Unbind (35 page)

When the hall suddenly hushed, I looked around to see what the reason was. Then. There she was. Unmistakable. Jennifer stepped across the threshold. Everybody didn’t stop and stare, neither did they clear a path, but they didn’t move in case they veered in the way of her course. She strode a straight path and over the noise, everybody heard, “Chloe, dear, ride with me.”

“Shit, that’s me,” I muttered to a random man stood nearby. His eyebrows almost touched the top of his forehead and his head jolted in Jennifer’s direction. I hurried to catch up. Briefly, I wondered why she didn’t have her own, private elevator? Surely?

I jumped inside the car just as the doors were shutting. Queues of people lined up for the carriages but remained stationary, their eyes glued to the pair of us, stood silently in the lift as the doors closed. When we began travelling upwards, a raucous amount of noise erupted in reception.

In the lift I had to take a gulp. The motion made me feel nauseous and my ears popped. I guessed I’d get used to New York life, its pace and its nuances. I looked straight ahead and waited until I was spoken to.

“Nice rags, dear.”

That was all she said to me.

On the 12th floor, Jennifer sped off to her office with lightning speed and I spotted a reception desk that I was meant to report into.

The receptionist, an Asian girl with the most beautiful, long black hair I’d ever seen, stood up from her chair. In a softer accent than the New York one I was used to hearing from Cai, she whispered frantically, “She freakin’ let you ride with her?”

Her large, dark eyes were distracting and blazed jealousy. Also, awe. Perhaps a hint of wonder, too.

I was momentarily sidetracked by the plush, white leather seating dominating the oval, marble foyer. A series of imitation waterfalls were the surround, meaning you could only vaguely see people at work behind them. Instead of the phone ringing with a shrill thrum, it tinkled like a delicate wind chime and I saw the girl press ‘hold’, seemingly because she’d rather deal with me.

“I’m kinda going out with Kincaid, her nephew. Well, I just moved in with him.”

Her mouth fell open. “Serious special.”

I sniggered. “You wouldn’t believe the story if I told you.”

“Ivy, get your ass out here,” she shouted over her shoulder, at a girl sorting out the post.

“What now, Julie?” It was an Amazonian blonde and I realised the reception desk was on a raised level. She frowned at me.

“This is the squeeze of Cai Matthews. Jennifer just allowed her to ride in the elevator with her!”

“You’re shittin’ me!” Ivy gawped like she’d just been told Obama was having an affair.

“Nuh-uh. Tell her… what’s your name?”

“Chloe Harmon.” I held out my hand but it wasn’t taken.

“What’s your story?” Julie asked, her cheekbones suddenly harsh, her mouth pouting. So, she wasn’t a fan… just curious.

“Short or long?”

The two girls looked at one another, then turned to me simultaneously. “Short.”

“Well, I’ve loved clothes for as long as I can remember. I have a first class English Literature degree and I’ve been in this business for more than ten years… I reported on showbiz in London. Before that I reported on local news in Yorkshire. I wrote up stories about muggings, floods, political affairs, house fires, old ladies getting raped. Stuff like that.”

I remained deadpan. Their jaws dropped, again. I think they expected me to say I’d had it all easy. I hadn’t. I knew in some way or other, I’d worked for what I wanted. So what if I secretly thought that Jennifer was employing me to keep me under her control? I was the girl who made the best of whatever she was given.

I watched them in their perfect outfits, with their make-up, hair and wardrobe all uniformly assembled. Some women conformed, I never had.

“Suck it up, then,” Julie told me with a hint of caution, and she directed me toward the department I was going to be working in.

I was glad Kay had prepared me for this. If I started off the right way, hopefully it would continue like that. Ha!

I felt their icy glares hitting my back as I strode onwards and away from the alleged welcome committee.

I got to the department where I’d be working, finding another reception area, only a miniaturised version. A girl I recognised stood up from her metallic desk to greet me—my new editor’s PA, Tiffany. I judged her to be the same age as me if not a little older. She playfully dug her index finger into my shoulder and looked me up and down.

“What? What?” I winked and snickered.

I struck a pose and threw my hair back. We’d already Skype’d and emailed a number of times as she familiarised me with the work I’d be doing and the hours we’d keep, all that kind of stuff. She seemed fascinated by my clothes, always claiming British girls were crazy dressers.

In a southern drawl, she exclaimed, “Holy hell. Wow-eee. You got all the right flesh, girl.”

She motioned I do a spin and I earned more of an audience while we stood there, her making a big show of me. I wore a damson jumpsuit with a gold zip from the crotch to the turtle neck collar. Around my waist was a chunky, gold belt draped lazily. My hair loose, my make-up matched, and my ankle boots were gold, too.

“I threw it on.” I cursed her admiration but secretly figured, if you’ve got it, flaunt it.

“Man alive, woman. How’d that man let you outta the door, lookin’ like a bitch who’d drop any man to his knees with one look?”

I laughed loudly. “Wow. That’s a welcome. Certainly a better one than those bitches on reception gave me.”

She flapped her hand. “Pay no heed. No-one listens to them.”

While Tiffany directed me down another corridor, I explained how I’d managed to bag myself the black Gucci bag I carried. I’d bid on eBay for it for nearly five whole days during my days at the
Telegraph
, where I’d had plenty of spare time.

The features department was all serious people with serious clothes on. Serious stares down at their monitors and nods and glances between people as I moved amongst them. This looked familiar.

Tiffany showed me to my cubicle and as I got comfy, she asked shyly, “Lunch buddies?”

In her violet-mahogany plaid skirt and matching waistcoat/vest—she looked so sweet and endearing as she smiled brightly. She looked up to me already. I’d not break her heart. I knew all too well what that was like.

“Course, babe. With bells on, Tiff.”

My new boss Carl breezed into our space like fresh rainforest, his powerful fragrance zinging through the office.

“I heard there was a disturbance and… wow, Chloe. I knew you had style, but on the first day? You shouldn’t be in features, darling!” I could see him sizing me up, measuring me with a professional eye. “Pilates and you’d easy be a six, sweetheart. Easy. You could walk, then.”

I smirked and gave him an ironic, raised eyebrow. “I don’t mind starting off here but I will never
walk
. This is me… I
am
a writer, so fuck off with the images.”

“You’re a writer, are you? Hmmm. Well, that’s just what I’m looking for. Test passed.” He winked and held out his hand, which I shook immediately. “Nice to meet you, writer.”

Tiffany wandered off and came back holding coffee, without me even noticing she’d gone.

“Stealth coffee woman, yeah?” I ribbed her.

“She has talents you cannot even possibly imagine,” Carl dictated.

My lord the man was bloody beautiful and dressed like a European prince, right off the boardwalks of Cannes or Nice. I was told he’d worked for
National Geographic
before
Frame
, travelling the world reporting on climate change, until Jennifer
hired him for his immaculate dress sense and well, political connections. I was learning from Cai that it was all about connections. Hmm.

“What is my agenda for today, then?”

“Meeting in my office in ten,” he winked, then shuttled off.

“Drink your coffee and settle in,” Tiffany advised, then scooted off too.

IN CARL’S OFFICE, I felt a bit more intimidated. All around me were certificates, awards, plus numerous pairs of binoculars, Stetsons and cowboy boots, all wall-mounted or on shelves, labelled with plaques dictating which adventure the item or piece had accompanied him on.

He gestured I sit but I couldn’t help but continue to glare at framed pictures featuring him on his travels.

“Chloe Harmon?” He asked, his question rhetorical. I could see him staring at a screen, probably my employee profile.

“That’s me.”

“So… you worked in Yorkshire… then… in showbiz, for Media Solutions. That’s cool. Cool.” His pauses lasted forever. He didn’t look at me while he talked, nor ask me for the facts I could have relayed quicker. He fixated on his screen. “Great company to work for, however… I don’t get it.”

That’s when his eager face looked directly at me, and I felt naked, or exposed. I wasn’t sure. I frowned and tried to stop myself, but I couldn’t. I lowered my tone and asked coolly, “Get what?”

“You’re stunning. Yet, you laboured at a crappy newspaper for all your twenties. Wake up and smell the rotten papier mâché, did you?”

I chewed the inside of my cheek and glared. I might have once been offended but I calmed myself from the inside and gestured around the room.

“Once upon a time someone like you might have called me fierce. I guess I lost that for a while.”

“Why?” He pestered, his jaw firmly set and his shoulders falling forward more with every second. He wanted to get the dirt on me. I knew it.

“Family stuff.”
I am not telling you things I can barely admit to myself!

“Uh, right.” He rolled his eyes.

“You think pictures of you in tight khaki trousers, which by the way don’t make your arse look good… intimidate me? I’ve been there, done that, Carl. Lived and learned. Now, what you got for me? I’m hungry for the game. It’s been too long. Too many Z-listers to write about at home.”

He clapped his hands and laughed. Then his face fell completely deadpan once more. “Seriously, what’s the story?”

I got back to chewing that cheek.
My god, you’re an arsehole
. I’d definitely need to FB message Kay later and tell her all about this bloody knob.

“Why do you wanna know?” I jerked my leg and threw filthy looks at his other relics.

“Doesn’t everyone have a tale? I like to know what I’m working with first. So I know what you can, and can’t cope with.”

I pulled my best smirk and knew I sounded stroppy when I begged, “This is such bull. We work at a fashion magazine.”
For fuck’s sake
.

“Hold.on.a.minute!” He stood and pointed a finger at me, his face burning red. “Follow me.”

We left his office and headed for another section of the
Frame
wing. While we walked, he stated, “This is not your ordinary fashion magazine. This is an institution. Now, this is THE WALL. You will worship this.”

Oh, will I?

It was the first thing he showed me and it
was
impressive. Covers featuring the world’s biggest stars, as well as some game-changing politicians, iconic world leaders, charity campaigners. You name it. I wasn’t just looking at the Big Six nor the others that inherited their success after the supermodel trend broke out in the late Eighties.

“You’re crazy if you don’t think this is a big fucking deal, sweetheart.” He seemed deadly serious, giving me a look.

I raised my eyebrows and zipped my fingers across my mouth. He seemed pleased by that gesture and we moved on.

“Now, one more thing…”

We passed closets of clothes… but they weren’t what else he wanted to show me. We passed dozens of writers, designers, photographers, but none of them were the other thing he had to show me.

He took me to a full-length mirror and pointed. “See, that’s you… and you’re really here. Now, tell me why the fuck it took you so long.”

I looked like I was chewing a wasp but I honestly couldn’t help it! It was so hard to look at myself, feeling that uncomfortable.

Yay, I looked good, but nay, he was being so confrontational.

“Promise you’ll not tell a soul.”

“Cross my heart.” He waved his index finger over his chest.

“Short version… I got put in hospital trying to save my sister from drugs. It has taken her ten years to get clean. Ten years for me to forgive myself.” I turned around and lifted my hair, “See?”

“Ah, she has a party trick.” He wasn’t sympathetic or piteous. “Do you get where you are, though? Can I see you do a fucking little dance for me? You’re at
Frame
!”

I saw the sincerity in his eyes and jumped in front of the mirror, shaking my hands for a moment. “Yippee.”

“Now who’s spreading the cow pat?” He cocked a brow and let his jaw finally hang loose.