounded. But like a bird, I just wasn't meant to be caged - not when I was clearly destined to fly!    

Shortly after leaving college, instead of taking a sabbatical like my other acquaintances (because I made the conscious decision that making friendships would be a distraction and only hinder my chances for success) I decided to further my studies at the Perth institute of music management, a decision based solely upon the recommendation of my college English literature professor, Mr Fry.

Mr Fry was - how can I best phrase him? A very lively character! Even though he was the size of a double storey building, his excess belly fat falling over his casual track pants, his face perfectly rounded with cheeks that continually flushed a light shade of rose, his eyes; two small specks of hazel which squinted beneath the droopy eye lids and bushy black eyebrows was in my books, a brilliant teacher. His dodgy dark comb over wasn't enough to surpass the eccentric attitude he had. Everyone in my English lit class admired Mr Fry, a rare oddity in the ways of teaching. I was drawn like a moth to a flame by his vibrant persona that beamed invisible rays of cheerfulness from the first moment he opened his mouth and spoke. He was someone who was naturally easy to be around. His boyish behaviour and refusal to adhere to his actual age (of about forty something), was inspiring to say the least. I could have listened to him talk for hours, rambling on about the old rock bands of his youth and about how contemporary music had lost its edge through mass media marketing. Mr Fry was integrally cool. The man with a vision! His positive outlook was what inspired me to seek out fun and enjoyment in my everyday life.

As a result of his mentoring I decided to scrap my first idea of being a geologist, a job whereby I would have been employed by a major mining company to seek out possible future sites rich in natural minerals for quarrying. This career move would have paid into the hundreds of thousands annually and although it seemed like a good idea at the time, it was no longer the career path I wanted to take.

I repeated the mantra over in my mind 'money can't buy you happiness', as I signed my name on the dotted line at enrolment for the Perth Institute of Music Management or P.I.M.M. as it is better known. I remember even breaking into a mini sweat, knowing that if I failed I would be left with a huge student loan to pay back and be forced to face the real possibility that I may end up working as a bartender at The Kings Arms for the rest of my life.

"No, this will work - I will make this work!" I reassured myself while the student loan financer stamped her authority down hard on the approval of my student loan contract.

Finally, the start of a new dream was born. It was far more exhilarating then prospecting for mining companies or pulling pints. The move was inspired by Mr Fry's endless speeches about the evolution of music and tutorials about the intimate knowledge of artists throughout the ages. It would no doubt bring me closer to my dream of living in L.A. and one day becoming a music manager!

I decided taking time out to backpack around Australia after graduation, like other young people my age, was time wasted. If I was going to succeed I knew it wouldn't happen by sunbathing on a beach somewhere. With unwavering discipline I even assessed the probability of one day running my own company. This idea made me even more determined to succeed in my chosen field.

I gained a tunnel vision that surpassed the need to be lazy. Using the foreseeing, futuristic telescope that had been genetically embedded into my brain allowed me to dream of stars. I wasn't satisfied to merely look at them. No. I wanted to touch them, to fly around among them. 

"Success is measured by how focused a person is Sarah and how far they are willing to go to achieve their goals." Mr Fry rattled on in the middle of the shopping mall. It was such a pleasant surprise to see him, especially being so close to my finals at P.I.M.M. when I was in desperate need of reassurance. I decided this was a good omen. Nothing had changed.  I still hung off his every word like he was the messiah.

"It's all about discipline. You must set goals. Then it only comes down to basic mathematics. You break down the goals into tasks and concentrate on accomplishing each assignment to the best of your ability. Then it's just a matter of time before success is imminent."

"But Mr Fry, what happens if I fail?"

I remember him shaking his head in disapproval and I was instantly made to feel like a child being scolded by their parent.

"The only failure one can achieve in this life is not trying."

I took his words, lulling them over and over again until they were entrenched into my psyche. Our unexpected meeting had left me hungry and I was determined more than ever to achieve my dreams. I knew exactly what I wanted and upon Mr Fry's advice, I decided to research the best ways on how to achieve it -

Finally, three painstakingly long years later, my studies at P.I.M.M. were over and I passed my final exam with a 92% above average score which saw me graduate with honours. Not long after I decided to leave behind the safety blanket of Perth and move to Melbourne on the East coast where all the top Australian music companies were based.

This is the moment things really started to happen for me. But I expected nothing less. I had the b***s, the right attitude, the qualifications and the patience to start at the bottom and work my way up. I didn't want to rush into it. I knew that every experience would ultimately make me the best manager I could possibly be! That was the only true way to achieve my dream of owning my own company one day.

I began my career in the mail room at an exclusive management company called Flash Enterprises. 'It's okay, this is the same way Simon Cowell started his career too and look at him now!' I had to convince myself in the dim reflection of the chipped restroom mirror that my mundane errands were worth the strife.

I really tried to stay positive, but not long after I wanted a taste of something better. After just 6 months of labour and abuse by people who were far less qualified than me, I saw advertised on the staff message board, a position working as a Personal Assistant for the executive of the company, Steve McHuan. He was a little un-orthodox in the ways he did business. His reputation of being a ladies man was the usual day-to-day gossip which circulated the mailroom.

On the day of my interview I showed off my stunningly tall legs by wearing a cream office skirt which hugged my curvy figure nicely in all the right places. My calves were toned from the excessively tall, shiny cream stilettos I wore to accompany my pale blue blouse, which I had purposely chosen because it made the colour in my oceanic eyes pop. It was buttoned down just enough to reveal a hint of my white lace push up bra. But the deciding factor - the cliché which sealed my fate and managed to land me such an exclusive job with so little experience behind me - was quite shameful, but a task I carried out with the same determination and precision as any other in my career -  

I slept with my boss.

I know, I know, not the usual interview techniques, being thrashed upon the large mahogany desk, legs spread apart with papers and stationary flying everywhere. I would have done just about anything to get out of that dreary mailroom and get my foot in the door. After seeing some of the other beautiful women and smartly dressed egotistical men that lined the hallway outside, each waiting for their chance to impress, I knew It would come down to how far I was willing to go to turn the status quo in my favour - basic mathematics!

It wasn’t my finest moment but I was up against some stiff competition and what can I say? In the dog-eat-dog world of music management whereby men dominate the glass house of superficial standing, I did what I had to do. Fluttering my long eyelashes and purposely dropping my resume so that he received an eye full of my behind as I bent down to retrieve it. I flirted ferociously by licking my lips and pouting as I 'ooh-ed' and 'ahh-ed' in all the right places while he mentioned the perks of the job. I Sucked playfully on the tip of the pen he had handed me to fill out the contact section on my application form (which I had purposely missed) replying, 'sure you can have my number' in an overtly coquettish manner. I arched my back further than was physically comfortable and pushed out my breasts as far as they could go - anything to seal the deal.

But even after all of this, I had to be sure. I had already made a fool of myself if it all went pear shaped! I concluded that I may as well go the distance. Give him a taste of what he would experience if he hired me. So I made him an offer he couldn't refuse, which to my immense relief, he accepted cordially.

Steve had the power to open doors. Under his expert guidance I found myself swept up in the excitement of it all and was always a grade-A student. I wanted to learn as much as I could, whilst having the time of my life.

Steve became my new mentor, teaching me the ins and outs of the industry and in return I kept him satisfied while staying focused on my goals. I was a fierce contender in a very lucrative pond. I think that’s why I hung off of Steve’s every word. He was the best of the best, and I wanted the stars. I wasn’t afraid of doing the dirty work. I knew it wouldn’t be like this forever, but I saw no harm in having some fun with it while it lasted.

I think that’s another reason why he favoured me over his other staff; apart from being his personal shag on the clock, he also saw a little of himself in me (no pun intended!). It was never exclusive what we had. It was just what it was. Sex, champagne and rock ‘n’ roll.

My first major assignment was to help him plan the World Arts Music festival being held in Sydney. Some of the most popular bands and artists in the business were going to be performing there. It was a lot of preparation, meetings, negotiations and f*****g but the event went off magnificently. I knew that this was my chance to shine. I was right! After wrapping up the festival, (and an extensively long blow job), he finally called me into his office last night acting rather more coy than usual, saying that he has a proposition for me, but he isn't going to tell me until the morning. That's just Steve's way. He likes to tease sometimes, it makes him feel like a bigger man when he thinks people are beneath him and he has control over them. Typical male ego! Oh well - I'll let him think he's Lord and Master for one night, after all, I don't want to get too cocky before I've secured the new promotion, he could just as easily change his mind! I'm not an idiot. I know that when Steve uses the term 'proposition' that he doesn't do so lightly. 

So it's finally happening. On this day, which coincidentally falls on my 27th birthday, I find myself on this packed out train commuting to the city, about to venture upon a new career. This is hands down the best birthday present I could ever have hoped for. The feelings of loneliness that I experienced earlier have all but vanished, replaced by mixed emotions of excitement and anxiety as we come to a stop at Melbourne's Central Street station. I'm so overwhelmed that I almost forget to check the outcome of the flirting couple I had been assessing earlier. I look back just in time, before the majority of travellers stand up to exit and block my view, to see the Gucci suit hand over his business card. Result for the pretty Arabian woman with green contacts, clearly a gold digger if ever I saw one. I predict that their life will follow the usual relationship cycle when driven by greed. Sex, marriage, a baby, a mortgage, another baby, an even bigger mortgage, debt, stress, anxiety, depression, an affair or two and all that headache will be un-neatly finished with a messy divorce and a begrudging payout. Both will end up hating each other, blaming the other for ruining the others life, when the actual reality is that they both wanted this. They mutually agreed to their lives being filled with the drama of love and hate, because they are both too scared of the alternative, which is a life of independence that can sometimes demonstrate moments of loneliness.     

It's their fault if they would rather live in domesticated hell than go it solo. Well, rather them than me. She's more than welcome to the Gucci suit and he can have his Arabian princess. Enjoy your future lives together living in the suburbs, neck deep in laundry and baby vomit! I'd rather live in complete solitude than go through that hell, for I've decided to walk a different path to that of the masses, free from restraint, on an adventure into the exceptional wonders of the unknown. One step at a time!

 

"Ok Sarah, so I've been juggling with this idea for a while now and I think it's time to offer you a promotion. How would you like to be a manager?"

"Really" I squeal, almost falling off the arm of the leather box chair, that I'm barely perched on. I already knew this was coming - of course. But somehow hearing the words direct from the horses' mouth seems more exciting.

"Don’t get too carried away. Think of it more like a trial run, just to see how you cope on your own without me."

"Sound's brilliant!" I answer truthfully. I can't be more overjoyed by this news. Finally, I have the chance to prove my worth.

Rushing over to the large glossy picture of the Beatles, centred on the blood red feature wall and signed by none other than the band itself, minus Lennon's signature since he had already shacked up with Yoko Ono at the time, I pull on the bulky chrome frame to open the cleverly hidden alcohol cabinet built into the wall behind.  

Taking out the crystal canister filled half way with dark brown malt whiskey and the unopened champagne bottle from the refrigerated section of the shelf, I pour Steve a drink on the rocks and myself a flute of cheap bubbly to celebrate, (because Steve's too much of a tight-arse to buy the good stuff for his 'unimportant' companions) and sit patiently while he debriefs me on my first potential client. I am more than thrilled when he announces that the new position is located in Los Angeles and I'm forced to listen doubly hard to pay attention because all I can focus on is the countless shopping sprees I'm going to have on the Boulevard.   

“He's an unusual fella who likes to keep himself-to-himself. Supposedly he's not much of a talker." Steve sighs and for some reason, agitation burdens his face and causes his brow to furrow into a deep V shape. I presume he mustn't have had much success when speaking to him earlier?

"I don't think he gets along well with people." He narrows his eyes at me and I suspect he's searching for an answer. Maybe I'm meant to enlighten him about this client that I've never met or spoken to before? I respond the only way I know how by shaking my head in the negative and giving him an oblivious look that says 'I-don't-have-a-clue'. He rolls his eyes and huffs heavily from disappointment.

"He's a bit of a weird one if you ask me. I can't seem to work him out. He comes across as being one of those mysterious types, you know, reserved and far too laid back to be trustworthy. Either that or he smokes too much of the green stuff if you know what I mean?" He raises a cautionary eyebrow. Steve's pet hate is working with clientele who recreationally use illicit drugs because they are too temperamental for his liking, which irritably for him, works out to be 99.9% of the artists on our books. He continues after a short pause, waving his hands in the air as though he's brushing off the irksome thought which preceded it. 

"He's gonna be a hard nut to crack, but I know with your talents Sarah you can win him over”. He winks with an implicating smirk plastered across his rugged sleazy face and proceeds to slap me on my arse. The sting bites into my tender skin as he misses the fabric of my short skirt completely. By some miracle I just manage to keep my glass steady enough so that the clear bubbly liquid doesn't spill over onto the cluttered desk of un-filed paperwork in front of me.

For the first time since working at Flash, I loathe Steve. Just because I give him special treatment, doesn’t mean I'm a w***e - or does it? Is that how I appear to others?

Regardless of what gossip may follow this promotion, I can’t afford to turn down the opportunity. This is Los Angeles for heaven's sake - the City of Angels - where women dress in fancy designer clothing and you can bump into movie stars whilst grabbing a coffee from the local Starbucks. Besides, I don’t think Steve will give me another chance like this again if I were stupid enough to turn him down. From our conversations, (mostly he does the talking because I'm usually otherwise preoccupied with a mouthful of him) he's mentioned that the board of directors have already been breathing down his neck for hiring someone so inexperienced.

I have to prove them wrong. I have to show them that I'm more than just a pretty face. I have to let my inner dork shine - err, perhaps not too much. The air-head persona can't be neglected in bravado of my geekiness. Believe it or not, being beautiful is very hard work to maintain and very costly to remedy if abandoned! I simply can't afford to neglect my nails, tan, hair, waxing appointments, teeth whitening and pedicures, nor would I want to. 

I make a solemn promise to myself that this shall be the very last time I use my so-called talents to gain favour. And I mean it!

I want to be somebody by working hard off my own back, not by laying on my back. Los Angeles is my ticket out of here and I'm itching to get out from under Steve. He is old enough to be my father after all and this is some-what of an unhealthy relationship we've developed.

I'm dying to be my own boss. I'm so close to making it in the big leagues. No longer will I be the PA for a fat cat, running mundane errands by day, a scheduled blow job by night. This is my chance to shine, to be a real manager. Everything I've been working so hard to achieve is finally in reach.

So the client is a little strange - I can handle that! If working with Steve has taught me anything it’s that you’ve got to try your best no matter what you’ve been given to work with. (Yes, pun most definitely intended!)

And besides, who in their right mind would turn down the chance of working in Los Angeles? I mean, HELLO IT’S LA - THE OPPORTUNITY OF A LIFETIME!!! Finally I'm getting out of this town and moving to where the stars shine bright. My dreams are finally coming to fruition. America awaits and I'm ready for the challenge.

“So, when do I leave?” My eyes are sparkling wide with intoxicated excitement as a result of sculling too much cheap bubbly.

“Right after you say goodbye to little Steve” He replies slyly, moving his pelvis in an awkward thrusting motion. Oh joy, that’s one way to deflate a girl's ego. I tell you, never get your hopes up because there will always be something that happens in life to keep you grounded. It's just the laws of physics!

I look down at the shrivelled prune resting under the mass of curly black wool that resembles a sheep's fleece and sigh quietly to myself. Forcing a falsely gratifying smile on my face, I repeat the mantra over in my mind 'this too shall pass', a useful proverb I reserve for times of grievance and physical pain; or in my present predicament, physical torture.

Breathing in deep, I try to suppress the nauseous motion of my gurgling stomach before I involuntarily give the game away and vomit all over his dick. Urgh - all in a day’s work I guess?

“Come on then tiger what are you waiting for?" I say with mock excitement as I hold on tight to the puny stump which is remarkably close to resembling a furry cocktail sausage and pray that it will all be over soon.  

"Show me some sugar”.