Summer Intern (6 page)

B
ack at work, I felt like a double agent—bosom buds on the surface with Daphster and posse, but
really
pals with my Cotton Club gang. Gabe and Teagan eagerly awaited choice Trumpettes quotables, particularly from Cecilia, who was ripe with shockers (“Flying commercial is soooo D,” “Bouley is my cafeteria!” and the even more insane “Gucci is my Gap”).

I wasn't entirely sure why Daphne had decided to extend the olive branch of friendliness my way, but despite the chasm between her life and reality, at least she was entertaining. Her constant
pronouncements (“Animal prints are only acceptable on accessories”) seemed to be taken as gospel by all, sometimes even by me. But as I pretended to just be mellow buddy-buddy during a Daphne-organized fashion show of a new rack of fall samples, I kept my eye on the prize: the job at Genevieve's desk. Sure, I'd taken a bit longer lunch breaks a couple of times and even left at five once or twice, but I knew what I wanted and still did everything to get there. We'd be finding out the lucky winner in two days at the intern staff meeting, and I hoped I'd finally be saying au revoir to CeCe, the raging, demeaning beeyotch, and bonjour to the plum assignment. I just hoped Daphne wouldn't be weirded out that I'd landed the gig over her. She'd probably be pissed and boot me from her little power clique, but quite frankly, even the alluring charms of her lifestyle—while enticing—would not eclipse the reason I was there. Nor could my sweet crush on her boyfriend, which I'd decided to ignore for now.

Gabe, Teagan, and I got to head home early one night, released from our duties because of some major Hughes Publication staff party that everyone was invited to but the interns.

“So are you and the Trumpettes like friends now?” Teagan asked after I had just relayed the latest fashion pronouncement from Daphne.

“We're not friends, but we are,” I said, confusing even myself with that statement.

“Then why do you rag on Daphne?” asked Teagan.

I sighed. I liked Teagan, but her tone could be challenging. I
knew she didn't mean it, but she had a tendency to make people feel defensive.

“I don't know. I think some of the things she says are really outrageous, but they're harmless. She's like Jessica Simpson.”

“I find her really shallow,” said Teagan.

“I think she's smart,” said Gabe. “She just doesn't know what to do with herself, since she's been given everything.”

I felt bad that Gabe was defending Daphne, especially after she had been so harsh about him. I immediately wanted to change the topic.

“Any news on your college sitch?” I asked Gabe. I knew that he had talked to his parents for a long time the previous night, and I hoped he had told them about his change of plans.

“I wanted to, but I couldn't. I don't know what will freak them out more, my homosexuality or that I'm not going to school near them. I'm in denial.”

“You'll be fine,” I assured him as we made our way through the turnstile.

“Don't worry,” said Teagan soothingly. “You're a great guy and your parents know that. You'll get through this.” That was Teagan for you—just when she really annoyed me, she would then turn around and be a total sweetheart.

I was really lucky that these two were my roommates. Really lucky.

J
ane popped by CeCe's office as my boss was taking Polaroids of a sad-looking Estonian who was perched on the window-side stool like a scared crane.

“Just get a whole new mouth full of choppers and we'll see. You have potential,” mused CeCe aloud as she handed me the girl's card for her wall of “maybes.” “We just have to get a great color job 'cause your hair couldn't be more mousy. And you need a facial like an orchid needs water. Speaking of which, start drinking fifteen glasses a day now.”

“Hi, CeCe!” said Jane from the doorway. “Can I steal Kira away for some eats?” Her voice was loaded with charm and she batted her eyelashes as if asking Daddy for the keys to the Rolls.

CeCe had been looking at me through a new lens lately. She could see that I had been slowly absorbed into Daphne Hughes's gang and therefore went easier on me than she usually did. “Sure! Take her,” she said as if she were handing off a used Kleenex for disposal.

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.

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.

I
t 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!”