I followed Jane out to the elevator landing where Daphne and Cecilia were waiting.
“Hey, Keerster,” Daphne said, looking me over. “I’m loving that kilt. It’s all about tartan for this fall, you know,” she pronounced. “Oh! And Jamesie said he saw you last weekend! So funny you guys were both like slumming it! Hilarious.” But the way she said hilarious sounded like the news of our run-in was anything but.
“Guys, sorry, but I don’t think I can go to lunch,” I said. I was annoyed that Jane had dragged me out of CeCe’s office. I mean, yes, CeCe sucked, but I had work to do, and while I did want to be friends with Daphne and co., I didn’t want to be considered a “Trumpette.” I was worried that all of this time away from the office could not look good.
Daphne’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I just…I promised Richard I’d help him sort through the new Sergio Rossi shoes that just came in, and Alida asked me to help her with her Baby Heiress shoot.”
Daphne’s nostrils flared ever so slightly. “Alida asked you to help her on that?” Her voice was tight.
“Yeah,” I said.
Daphne stopped and flipped her hair. “Interesting. Are you going to the shoot?”
“I don’t know.” What was going on?
“Is that the one Orlando Bloom will be at?” Jane asked Daphne.
“Yes,” said Cecilia.
Daphne was studying me carefully in silence.
“Is there a problem?” I asked.
“Why would you think there’s a problem?” asked Daphne, her voice sarcastic.
“Okay…”
“Look, if you don’t want to go to lunch with us, just say you don’t want to go to lunch with us,” said Daphne.
I felt suddenly nervous, and I hated that. Why was Daphne all pissed off? Did she want to go on the shoot?
“It’s not that. I just have work to do,” I said.
“Kira, I own the magazine. If I want my friend to go to lunch with me, then there are no questions asked.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. She was acting so strange. Cecilia and Jane stared at me, unsure of what to do.
Just then, Alida walked by. Daphne turned to her with a grim smile.
“Alida, do you mind if Kira takes a lunch break?” she asked in a fake sweet voice.
“Um, no, of course,” said Alida, giving me a strange look as she walked away.
“See?” said Daphne.
“Come,” said Jane finally, but in a meek voice.
Cecilia nodded.
“Fine,” I said.
“Great,” said Daphne, walking ahead. “I want to go to Lever House.”
I didn’t want to go. And I felt torn the entire time we walked to the restaurant, knowing it was against my better judgment to do so. Jane and Cecilia seemed clueless, chattering on the entire time about some hot guy they had met at their beach club and wondering how much money he was worth. Daphne barely said a word, and I could only imagine what was going on in that mind of hers. I figured her out all right—she was just as manipulative as I’d originally suspected. Clearly the fact that I was being involved in such high-profile projects was a threat to her. And what was up with that comment about James? Was she jealous? It seemed strange to think it, but I now felt like I had confirmation that Daphne had befriended me so that I would not work as hard. And she was trying in her own little way to take me down.
When we got to the café (another fifty-bucks-a-head joint) they all ordered their usual piles of leaves.
“You guys know Madeline Cobb, right? She has serious ka-ching: G-5, manse in Montauk, thirty-room triplex on Fifth, sick house in Aspen, ski-in, ski-out,” marveled Jane. “You know, her family invented the Cobb salad.”
I was fed up with this inane chatter and finally spoke up.
“But it’s not like they get royalties every time someone orders a Cobb salad,” I thought aloud.
The three girls considered this fact and shrugged. It was kinda weird how someone with billions herself would sit and count other people’s money. I guess the rich want to know their peers.
Daphne remained unusually quiet through the rest of the lunch, while Cecilia and Jane continued to gossip now about which heiress’s dad was banging the secretary and who had a prenup. All the while I looked at my watch. As we got up to leave, my heart rate started to spike as I realized that I had just wasted a good hour and a half on this stupid lunch. A lunch with girls I was starting to intensely dislike.
Chapter Twelve
I avoided Daphne the rest of that tense afternoon. The next morning, I set up shop in the closet, sorting through scarves for Trixie, when I heard my name. I quickly darted into the refrigerated fur-vault section of the closet, ducking around a corner and behind a rack of boas and scarves, out of view but still within earshot.
“Kira’s just so lame-o,” declared Daphne. “I mean, I thought she was cool but then it’s like, ditch the dorks and get with the picture, girl!”
“Totally,” Jane concurred. I doubted she ever had thoughts of her own. If Daphne worshipped me, I was sure Jane would think I was the bomb, too.
“She’s just so, like, ass-kissy. Have you noticed how she stays late? Like what does she think, she’s gonna get a job here?” asked Cecilia.
“Whatever. She’s from, like, Nowheresville, USA.”
Now my blood was boiling. Philly, city of brotherly love, home of the Liberty Bell, the best cheesesteaks on earth, and Rocky Balboa, was Nowheresville? Uh, not exactly, hon. It’s a booming metropolis! And plus, even if I had been from East Jesus, Texas, who cares? Most people in fashion didn’t come from New York.
“Who are you guys talking about?” James entered, crunching on an apple. “You always seem to have a voodoo doll of the moment, you three.”
“Ugh, James, don’t be such a righteous good guy. It’s no fun.” Daphne pouted. “Plus, Kira is such a powerdork, she deserves it.”
“Kira?” he asked, sounding surprised. How many voodoo dolls did Daphne have in her toy chest? I shuddered behind a giant sheared mink stole. “She is awesome. What’s your problem with her?” James asked.
“Whatever,” said Daphne. “She’s so not. She’s a little climber loser. Plus, I think she and her Goth friends are stealing from the closet. New stuff’s been missing. I saw them in here yesterday. You do the math.”
“Come on, Daphne,” James said, incredulous. “It’s one thing for you to shamelessly rag on her for no reason but another entirely for you to make up lies and accusations like that. That is totally unfair.”
“What are you, standing up for her now?” Daphne sneered. I could almost picture her angry face, nostrils aflare. I bet people rarely challenged her.
“She’s really cool, Daphne. She’s not a thief.”
“How the hell do you know?”
“I know. She’s not the type to steal. She’s one of the good guys,” he said, almost quietly.
Daphne sounded incensed. “Well listen, James, you can take your good feelings and kiss off. I don’t need this bullshit. I’ll have you know I met Ralph Lauren’s middle son’s best friend at a party last night and he was dying to hook up with me.”
“Well, that’s great news,” James said, almost laughing. “Happy polo playing.” I heard him walk out, and then there was a pin-drop silence.
“Oh my God, total craziness,” Jane said nervously.
“Whatever,” Daphne said defensively. “His stepdad is, like, so over anyway. I mean he hasn’t shot a cover for us in, like, months. C’mon, let’s go hit Remi for lunch.”
With that, the trio, including a seemingly unwounded Daphne, took off in their five-inchers. I still had chills from the emotional arrows shot through me but was healed at the thought of James’s valiant protestations. It was all very Sir Galahad. What I had overheard, though, made it very clear that Daphne had it in for me after yesterday’s lunch. I wasn’t looking forward to being an enemy of the head Trumpette.
Chapter Thir
teen
It was time.
All of the interns were gathered around the conference room table over which Alida presided. Everyone sat nervously as other announcements were made. (“Please, guys, do not flush tampons!”)
“And now, the moment some of you have been waiting for these past two weeks—”
The door opened and in walked the elusive Genevieve West. We had never seen her before; she was either at the couture collections in Paris or at shoots or Valentino’s yacht or Karl’s house in Biarritz, so seeing her in person for the first time was like having one of the characters in your favorite book come alive. She was smaller than I had imagined, but of course that was silly—everyone at Skirt was tiny, and she should be no different. But she was only like five foot two and had not one extra ounce of fat on her. She had the straightest black hair I had ever seen, which fell to her shoulders and was cut off in a perfect line, with bangs cut just above her smallish dark eyes. Her lips were painted very red, and it appeared as if a smudge wouldn’t dare happen on her face. Her nose was a little pointy, and actually, truth be told, she looked kind of like a witch, but she was so stylishly dressed in a perfect Chanel suit with delicate Manolo Blahnik heels, accessorized with a delicate diamond bracelet and earrings, that you didn’t really notice her individual features and instead focused on the entire package, which spelled out success and power.
“Hello” was all she said as she looked us over. As her eyes hit mine, I looked down, suddenly bashful. She seemed remote and cool but not as scary as some had made her out to be.
“So interns, Genevieve—” Alida said. “After consulting with all the editors about the work done in the last two weeks, we have decided upon a girl who has gone above and beyond the call of duty—”
At that moment, James walked in carrying materials that Alida needed to sign off on. He quietly stood off to the side.
“…she has an exemplary work ethic, style, and, most of all, she is not afraid to be proactive and seek work,” Alida continued in a measured, sober meter as Genevieve, James, and the whole office looked on. “In other words, she aims to please and succeeds. And that is why our head intern this summer, chosen by our editor in chief, will be—”
I felt heat rise in my cheeks as palpitations rang through my chest cavity.
“Daphne Hughes!”
Chapter Fourteen
“It’s okay,” Gabe cooed, holding my hair back as I leaned over the chipped porcelain toilet in our bathroom. “Do you want some more water?”
He handed me a cup and I gulped down the remaining liquid.
“Here’re more towels,” said Teagan, entering the bathroom. “You okay?”
I sat up. “I just can’t believe it,” I said for probably the two-hundredth time that night.
“We know,” said Gabe, rubbing my back.
After Alida had said Daphne’s name, it was as if time stood still. All I knew is that Daphne and her gang squealed and ran up to Genevieve, and I sat there dumbstruck. As it was near the end of the day, Gabe and Teagan quickly ushered me out of the building before the heaving sobs could come and brought me straight to our apartment, where I proceeded to get drunker than I ever have been in my life, thanks to a bottle of tequila Gabe had managed to buy from a shady liquor store nearby. I am not a big drinker; I’m not even legal. My parents let me have a glass of wine every now and then, but tonight I didn’t care. I just did shot after shot (which is disgusting, by the way). And now I was paying the price.
“I think she’s done barfing,” Gabe said to Teagan.
“Let’s get her up,” said Teagan.
The next thing I knew they each had an arm around me and were practically carrying me into my bed. Teagan had put towels along the floor and squeezed a trash can into the minuscule space between my bed and the wall. Gabe pulled the cover over me and even kissed me good night.
As I lay there, the room spinning, I couldn’t stop thinking about the afternoon’s turn of events. I wasn’t like Veruca Salt from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, but my parents had always said work hard and you will get your rewards. It had proven true. Until now. I worked hard and got into Columbia, my dream school. I worked hard and got to be editor in chief of the school newspaper. I worked hard on my essay and got the Cotton internship for Skirt. And I worked hard and didn’t get the internship in Genevieve’s office. It would be one thing if I had had a real competitor. But Daphne totally got the job just because of who she is or, more importantly, who her father is.
Okay, okay, I know I was warned. Gabe and Teagan told me countless times that Daphne had it in the bag. But I was naive. My problem is that I have too much faith in rules and regulations, you know, a strong sense of justice. I believe in taking turns, I believe in democracy. But that’s not what the world is like, and I really learned that the hard way today.
I still couldn’t get over their flagrant nepotism. “Welcome to the world,” Gabe and Teagan had both said. So I guess this was growing up—learning that if you bust your butt, it’s all for naught. I was pretty discouraged. I was also embarrassed. I had told everyone that I wanted the job. James knew, Richard knew, Alida knew, and Daphne knew. And now they all knew that I had failed. It was mortifying.
Why the hell did Daphne even need the internship? She was guaranteed a job there anyway. She was probably just that type of girl who needed to always get that golden ticket. Veruca Salt. Why couldn’t she realize she didn’t need this position to get where she needed to be? She could have just stepped aside and let me get it. I knew that wasn’t realistic, but I wasn’t feeling rational. My confidence was totally shaken. I just wanted to quit. The more I thought about it, the more that seemed like the right decision. Tomorrow morning I was going to tell Alida and leave. Sorry to disappoint the people at Cotton, but this girl was going Wool.
“I’m really sorry about this,” Alida said, her voice extremely serious.
I had planned to go marching dramatically into her office and hand her a resignation letter, but before I could, she grabbed me and pulled me into the Xerox room.
“I am, too,” I said, preparing to make my speech. Gabe and Teagan had been pleading with me all morning to change my mind, telling me it would be the stupidest thing I would ever do, that I was just being stubborn and defensive, get over it and forget the whole thing, and start having some fun this summer. But I was planning on ignoring their advice.
“Kira, everyone here knows you deserved that internship. I shouldn’t be telling you this, so please don’t repeat it, but we all know why Daphne got it,” she said, pushing her hair behind her ear. “It’s ridiculous, but our hands were tied. Let’s face it: Her dad’s our boss, and what she wants, he wants. It was a huge, huge scandal a few summers back when her stepsister didn’t get it. This time, there was nothing we could do.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but it doesn’t make it better for me,” I said, feeling brave. “I worked really hard and I feel like I was robbed. So I have no choice—” But before I could finish, Alida cut me off.
“I know, and everyone here loooves you. So what I want to say is that even though this sucks, please don’t leave or do anything silly, because we all totally want to recommend you for a job as soon as you graduate from college.”
A job? I blinked a few times, just to see clearly. They loved me? Suddenly, my shoulders collapsed and I felt as if I could breathe. “Really? Wow, I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s true. So please, just stay the course, and keep doing what you’re doing. I’m sure you feel the world is so unfair—and it can be, as you’ve seen—but it’s the last battle that counts, and in the long haul, hard work is rewarded.”
“Thanks, Alida. Thanks so much.”
I was psyched. Okay, so good can come out of bad. Things can happen in a different order. When I exited the Xerox room, Gabe and Teagan were lingering, pretending to fax something so that they could find out what went down. I waited for Alida to be out of earshot before whispering, “It’
s all cool.”
“Yay! So you’ll stay?” asked Gabe.
“Totally.”
We group hugged, but when we split apart I spotted Daphne waltzing in with a cup of Starbucks.
“Hey!” she said with a wave, before turning left toward Genevieve’s office.
Although Alida had quelled my desire to bolt, I still felt that tingle of rage inside me.
Chapter Fifteen
Back slaving in CeCe-land, my newly empowered ego was just beginning to wither again (amid her cries of “You idiot! You know we don’t use redheads for beauty stories!”) when Richard entered in a frenzy and announced in high-dramatic fashion that he was dyyyying and needed me “desperately” due to an unforeseen “crisis of epic proportions.”
There wasn’t much to say to that, especially with Richard’s flailing limbs and woe-is-me stressface, so CeCe ceded possession of me. I nervously gathered my things and followed Richard obediently around the corner to the elevator. As the doors closed, he launched into an explanation.
“I have to go to this stupid accessories shoot called the Forensic Files—Genevieve wanted all the models to be like dead people in chalk outlines. Raymond Meier’s shooting, he’s a genius. He’ll make it great. We got Marilyn Manson’s makeup artist to do it. It should be cool,” Richard rambled a mile a minute.
Huh? “But what was the crisis?”
“Nothing! I just wanted some company. If I’m gonna sit on my ass for six hours, I want a buddy with me. Oh, but you do have one duty: I’m giving you strict instructions to keep my fat ass away from the catering table!”
I smiled, exhaling, feeling so lucky to have bonded with Richard. “Thank you so much,” I said, hugging him.
“Hon, like those McDonald’s people say, you deserve a break today,” he said, patting my head sweetly. “And speaking of cows, don’t you dare let that Daddy’s girl get you down, ’k?”
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