‘But I’m this close to giving you your own exhibition,’ Vaughn laughed. ‘Seriously, you have a nice sense of whimsy and a good line.’
‘I only got a B for my Art A-level so my line can’t be that good.’
Vaughn ruffled Grace’s hair, even though she was always telling him not to. ‘You’re very touchy tonight,’ he murmured, kissing the side of her neck. Grace squirmed away, because there was one patch approximately three millimetres below her left ear that was so erogenous it made her want to crawl into Vaughn’s lap and demand he fuck her right there and then. But if Kiki wanted these ideas on her desk, she was going to have them, and devoid of bodily fluids too.
‘Is this business at work really bothering you?’ Vaughn asked.
‘Mostly, but that piece in the Mail didn’t fill me with warm fuzzies either. I don’t know why they quoted Alex, like he’s an authority on me, and he made out that I was some empty-headed bimbo.’
‘Poor Grace,’ said Vaughn, as he stroked the back of her neck. ‘If it would make you happy, I’m sure I could find some Russian mafia types who’d break his legs.’
Although she’d have sworn it wasn’t possible, Grace giggled. ‘No, you wouldn’t.’
‘Of course I would - just say the word. Really, Grace, Alex is just a vindictive little shit who can’t resist stirring up trouble to take his mind off his own inadequacies, which are legion.’ Vaughn could do a character assassination like no one else. ‘Now, let’s talk through your Kiki problem. Calmly and rationally,’ he added, as Grace threw down her fibre-tip in a fit of pique.
‘She could at least let me interview for the job,’ Grace said, almost calmly and rationally. ‘Even though it’s a done deal. I thought I was getting on really well with her, or better anyway, and then she goes and pulls a stunt like this. It’s just really unfair.’
‘There are always other options,’ Vaughn commented, turning Grace round so he could start kneading at her shoulders with his thumbs. He had an innate talent for back-rubs. ‘I was reading in the Financial Times that sales of sewing machines are up by fifty per cent. You could open a shop that sells yarn and fabric or those odd things you put on the end of your knitting needles.’
For one second, Grace saw the name Graceland in a swirling apple-green cursive on black outside her very own shop. Then reality sank in. ‘Yeah, but who’d give me the money to run amok sourcing hard-to-find Liberty prints?’
‘Well, I would, of course.’ Vaughn sounded surprised that she even had to ask. ‘It’s something to think about anyway.’ His hands were kneading a particularly stubborn knot of tension on her left side so Grace couldn’t twist around and look at his face to see if he was teasing.
‘Do you really think I could be trusted with a business plan and a company chequebook?’ Grace asked lightly, as if Vaughn had meant it as a joke and she was taking it in the spirit he’d intended.
‘Well, there’d be people who’d look after that side of things for you,’ Vaughn said very carefully, then he dug his thumb right under Grace’s shoulderblade so she yelped. ‘Like I said, it’s just an idea. You don’t seem particularly happy at work - or you don’t today. Though tomorrow you’ll probably be ecstatic about it.’
‘The bits of my job that I like, I really like - and then there are the other bits that suck.’ Grace leaned back against Vaughn’s chest because her tension knots were now gone and she was halfway to gloop. ‘I know I’m shallow, but I really think my life’s vocation is dressing models in pretty clothes. It was probably because my grandmother made me give my Barbies to Oxfam because she said they encouraged antiquated gender roles.’
‘Really? Your grandmother struck me as a woman who had no time for feminism.’
‘She might bake a mean sponge cake but my gran’s a firm believer in equal opportunities and being self-sufficient.’ Grace pulled a face. ‘The only time I ever saw her cry was when I failed my Latin GCSE and she realised that I wasn’t going to be a lawyer.’
Vaughn laughed so hard at this that Grace felt a little miffed. She would have made a terrible lawyer who’d have constantly bitched about the wig ruining her hair and cried if she got a difficult judge, but Vaughn didn’t have to find it quite so funny.
‘It’s really odd,’ he said. ‘I can’t actually see your face, but I know you’re pouting.’
Grace tried to rein in her lower lip as she struggled into a sitting position and picked up her sketchpad. ‘I’m not pouting,’ she denied. ‘Go back to your boring Japanese documentary and stop disturbing me. I’ve still got eight more illustrations to do.’
Eventually, Vaughn went up to bed muttering about Grace’s work ethic and left her hunched over her pad, ignoring the cramp in her right hand as she drew a troupe of Esther Williams-style bathing beauties. She didn’t finish until two in the morning and it seemed that she’d only just crawled into bed and wrapped her cold, aching limbs around Vaughn, who was always toasty warm, when he was shaking her awake and telling her that she had half an hour before the car arrived.
Kiki didn’t even look up when Grace placed the ideas on her desk and hurried out of her office because she couldn’t bear to glance behind her to see her boss chucking the folder in the bin.
‘Love the ensemble, Gracie,’ Kiki cooed as Grace let the door accidentally hit her in the arse on the way out. ‘Though I think head-to-toe black makes you look very pasty.’
Grace was in the cupboard with Lily trying on a different top to see if she could do that season’s burnt orange (it turned out she couldn’t) when Elise, the Editor’s PA, poked her head round the door.
‘Lorna and Kiki want to see you at Soho Hotel in half an hour,’ she announced cheerfully. ‘They’ll be in the private event room. You’d better run along, you don’t want to be late.’
‘Why do they want to see me?’ Grace tried to sound curious rather than panicked.
‘Haven’t a clue,’ Elise said peppily, because she was always full of pep. Grace and Lily suspected that she was either permanently on drugs or had accepted Jesus Christ as her personal lord and saviour.
‘I have an awful feeling that I’m so very sacked,’ Grace said, as she struggled to free herself from a burnt-orange cotton choke-hold.
‘The only time I ever had a meeting with Lorna, it was to tell me off for poor timekeeping,’ Lily reminisced in an extremely aggrieved tone. ‘She threatened to put a warning on my file.’
Grace adjusted the bow on her blouse so it hung at a jauntier angle and turned to Lily with a helpless shrug. ‘Do you think I should put on a really red lipstick to show that I’m a power player?’
Lily carefully surveyed Grace’s raw goods. ‘You haven’t got time to do a base and without it you’ll just be even paler.’ She paused. ‘I’ve got a nice muted rose from Stila you can try, and you can rub my bump for luck.’
chapter thirty-four
‘Ah, so here’s our little Gracie.’ Lorna’s voice came into the room approximately five seconds before she did. She was one of those women who made low maintenance look effortlessly chic. Handsome, rather than beautiful, she emphasised her patrician features with ruthlessly cropped hair and geek girl specs. She also never wore anything other than beautifully cut black trousers and crisp white shirts. ‘I always think that if you have a statement bag and shoes, no one gives a good goddamn what you’re actually wearing,’ she was quoted as saying when she first became the Editor of Skirt five years earlier - and the industry collectively wondered if a woman who’d spent most of her career as a serious journalist had the credentials to run a fashion magazine.
Grace’s interaction with Lorna consisted of being treated as if she turned up every day as part of a community outreach programme. ‘Our little Gracie,’ she always cooed when they shared an elevator because Lorna was almost topping six foot and Grace was five foot three and a bona fide dwarf in the Editor’s eyes.
Grace stood up as Lorna and Kiki both came into the room and nervously rubbed the bilious-green stripes on t
he chair in front of her. ‘No need to look so worried,’ Lorna said, but Grace knew she liked the way Grace became instantly deferential in her presence. ‘I’ve been hearing all about your adventures. You’re mixing in some rarefied circles.’
‘Grace’s nabbed herself a very rich, very well-connected boyfriend,’ Kiki elucidated with glee. ‘It’s all the fashion department talks about.’
‘How very Jane Austen. I hear he’s an art dealer. What did you think of the Turner Prize shortlist last year? I thought it was very uninspired.’
Grace wished that they could get to the firing or the dreaded news that an expensive piece of fashion merchandise had gone missing on Grace’s watch and it was coming out of her wages. Anything rather than talking about art, which despite all of Vaughn’s coaching and Madeleine’s crib sheets, she was no better at, though not as bad as Alex would have it.
‘I thought it was all too conceptual,’ she said slowly, deciding to quote Vaughn verbatim. Then: ‘I believe there’s going to be a return to art that’s figurative and not experiential.’
Kiki gave Grace a ‘what the fuck?’ look, while Lorna beamed. Hopefully it wasn’t because she thought that she and Grace could start going to exhibitions together at the Haunch of Venison at lunch-time. If that were the case, then Grace would quite happily resign.
‘This is a conversation that we should continue at a later date,’ Lorna said, picking up some papers that looked horribly familiar. ‘Now, let’s talk about your ideas.’
Halfway through describing a regular High Street fashion section, shot on an actual High Street, Grace realised that this wasn’t some new and obscure way to get a bollocking, but an actual interview. She momentarily faltered and wished she hadn’t because Kiki glared furiously so she focused on Lorna’s beaming smile. ‘So, if we were doing Saturday-night outfits,’ Grace said, picking up her thread, ‘we could do the photos in a bingo hall. Or if we were doing swimsuits, we could shoot it at Brockwell Lido or the Porchester Baths. I just think it would be a nice twist on the whole idea of doing a High Street fashion story every issue.’
‘That’s quite sweet,’ Lorna remarked, tilting her head. ‘The advertising department could use that to bring in some new revenue.’
‘And we’re all slaves to the advertising department,’ Kiki sighed. ‘What else have you got?’
Grace concluded with her thoughts on shooting up-and-coming designers’ work on up-and-coming models shot by up-and-coming photographers and decided that she might as well go for broke. ‘I was reading in the Financial Times the other day that sales of sewing machines have gone up by fifty per cent,’ she volunteered, ignoring Kiki’s snort of derision because she knew that Grace had never picked up a copy of the FT in her life. ‘And I think it would be cool to have a page with little knitting patterns and things you could make yourself. We could even ask designers to do one-off patterns for us.’
‘I think we’ve heard enough,’ Kiki said crisply, turning to Lorna. ‘Don’t you?’
‘Well, these ideas are really fresh, very left-field.’ Lorna nodded decisively. ‘Yes. I did have my reservations but I think you were right.’
Grace looked expectantly at Kiki, who spun it out as usual by slowly pouring some water into her glass and taking a sip. ‘Posy’s defected, as you know, and entre nous Courtney’s pregnant and going back to the States,’ Kiki explained, her lips curling as she described the current state of malaise of her fashion department. ‘We’re completely overhauling the fashion coverage in Skirt and launching a new section entirely devoted to the High Street. I know I’m very excited about that,’ Kiki added in a monotone completely devoid of any excitement. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Sounds great,’ Grace enthused, because she was still waiting for Kiki to get to the toy surprise. ‘I’ve got loads of really good contacts in the press offices and they all wish we did more High Street stuff.’
‘Good. I’ve decided to promote you to junior stylist and you can take full responsibility for it,’ Kiki said briskly. ‘I’m glad that’s all settled. Now I can get on with the interviews for the new accessories editor.’
Grace gripped the sides of her chair and felt her throat close up. Lorna smiled benignly. ‘Little Gracie is quite overwhelmed,’ she announced. ‘I have to say that Kiki has been your biggest champion. I heard good things about one of the ELLE girls but Kiki insisted that you’d be perfect. And, to be frank, the press coverage you’re getting reflects well on the magazine. I like my staff to be seen in the right places with the right people. Just don’t start dating footballers, please.’
‘Er, thanks. Thank you. I won’t let you down.’ Reality was finally sinking in. At last her days as a fashion grunt were over. Grace wished there was more emphasis on what she knew rather than whom she knew, but it was still an upgrade. Besides, all the filing and coffee runs and being screamed at by Italian press officers had been getting her nowhere fast.
‘I’ll get HR to sort out the paperwork. Afraid I can’t offer much money,’ Kiki said blithely, going on to name a figure that, after tax, would buy Grace an extra packet of cigarettes a week.
‘Actually, that doesn’t work for me,’ Grace found herself saying, in a repeat of all the times that she’d heard Vaughn use the exact same sentence. ‘I’m going to take a few minutes to think about what I’d like in my package.’ Kiki looked as if she might slide to the floor in a dead faint, as Grace grabbed her pad and hurried out of the room.
Neither Lorna nor Kiki came after her to ask what the hell she was playing at, and they were still sitting there talking about the Publishing Director’s acrimonious divorce battle when Grace returned. If anything, they both looked amused, like Grace was wearing a pair of stilettos five sizes too big for her and playing dress-up.
‘Obviously, this is open to negotiation,’ Grace began hesitantly as she eyed the bullet points on her list.
‘Obviously . . .’ Kiki echoed with heavy irony.
‘First, as I’m overseeing a section, I’d like an editor title. Posy was junior fashion editor and I have way more experience than she did. And I’d love the opportunity to style and write stories outside my section, and I really need you to find some more money. I can’t live on that, Kiki. It would barely cover my rent and utilities after tax.’ There was some other stuff about sharing an assistant and getting an assurance that she’d never have to fill in one of Kiki’s expense forms ever again, but Grace decided that she’d fight those battles at a later date. ‘I’m really happy to train up my replacement,’ she added, just to show that she was a team player. ‘I have this whole system for the cupboard and actually Celia would be perfect.’
It wasn’t often that Kiki was lost for an acidic quip but right now was one of those moments and Grace savoured it for the whole ten seconds that it lasted. ‘Of course, nothing’s official yet, Gracie. I could still give Kia on ELLE a ring.’
‘Look, I work really hard and I never stop having ideas and you’d get your money’s worth out of me. You totally know that. Jeez, what Courtney spends on cabs in a month would cover the salary increase.’ It popped out as soon as Grace thought it, but it was the absolute truth.
‘If - and it’s a big if - I decide to adjust the figures, you can explain to the rest of the fashion team why their expense budgets have been slashed,’ Kiki said, before she relented. ‘OK, I’ll make you senior stylist but put an “edited by” on the opener to the new section and you can continue shooting the accessories still-lifes. We’ll take other stories on an issue-by-issue basis.’
Grace didn’t even have to think about it. ‘Done!’ she yelped, standing up because she couldn’t sit still any longer. ‘You won’t regret this.’ She turned to Kiki who had to smile in the face of Grace’s utter and unequivocal joy. ‘Thank you so much for believing in me!’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone quite so excited about a promotion before,’ Lorna murmured, but she was smiling too. ‘I take it you’re not planning on jumping ship to Vogue a
ny time soon?’
‘No. God, I’d hate it there. They’re all posh and apparently the HR woman checks your nails every Monday morning,’ Grace said.
‘I think that’s everything. This has taken up far too much time already,’ Kiki hissed, attempting to restore some semblance of control as Grace was almost dancing where she stood. ‘I’ll be back at the office later this afternoon.’
Grace took the hint. She floated through the hotel lobby, smiling blissfully at the man who held the door open for her and it seemed weird, almost miraculous, to feel the pavement hard beneath her feet, the sharp spring breeze lifting her hair.
She was already reaching for her phone, because good news had to be shared, quickly and immediately.
‘I can tell you’re in the middle of something but just so you know, I’m breaking into my bank account and taking you out for dinner tonight,’ Grace said quickly, because Vaughn answered with a harried, ‘Yes?’ which meant that there were people in the room with him and that he was very busy. ‘I have something to celebrate.’
Unsticky Page 45