The Promotion

Bella had grown bored with her job at the accountancy firm; she'd worked there for far too long. During her days, she felt restless, watching the clock and thinking about her evenings of being home and chilling with Oscar, who, like clockwork, would be waiting for her at her front door.

"Hey Oscar, my dear puddy cat!" Bella would sing, happy to be home at last.

Knowing it was time for change, seeing that she’s fascinated with chilling with her cat for company, Bella decides to go for the promotion that’s up for grabs.

It’s better than nothing for now! She tells herself.

Her interview is scheduled for Friday at 9 am sharp.

Friday 8:10

Bella stirs groggily, realising she’s woken up a tad bit late; she'd struggled to fall asleep until the small hours. Tossing and turning most of the night, Bella had been massively apprehensive about the promotion:

Shouldn't I be looking for a totally new job?

When sleep had finally arrived, she had a nightmare in which she was trying to answer a colossal-sized phone for her boss, who was looking pretty pissed off at her. The ringing wouldn't stop, no matter how many times she managed to pick up the humongous receiver. As Bella came around, she soon realised the ringing was actually her alarm, which had gone to snooze twice over the last twenty minutes:

"Shit!"

Jumping up quicker than a high-pole vault athlete, Bella frantically races about the flat:

Where's the time going!! She screams in her head, checking the kitchen clock:

Shit, it’s stopped working!

“Argh!”

Friday 8:35

Almost ready, Bella orders an Uber as she charges back into her bedroom, with about ten minutes spare to apply her makeup. She saves herself from tripping flat on her face, as Oscar bolts across her feet, making his way to his favourite spot: the corner of the dressing table.

"Watch it, lady!" He growls.

“Oscar!" Bella stutters with disbelief.

I must have brain fog. Did my cat just speak?

Bella lands awkwardly on the stool, catching her balance, as she contemplates that her insomnia must be fucking with her. She rummages through her makeup, internally crying, flustered, and feeling a wreck:

"I'm gonna need a miracle today!"

She flips the switch on the LED mirror and turns up the light. "Not a great start," she sighs, 'and today of all days, and what am I gonna do with this?' she thinks, as she looks at her puffy, tired face looking back at her. She’d had one too many glasses of rosé last night: usual.

Cussing at herself, she cries out, “Why can’t I ever stop at one!”

“A little bit of wine flu, dear?” the mirror asks.

“What the actual—”, Bella looks around the room.

“—You can have a hair of the dog tonight, dear.” The mirror giggles. Bella hasn’t got time for a mental breakdown now; she’s only just about applied her foundation, and the clock is ticking. She checks the bedroom clock; that's stopped at 9 too!

“Argh!”

She turns the mirror light down, leans in closer, and makes out a strange silhouette behind her reflection—it’s sort of making a purring sound, with huge eyes? That’s so weird, I must be more stressed than I realise.

“Don’t mind me, dear,” the mirror grins, "I'm just happy we can spend time together."

Bella’s so freaked, she finishes up her makeup, settling for the berry-red lipstick she spots in the dishevelled upturned pile: This will do it! Before she even gets to her feet, her kabuki brush flies off the table, dives into the powder palette, flies back up and aims for her face; the brush hairs kiss both her cheeks with dainty, moist strokes, dropping back to the table.

“There”, says the mirror, "that’s more like it. Your wine wrinkles don’t show now, dear.” Oscar gives out a wide yawn, then takes a glug of rosé. This was too much, Bella, relieved the Uber would be arriving soon, ran to get her coat and bag.

"Shit, I’m so late—this is not happening!"

Oscar follows, meowing for Bella to show him some love; he hates it when she’s out all day.

Friday 8.47

As the Uber pulls up, Bella feels nauseous; she’s had no time to collect her thoughts for the interview. Anxious too, as her boss gives her the creeps, his lack of humour is so disconcerting. What if she doesn’t get her promotion because she overslept? Okay, maybe drinking the entire bottle of that delicious wine last night and singing along to the reruns of 1998 Top of the Pops didn’t help.

“Bella?" the driver asks.

“Yeah, that’s me." Bella's already climbed into the back of the cab.

As she plonks her bag down next to her, she looks up into the car’s rear-view mirror to register a hello. She's shocked to see her own eyes peering back at her. The driver turns her head around to look at Bella; with a smile, she says, “Hey, your make-up's fab, dear, loving the red lippie on you!”

She’s the spit of Bella—a doppelgänger, it has to be? How else can Bella explain that she’s looking at herself? Bella starts to feel a heavy, warm weight descend upon her chest:

This is too much—what in the name of Oz, is going on today!

“Are we still going for the promotion, dear?” the driver asks, smiling again. With that, she starts humming loudly. As her humming gets louder, her phone starts to ring—the volume climbing to an annoying pitch.

How does she know about my promotion? Bella wonders as she notes the humming moving closer to her ears. The phone’s still ringing, and now her doppelgänger Uber driver—refraining from answering the damn thing—reaches across and starts to stroke Bella’s cheeks; her fingers feel damp!

What the actual... fucking answer the phone!

Friday 9 am

Oscar’s dribbling voraciously while he joyfully makes biscuits on Bella’s duvet-snuggled chest: he keeps nudging both her cheeks with his cold, damp nose, purring with content: Mum's staying home today, he happily thinks to himself, in Cat Language.

Bella gives out a long and loud snore, as the snooze alarm resets for the seventh time that morning, as the promotion sinks to the bottom of the sea.

© Chantal Weiss 2025. All Rights Reserved