WendyVixen
It’s 1995. Judith McPherson’s life is comfortably unremarkable—until she discovers online chat. When her alter ego, WendyVixen, becomes a chat room superstar, Judith sets out to transform herself into a real-life version of Wendy. She learns some hard lessons along the way, at last achieving everything she wants in life. Or does she?
Chapter 1
April 1995
April 1995
The gaudy CD package immediately caught my eye as I scoured the morning mail in my inbox. It was from the wildly popular Internet Service Provider, Worldwide Online Web, better known as WOW. Addressed to me personally, it offered “1000 FREE hours of The Brave New Worldwide Online Web.” I flung it onto the pile of junk mail. I didn’t need another coaster.
Of course I’d seen these ubiquitous mailers on desks, in the break room, and in wastebaskets here at Day-Kilkenny—a small but highly successful San Francisco Insurance provider. Apparently WOW’s marketing strategy was to blitz the public with never-ending ads and flood the whole country with these marketing packages until people finally gave in and signed up. Not going to happen to Judith McPherson. I had absolutely no interest in an ISP known primarily for its lurid Hot Chat rooms. I knew this onslaught of promotional discs here at the office was most likely due to Day-Kilkenny’s recent upgrade to WOW from its old provider. Not the choice I would have made. But no one asked my opinion.
I sensed someone standing next to my desk. I blinked, then smiled a greeting to my boss, Paul Day, DK’s president and CEO, “Sorry, sir, I didn’t notice you standing there.”
"It’s one of my superpowers.” He gave me a sheepish grin. “Just letting you know I’ll be out of the office the rest of the day. Anyone needs to see me, fit ‘em into my schedule as best you can.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll highlight any additions.”
“That’ll work.” He picked up the WOW CD package, turned it over. “This is great, Judith. I’m delighted to see you’re going to dive into the internet a bit more.”
I smirked. “Actually, I was just about to re—”
“This is very encouraging. He held up the package. “We all need to be much more in touch with what’s going on beyond our mundane everyday experience.”
I nodded. “Yes sir, I suppose that is important.”
“More than you know, Judith. In all honesty, I was worried about …” He looked away. “Well, the thing is, all of us need to get more with it, more in tune with today’s culture.”
“Why would we—”
“If things go the way we hope, we’re going to be making some major changes around here. But for that to happen, we need to modernize, to upgrade our stodgy, old-school image, and that will likely mean having to let some people go.”
I took in a deep breath, released it slowly. What major changes is he talking about? Why don’t I know about these plans? I should know. I’m Executive Secretary to the CEO. I’m not supposed to be kept in the dark. The thing is, Mr. Day’s a great boss. He’s always treated me like a daughter. And to me he’s been the loving father I’ve never known. But now he's dropping some less-than-subtle hints that I’m in danger of becoming obsolete, even expendable? All because I’m not worldly enough? What the hell is happening here?
“But, sir, we’ve installed one of the earliest T-1 line in the Financial District. That puts us way ahead of those companies that still have to rely on a bunch of separate slow modems. And we’re in the process of upgrading to Windows 95.”
He adjusted his glasses. “That technical stuff is only a start. Now it’s time for us to stop being merely early adapters and to start moving to the forefront of change.”
He tapped the CD for emphasis. “So, you can see why it’s so important that you’re taking the ol’ bull by the horns like this. You might benefit more than you know from WOW’s focus on social interaction. It could help you become more … with it. He beamed down at me like a proud parent, handed me the disc, and walked away.
I glanced at the WOW package, still unpacking Mr. Day’s last statement. He seemed to think this tacky promo represented an opportunity for me to step out of my comfort zone and into the spotlight—the very place I’ve spent my life trying to avoid.
Where did all this upgrading-our-image push come from anyway? Day-Kilkenny was built on a foundation of tradition, consistency, and trust. That’s precisely the reputation every insurance company strives for. Damn, apparently Mr. Day was bent on imposing some vague “with-it” image on a perfectly good, successful company. Why?
It's the middle of the final decade of the Twentieth Century for Christ’s sake, and I’m only thirty-three. I had every reason to believe I’d carved out a comfortable life and had a long, successful career ahead of me. But my boss just made it clear that if I don’t make some big changes, I might as well forget being a part the company’s future.
But this is where I need to be. Right here in San Francisco, at Day-Kilkenny, is a perfect fit for me. Yes, I’m a couple of lanes removed from the fast track, and the glass ceiling is real. But my reviews are always excellent, and I’m paid quite well, thank you very much. The bottom line is no other job I’ve ever had was as comfortable or rewarding as this one. As much as I love my position, though, I suppose I could find another one if I had to. But I don’t want to go through that again.
My most recent position before this was as a Personal Assistant to the head of a real estate brokerage. I thought I was doing fine, until just before my annual review, I discovered a pink slip along with a compensation package in my mail slot. The official reasons for letting me go were that I wasn’t a team player, and I didn’t measure up to expected company standards. I have to admit I’m a bit of a loner, but not measuring up to company standards? That’s a load of crap. And now Mr. Day has implied essentially the same thing.
So what if I’m not “trendy”? I’m an exceptional Executive Secretary and he knows it. When did an understated demeanor become a character flaw?
I feel tears welling up, my throat tightening. I need to step away, collect myself, before I embarrassed myself with a full-on crying jag right here at my desk.
Thankfully, the ladies room is empty, and I take the opportunity to do a frank once-over in the full-length mirror near the door. I pat my French twist. Like me, my hairstyle is professional but unremarkable. I lean closer to the mirror and pinch my cheeks. Maybe I should add some color to my daily makeup routine, such as it is. When I step back and turn in front of the mirror, my reflection makes it clear I’m gaining weight around the hips. An unwanted surprise.
My charcoal gray business suit is stylish but hardly trendy. Of course, I dress conservatively. That’s exactly the image an executive secretary should present. But … well, let’s face it, both me and my fashion sense are ordinary. Oh, I’ve seen how some of the younger girls at the office dress to get noticed—bright floral prints, miniskirts, even calf-length leather boots, not to mention the hair styles mimicking Rachel from Friends or Ginger Spice. I don’t really disapprove, it just isn’t an appropriate look for Judith McPherson. I touch up my lipstick, straighten my lapels, smooth out my skirt, and head back to my desk.
The rest of the day I held it together but just barely. I worked through bouts of nausea, and I was forced to hastily hide my quivering hands in my lap when a colleague stopped by my office with a question. And a single typo caused me to slam the keyboard.
I need to get a grip. Yes, I’m probably overreacting. But why did my boss’s not-so-subtle insinuation that I’m not “with it” upset me this much?
Then it hit me like a slap in the face. Mr. Day’s words echoed much too closely my father’s endless complaints that I was so damn plain and homely no guy would ever look at me twice. Mr. Day’s comments weren’t as colorful or as hurtful as Wally McPherson’s relentless tirades, but the point was the same and just as direct. Seems the consensus has held steady over the years … I’m simply too bland and uninteresting to stack up well against other, more sophisticated, more attractive women. I feel my hands form tight fists.
Whatever it takes, I need to prove them all wrong.
Of course I’d seen these ubiquitous mailers on desks, in the break room, and in wastebaskets here at Day-Kilkenny—a small but highly successful San Francisco Insurance provider. Apparently WOW’s marketing strategy was to blitz the public with never-ending ads and flood the whole country with these marketing packages until people finally gave in and signed up. Not going to happen to Judith McPherson. I had absolutely no interest in an ISP known primarily for its lurid Hot Chat rooms. I knew this onslaught of promotional discs here at the office was most likely due to Day-Kilkenny’s recent upgrade to WOW from its old provider. Not the choice I would have made. But no one asked my opinion.
I sensed someone standing next to my desk. I blinked, then smiled a greeting to my boss, Paul Day, DK’s president and CEO, “Sorry, sir, I didn’t notice you standing there.”
"It’s one of my superpowers.” He gave me a sheepish grin. “Just letting you know I’ll be out of the office the rest of the day. Anyone needs to see me, fit ‘em into my schedule as best you can.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll highlight any additions.”
“That’ll work.” He picked up the WOW CD package, turned it over. “This is great, Judith. I’m delighted to see you’re going to dive into the internet a bit more.”
I smirked. “Actually, I was just about to re—”
“This is very encouraging. He held up the package. “We all need to be much more in touch with what’s going on beyond our mundane everyday experience.”
I nodded. “Yes sir, I suppose that is important.”
“More than you know, Judith. In all honesty, I was worried about …” He looked away. “Well, the thing is, all of us need to get more with it, more in tune with today’s culture.”
“Why would we—”
“If things go the way we hope, we’re going to be making some major changes around here. But for that to happen, we need to modernize, to upgrade our stodgy, old-school image, and that will likely mean having to let some people go.”
I took in a deep breath, released it slowly. What major changes is he talking about? Why don’t I know about these plans? I should know. I’m Executive Secretary to the CEO. I’m not supposed to be kept in the dark. The thing is, Mr. Day’s a great boss. He’s always treated me like a daughter. And to me he’s been the loving father I’ve never known. But now he's dropping some less-than-subtle hints that I’m in danger of becoming obsolete, even expendable? All because I’m not worldly enough? What the hell is happening here?
“But, sir, we’ve installed one of the earliest T-1 line in the Financial District. That puts us way ahead of those companies that still have to rely on a bunch of separate slow modems. And we’re in the process of upgrading to Windows 95.”
He adjusted his glasses. “That technical stuff is only a start. Now it’s time for us to stop being merely early adapters and to start moving to the forefront of change.”
He tapped the CD for emphasis. “So, you can see why it’s so important that you’re taking the ol’ bull by the horns like this. You might benefit more than you know from WOW’s focus on social interaction. It could help you become more … with it. He beamed down at me like a proud parent, handed me the disc, and walked away.
I glanced at the WOW package, still unpacking Mr. Day’s last statement. He seemed to think this tacky promo represented an opportunity for me to step out of my comfort zone and into the spotlight—the very place I’ve spent my life trying to avoid.
Where did all this upgrading-our-image push come from anyway? Day-Kilkenny was built on a foundation of tradition, consistency, and trust. That’s precisely the reputation every insurance company strives for. Damn, apparently Mr. Day was bent on imposing some vague “with-it” image on a perfectly good, successful company. Why?
It's the middle of the final decade of the Twentieth Century for Christ’s sake, and I’m only thirty-three. I had every reason to believe I’d carved out a comfortable life and had a long, successful career ahead of me. But my boss just made it clear that if I don’t make some big changes, I might as well forget being a part the company’s future.
But this is where I need to be. Right here in San Francisco, at Day-Kilkenny, is a perfect fit for me. Yes, I’m a couple of lanes removed from the fast track, and the glass ceiling is real. But my reviews are always excellent, and I’m paid quite well, thank you very much. The bottom line is no other job I’ve ever had was as comfortable or rewarding as this one. As much as I love my position, though, I suppose I could find another one if I had to. But I don’t want to go through that again.
My most recent position before this was as a Personal Assistant to the head of a real estate brokerage. I thought I was doing fine, until just before my annual review, I discovered a pink slip along with a compensation package in my mail slot. The official reasons for letting me go were that I wasn’t a team player, and I didn’t measure up to expected company standards. I have to admit I’m a bit of a loner, but not measuring up to company standards? That’s a load of crap. And now Mr. Day has implied essentially the same thing.
So what if I’m not “trendy”? I’m an exceptional Executive Secretary and he knows it. When did an understated demeanor become a character flaw?
I feel tears welling up, my throat tightening. I need to step away, collect myself, before I embarrassed myself with a full-on crying jag right here at my desk.
Thankfully, the ladies room is empty, and I take the opportunity to do a frank once-over in the full-length mirror near the door. I pat my French twist. Like me, my hairstyle is professional but unremarkable. I lean closer to the mirror and pinch my cheeks. Maybe I should add some color to my daily makeup routine, such as it is. When I step back and turn in front of the mirror, my reflection makes it clear I’m gaining weight around the hips. An unwanted surprise.
My charcoal gray business suit is stylish but hardly trendy. Of course, I dress conservatively. That’s exactly the image an executive secretary should present. But … well, let’s face it, both me and my fashion sense are ordinary. Oh, I’ve seen how some of the younger girls at the office dress to get noticed—bright floral prints, miniskirts, even calf-length leather boots, not to mention the hair styles mimicking Rachel from Friends or Ginger Spice. I don’t really disapprove, it just isn’t an appropriate look for Judith McPherson. I touch up my lipstick, straighten my lapels, smooth out my skirt, and head back to my desk.
The rest of the day I held it together but just barely. I worked through bouts of nausea, and I was forced to hastily hide my quivering hands in my lap when a colleague stopped by my office with a question. And a single typo caused me to slam the keyboard.
I need to get a grip. Yes, I’m probably overreacting. But why did my boss’s not-so-subtle insinuation that I’m not “with it” upset me this much?
Then it hit me like a slap in the face. Mr. Day’s words echoed much too closely my father’s endless complaints that I was so damn plain and homely no guy would ever look at me twice. Mr. Day’s comments weren’t as colorful or as hurtful as Wally McPherson’s relentless tirades, but the point was the same and just as direct. Seems the consensus has held steady over the years … I’m simply too bland and uninteresting to stack up well against other, more sophisticated, more attractive women. I feel my hands form tight fists.
Whatever it takes, I need to prove them all wrong.