Harvey Charlise Emmanuelle Dadigan is the name I got when I was born into the rotten place we call Earth. I was the last 1/2 of the Dadigan twins. My brother (and this gets even worse) is named Harley Charles Edward Dadigan. I personally believe my mother was too numb to give out names to either of us, I mean I have personal scars because of what she named me! My family were and probably always will be, filthy rich and rotten. My grandfather had prospered as a politician in Britain and even became a Knight when he was 50 years old. So you see, the Dadigans basically live off of old money. I grew up in lovely London with my huge family. I, being the youngest out of all the Dadigan children learned immediately that having no attention was bearable. My older siblings (all boys mind you)had tend to be the stars of the family, especially Harley. He was a natural when it came to sports, and seemed to be a Beckham prodige. Most of the time I would be at his football games cheering him on because mum and dad were too busy with their social lives to come to his games. When it comes to myself, well I kept up with my studies. If my twin brother had to be the athletic one, then I had to be the intelligent one, right? I had decided that when I was only ten years old. If I had my eyes set on Oxford University, I had better shape up as soon as possible. Harley and I were always inseprable. Despite out difference, we could easily talk to each other about everything. I would tell him about my secrets of hoping to be as attractive as Jerry Hall when I was old. He would tell me of how he felt so pressured to be so perfect at football. We talked, it was nice, and all was well. At least it was for a little while. Crazy as it may seem, my father and mother had had an arranged marraige. My mum had come from families full of Counts and Countesses, and it seemed like a match for such rich families to join together. The thing though, was that they were not in love whatsoever. My father became notorious for is romps in the night life, and my mother had all the rights to be upset and to divorce him. Like most dysfunctional families, the Dadigans went under a nasty divorce. My mother took Harley and I to America for a new start, and I love her for that.
One thing Harley and I found out when we were in America was that what we call 'football', they call 'soccer'. 'Football' in American terms was a sport full of big bulky men tackling each other for a TD or a touchdown. Kind of like rugby, but only with the ugly fat men as the players. Also, to them we had an accent. But to me, all of the Americans have such a HUGE accent it is hard to hide. Whatever. As Harley and I got older we had to teach the soccer fans in America Beckham is the best soccer player ever, not up and coming Landon Donovan. Despite all the changes I had to make here in America, I fancied it here a lot. Mum moved our new small family to a gorgeous penthouse in New York City. Did I say that it was gorgeous? So while Harley was wondering where the hell is the grass so he can practice his sport, I was studying my brains off. I had managed to get into Manhattan Academy, a pristigous private school in NYC. I loved it there, not only did it have so many courses to choose from, but it make you feel like you were already in college. I had studied my ass off while I was there. I became so obsessed with time, that I hardly had anytime to relax. At one point, my mother threatened to take me out of the school because I hardly got any sleep. Even with the threats I managed to graduate as Validictorian when I was only 17. I had made my speech that spring day with a lot of glee. All of my family was there, even my dad. I think he was even a tad bit proud of me. Even though Harley did not graduate with me, a year later he got his wish. Harley had been scouted by so many Soccer coaches it was ridiculous. His skills were so promising that talks of him being drafted into the pro leagues were made. He made the decision to go back to England to talk to scouts or possibly go to college.
I had already gotten an early admission to Yale, Harvard, Oxford, Brown, Hamilton, and University of PA. It was very flattering to say the least, all the hard work I had done when I was younger was paying off now. I had decided to go to Yale, even though I got admitted into Oxford. Crazy? Maybe, but I had liked the campus and wanted to stay in America away from my family in England. Because of my interance in the bussiness world, I declared my major Bussiness Administration. It was a pretty lame life. My roommates were hussies that made marks by feeling up the professors and then black mailing them. Lovely, huh? Anyways after getting my degree in B.A., I got acceptance at Yale & Oxford to get my masters. Pfft. I went for one semester then fled. I officially became a Yale Dropout much to my father's dismay. That fall I kissed my mum good bye and headed west to California. I had no clue what I would do when I got there, but it felt like the perfect place to go at the time. When I arrived at Los Angeles I had a feeling I would probably not fit in. For one, I did not like prancing around with upper-thigh length skirts and showing off my bodice. Secondly, I always seemed to scare people when I said I just graduated from Yale. Then again, some nice people have to be around in LA. Right? Well one night I had decided to go to the Zinc Club because...for the hell of it. Little did I know right at the bar I was talking to my future boss. He and I were the only ones sober there at the time. I told him of my life story and he surprisingly did not look one ounce bored. In fact before I even got to finish on how I got here he had said,"Yale, huh? Got some proof to back it up." I nodded and he gave me his card, telling me to call him the next afternoon. I remember looking at it dumbly. On the top it had 930 Production and his name and number was typed clearly on the small bussiness card. Emile Berkenstein, CEO. The first thing to cross my mind was that "I am not a singer, at all."
I called him the very next day and off the bat told him I did not sing nor wanted to embarrass myself by lipsyncing too. He laughed for a brief moment and told me he needed a new secretary. As he got into the details, my eyes lit up. Good pay, good job, I was in. Even though my job does not all the way pay for me living in a stylish condo in Bel Air, need I remind you I am well off anyways? I just decided to go off and work a little, but help doesn't bother me at all. Not one bit. Mostly my job consists of being professional at all times. To me, that is absolutely easy. I don't mind at all working my butt off trying to get Mr. Berkenstein's schedules ready at the last minute. Actually, I kind of thrive on the pressure. Despite my scary absolute focus I have when I go to work, I am a friendly person. Do not forget that I have to deal with producers, PA's, rockstars-in-the-makings, every day of my life. It does get stressful sometimes, but stress is what I have gotten through all of my days. Besides, I'd rather be busy than looking out my window wondering what can I do with all the money that I have. Do you know how cliche that is?