by Amina Akhtar
Um, did you know Cassie’s raiding your closet? I emailed.
What? LOL!
That was it? No outrage? Had Sarah been won over by the social-climbing intern? I sat completely befuddled. Was Cassie better than me? No, that couldn’t be. I was her boss.
* * *
Cassie finally turned her story in—one week later—and it was awful. No, worse than awful. It wasn’t real. I picked up a pen and debated stabbing my leg with it. Wait, ink poisoning was a real danger. Instead, I decided to cull Cassie from our ragtag herd as soon as possible.
“What I Wore to My First Fashion Week” was the easiest type of bullshit piece anyone could write. I could whip it up in two seconds. Hell, Diana could have written it in our comments, and it would have been hilarious! (I should have hired her as a writer. Hindsight.) A quick intro, some photos, a few comments on each image, and some vague bullshit about what you learned. It wasn’t rocket science. I had expected spelling errors, copy mistakes. I was even ready for poorly lit photos.
What I wasn’t prepared for was Cassie submitting the exact same story that Lisa’s site, Cartel, had run—literally the exact story with the byline swapped out for her own. (The site had continued on even without its illustrious leader. Ad dollars were all that mattered.)
The photos weren’t even of Cassie; they were of the original writer—who was a guy. You had to commend her balls—and marvel at her stupidity. Deep breaths, Anya. Deep breaths. Frantically, I mouthed WWMKAAD (What would Mary-Kate and Ashley do?) to myself over and over until the rage subsided a bit. Then I called Cassie over.
“Um, Cassie, I’m not sure I like the post you wrote.”
“Why not? I thought it was great.” She pouted, dropping her chin. Sarah’s chin dip. Did the girl have an original bone in her body? She was so obvious, it stunned me that Sarah, my Sarah, would fall for her tricks.
“Oh, did she? When it ran on Cartel? Because you didn’t actually write this, did you?”
“Yes I did. See? There’s my name!” She pointed to her byline, grinning.
“Changing the byline doesn’t make it yours. You do know that, right? This is full-on plagiarism. Explain to me why I shouldn’t fire you.”
“I-I didn’t—”
“Save it. If you want to succeed here or anywhere else, you need to put in some effort. This is a very small industry. If people find out you steal anything, you will be so ruined. Understand?”
“Except it’s too late to get a new intern, so even if you say something, you’ll be down a body.” She smiled triumphantly.
A body. No, there were always bodies.
I tried a different tactic. “This will make Sarah look bad.”
“No, it won’t.” She sounded unsure. She straightened her spine. “Besides, Sarah loves me. She’s going to give me a recommendation.”
“As what? Her dog walker?”
Cassie blanched. She nervously tugged at her highlighted hair. “Whatever, Anya. Sarah wants this to run. And she’s your boss. But you should hear all the things she says about you when you’re not around. It’s hilarious.” She giggled.
Sarah was confiding in Cassie. She was talking shit (the fashion way!) about me—to the intern.
I’ve always wondered what a nuclear blast would feel like. Sound like. Would the roar block out everything, be so loud that you heard nothing but silence? That was the sound in my head. So much buzzing and screaming, I heard nothing.
“Go to the fashion closet and see what they need you to do. Now.” I sounded out each word slowly.
Sarah emailed to check in.
Things are good. Except Cassie was carrying a fake bag. I lied. But there was no point in telling her about the plagiarized story. Sarah wouldn’t care. I added, She’s always with Greg. What’s that about?
SHUT UP! Fire her! She replied.
* * *
By week three, I found myself at the dessert station in the cafeteria, staring at the cakes: cheesecake, coffeecake, chocolate cake. I wanted them all. I took the cheesecake. Cassie was driving me to stress eat. All that hard work losing weight was going to be wasted because that moron couldn’t do her work. I spooned the creamy cake in my mouth, the blissful richness taking over. This was better than sex. Fuck orgasms, I just needed more cake. Maybe it was time to move on from the fashion chapter of my life and just fill up on daily desserts.
No. I threw my fork down. I caught a few stares as it clattered on the plate. I spat out whatever was left in my mouth. I would not let Cassie do this to me. I would not get fat because of her. She would not derail me. I had my goals. I had my plans. I was going to stay thin. I had to, or I’d be out of a job. I was going to be Sarah Taft’s BFF if it killed me. Life was going to be really fucking awesome, Goddammit. I was one of them. I had to act like it.
I went back upstairs, disgusted with myself. I needed to see Dr. M. He’d know just what to say.
“Anya, you just need to be firm with your intern.”
“I know, Dr. M. But she only listens to Sarah.”
“Did you ever think that this might be Sarah’s way of testing you? To see if you have what it takes to get ahead?”
Was she testing me? Was I failing?
He sighed. It was my cue to calm the fuck down.
“Why is this Cassie girl getting you so upset? What’s really the issue?”
“The issue? She’s a fake!” I spit as I said it. Okay, fine, I was worked up.
“Anya, are you really the one who should call others fake? Your background isn’t exactly bulletproof.”
“Cassie and I are not the same! How dare you? I’m trying to improve—”
“By being like Sarah. And like Cassie.”
Have you ever wanted to shove your Stella McCartney mesh heels into your shrink’s mouth to make him stop talking? I couldn’t believe he was saying such hurtful things.
“We’re not the same. I help Sarah. Cassie is using her. There’s a difference.” It was like talking to a brick wall. We weren’t the same. We weren’t.
He sighed. “You know none of this is good for you.”
“I know, Dr. M. That’s why I need to fix it.”
“Why don’t you set up to-do lists for the girl and see if that helps.” I did as instructed. I always did. I typed out Cassie’s to-do list every morning for four days. They weren’t too in depth—I didn’t want to overwhelm the girl. But every day, she all but ignored them. Frustrated, I tore the paper to shreds at six PM daily. I could feel the fury building. The only way to calm myself was to suck on the strips of list strewn about my cubicle, chewing them like gum. Chew away the unperformed tasks, chew chew chew. And then swallow. Dr. M called this internalizing.
With every strip swallowed, I felt the burden lift. It was like taking Holy Communion. I hadn’t shit in four days from my paper-eating habit. I was going to have to put an end to this. Cassie was bad for my health. At this point, it was her or me.
In NYC, the fashion party circuit had quieted down as everyone waited for the European shows to end. But there were still a few events here and there: bourbon and barbecue at a menswear store; a beauty launch at the Ritz Spa. I saw Jack at both. He hugged me like we were old friends.
“Girl, I love running into you!”
“Sames! Isn’t it so great to have some chill time with everyone gone?”
“Yes. And now I get to hang out with my new friend!” He smiled. Did he have a new Lisa?
“Oh? Who’s that?”
“Um, you?” Jack laughed as he said it. Did he mean it? He looped his arm through mine and spent the rest of each event whispering in my ear. “Have you seen the cameras Sarah put up?”
“The cameras?” Sarah had cameras? Was she spying on me? Was everyone watching me? My heart jumped into my throat.
“O-M-G, yes! She hid them in Greg’s office while she’s away. Isn’t that hilarious? She has a guy who makes them or something.” He guffawed, wiping a tear from his eye as he laughed.
I didn’t a
sk why he was telling me this. Why he tattled on Sarah. That’s what Jack did. He gossiped, he traded on it. Tell him something and he’d give you juicy details back. But there were two things I learned. One: Sarah was craftier than I thought. And two: I didn’t trust Jack. Not one bit.
10
“I mean, can you believe how much weight I’ve gained? I was such a pig in Paris!” Sarah laughed, poking her jutting hip bones. “Look, it must be at least two pounds! So much vin rouge and croissants!” She beamed, waiting for the obligatory compliment. It was early October, and the team had flown back the day before. (They had spent an extra weekend soaking in the sights and shopping.)
“I’m sure Celia and Evie can help you drop the weight,” I suggested helpfully. I could hear her teeth gnashing. She had yet to hug me.
“Well, what did I miss here? How’s the good old fort?”
“Oh, you know, the usual. Oh, before I forget, here are your keys.”
“My keys? Why do you have them?”
“Cassie got sick”—after I’d dropped some ipecac into her green juice—“and couldn’t walk Frou-Frou.”
“And you did? How sweet of you!” She practically cackled, likely imagining me doing the menial task of walking her dog.
But walking Frou-Frou had been my idea. I’d wanted to go to Sarah’s apartment, alone. Smell her clothes, steal hair from her brush, make copies of her keys.
“Have you seen Greg?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No, but he was with Cassie earlier.” Her face went a gorgeous shade of red. “But tell me more about Europe! What happened? How was Celia? Did you see Zhazha?”
“That commie is a style whore. I don’t know what everyone sees in her.”
“Well, she’s thin, rich, European, and was born to wear fur.” She shot me an eyeful of daggers. “What’s not to love about her? I adore her accent, don’t you?”
“She’s rude, crude, and nothing but a Russian hooker.”
“Jealous much?” I taunted.
“Of that? Never. You can find chicer girls in Brighton Beach.”
“As if you even know where Brighton Beach is.”
“Whatever, I’ve heard of it. But I barely saw her.”
“Weird because she was all over the street-style blogs.”
“Ugh, who would shoot her?” Sarah rolled her eyes.
“We would.” I pulled up twenty photos we’d just run, a slideshow of Zhazha’s outfits. “Our audience loves her. The comments are insane. She and I are having dinner together next week.” Before Sarah could finish pouting, I fished out my present for her. “Before I forget, this came for you. I think from Greg? There wasn’t a card.” I handed her a teddy bear, my eyes wide, waiting for her reaction. She was either going to love it or hate it.
“O-M-G, Anya! Why’d you wait so long?” She hugged it, burying her face into the stomach. I turned my face away, trying to contain myself. “It smells kind of funny.”
“Oh, probably the packaging. You should spritz it with something. Some Santal 33?”
“Totes. I’m going to go say thank you!” Off she ran, still hugging the bear.
At one of my special schools, there was this girl, Susanna Jennings. She was paranoid and delusional—and a total legend. If you think it’s easy to make a name for yourself in a school for troubled kids, you’re nuts. She thought everyone was out to get her and retaliated in what I felt was an entirely appropriate manner. You know, look at her funny, she’d poke your eye out. That sort of thing. Once, she thought her roommate was messing with her things. Moving her toiletries, her photo frames, cutting up her mattress. To get even with her, Susanna cut open her roomie’s teddy bear. After shitting into the bear, she sewed it back up using a bobby pin and dental floss. For weeks, no one could figure out where the stench was coming from—until the sewing job unraveled.
Frou-Frou pooped a lot for a small dog.
Sarah left early, her bear in her bag. She was going to meet Jack, who she hadn’t seen in “like forever.” They didn’t invite me.
“That’s cool. I’m having drinks with Z,” I lied.
“Z? You can’t mean Zhazha?”
“Of course, who else?” I shrugged. See, Sarah? Two could play this game. “Oh, tell Jack he owes me drinks!”
He didn’t. But I wanted her to see I was moving up in the world.
* * *
Sarah was furiously texting again. All day long, I heard the clack-clack of her nails. I tried to act cool, but I had to know if it was about me. I couldn’t wait until the end of the day. I read her texts in the bathroom.
Sarah: OMG, last night was banz. (Her new way of saying bananas.)
Jack: Right? So fun.
Cassie: I feel soooo hungover now.
Sarah: LOL, you shouldn’t have had so much wine, you lush.
Jack: Drunky.
Cassie: (Kissy face emoji.)
Cassie had gone out with Sarah and Jack. Cassie. Not me. How had I not seen this coming? Even with the hints I’d dropped about Greg, Cassie had wormed her way into the trinity. I’d stupidly thought Evie or Dalia might try for the spot. It didn’t matter that neither wanted it. Well, maybe Evie did. But our intern? That’s what all the Sarah doppelgänging was about. Cassie was trying to steal Sarah, to have her all to herself. And worse than that, she was fucking succeeding! Sarah was choosing her over me. I let it sink in. All my work was for nothing. My face burned with fury and hurt. I felt my eyes water. Deep breaths, A. Keep calm. You can’t cry at work. Pull it together and fix this mess. Was Sarah so damaged that she wanted to befriend Cassie? Of course not; she was perfect.
I argued with myself in a bathroom stall. I had known. No, I didn’t! This was bad. Wait, could this be good? I heard a flush and covered my mouth in horror. I thought I was alone. Someone had heard me. I froze. I waited until I heard footsteps go to the door and leave. Then I waited even longer in case anyone was outside, ready to ambush me. Trust no one, especially not at a women’s magazine. After twenty minutes, I decided it was safe.
“That was a long break,” Sarah said. She was in boss mode, eyeing my time away.
I shrugged. “Had a meeting.”
“With who?”
“None of your biz, babe.” I winked at her. It was my new thing. I wanted it to say, See? I’m easy and cool and so much fun. I’m a winker.
“Well, it couldn’t have been an interview, because that outfit is such a don’t.”
End of conversation as I stared glumly at my leather-and-denim jeans, silk blouse, and Helmut Lang blazer. Was she right? Of course she was. Sarah’s taste level far surpassed mine. But I couldn’t let her know she had wounded me. That would be like giving up. I had to play it cool. Chill.
“Totes!” I winked again, this time also flashing a thumbs-up. Nailed it.
* * *
I wasn’t procrastinating dealing with Cassie, I swear. Considering how small the suspect pool would’ve been if I’d done it while everyone was away, I had to wait. Timing really was everything. So you see, I had to let this happen. I told myself that several times. I had to let her become Sarah’s new Lisa. I had to. Yes, this was part of the plan.
Still, I was seething. But to pass the time that night, I watched and rewatched footage from Greg’s office. Sarah had set up her oh-so-secret cameras to send feeds to her email. I tried to watch them sooner, but seeing that much of Greg made me nauseous. (I breathed a sigh of relief once I checked the camera locations while Greg went to Paris. There weren’t any aimed at me.) They were bulky and large, comically obvious. A binder cam sat on Greg’s desk, a plug snaking out underneath. Another protruded out of a plant. How he hadn’t noticed them yet was beyond me. But Sarah must not have seen the feeds yet, because there Greg was, fucking Cassie on his desk while his so-called girlfriend was in Europe. I needed Sarah to see it. I needed her to unleash her wrath on Cassie.
But she didn’t.
Instead, the worst thing ever happened: Sarah walked down the hall holding Cassie’
s hand. They were planning a weekend away. To Miami. Just them and Jack and not me. That seeing-red thing happened again. Like, literally, everything was coated in red. As if a layer of blood was dripping everywhere. Have you ever felt that mad? It’s overwhelming. Even my fingers were angry. My chest hurt. My head was pounding. Was I dying? Was this the way it all ended? Popping arteries over Cassie-fucking-Sachs? I had to calm down. Dr. M was right. He said I was transferring my frustrations onto the intern. But, like, she was my frustration.
It was time to fight back. I started small. Over the next week, I stole a few key items from Sarah’s apartment (a pair of Gucci boots, Jennifer Fisher jewelry, and a new Chanel bag) while she was at showroom appointments and left them in Cassie’s desk. I also sneaked in a few times to mess up her bedroom (after lying on the bed for a bit, inhaling the smell of her hair lingering on the pillow) and flood the bathroom.
I hinted again that Cassie and Greg had seemed close while she was gone.
“Yeah, she mentioned,” Sarah said. “They just talked about me.”
I wanted to scream, Look at the video! But I managed to hold it in.
When the entire office heard Sarah yell at Cassie later, I was relieved. Some of my sabotage was working. Sarah’s stolen items had appeared magically in Cassie’s desk. Sarah threw her (iced) latte at her. It was glorious.
“What’s that about?” Celia asked, stopping by my desk to drop off some approved stories.
“Oh, just intern drama. Sarah’s learning to not use them for personal errands.”
Celia raised an eyebrow—or tried. Her Botox habit was back. “Does she not know we have an intern lawsuit cooking? What the hell is she thinking?”
Interns demanded payment and to be treated like humans now. Things sure were changing.
“I know! I’ll ask her to handle it, Celia.”
“You girls are going to ruin us. And did you just scrap your diet entirely while we were in Europe? You could have at least tried, you know.” She tapped her foot expectantly. Damn those cheesecakes.