‘Is there anything else I can help with?’ I asked, crossing my fingers for a fun assignment like choosing the half-naked models for the Hottest Guy of the Year photo shoot I’d heard Sia drooling about.
‘Now that you mention it, a coffee would be great. Check with the rest of the team, too, okay?’
‘Okay, will do.’
‘Grab Rae a skinny cap; it’s her favourite. Steph’s helping Sia today, but Ava should be around if you need a hand carrying them back.’
I flinched at the mention of Ava, but Liani didn’t notice; she’d already turned back to her computer. The sound of Ava’s sobbing in the bathroom rang in my ears and, despite her asking me to keep what happened a secret, I couldn’t bite my tongue for another moment. I needed to speak up. If it came to it, I’d deal with the fallout later. Besides, she’d probably be grateful if Liani let her take the rest of the afternoon off to get better.
‘Um, Liani?’
‘Mmmm?’ She didn’t glance up from her typing.
‘I’m not sure how to say this, but there’s something I need to tell you about Ava.’
I held my breath, wishing I could take the words back. But it was too late now. My confession hung in the air, reminding me I was officially the worst secret-keeper in the world. Probably in the universe.
Liani looked at me, her eyes locking on mine. ‘Of course. Tell me everything.’
13.
The coffee run hadn’t been too bad. I’d waited in line for seventeen minutes, got into a feisty debate with the barista over skim versus low-fat milk on Carla’s behalf, and knocked over not one but two pots of decorative coffee beans on the way out. Who was I kidding? It was a disaster. But when I got back to Sash HQ it appeared I had everyone’s orders right, after all. People nodded, smiled and sipped from their matching foam cups. Unless they spat their drinks into the bin when I turned my head, everything was on target.
The teary designer fleeing Rae’s office should have been the first clue for me not to bother Rae. The shouting should have been the second. Standing outside her closed office door, her skinny cap clasped firmly in my hand, I could hear her forceful, raised voice.
‘No, they just changed their minds,’ she spat. ‘There was nothing I could … It just happened. What was I meant to do, walk over to their office and force them to sign?’ By now it was clear she was on the phone. ‘I tried. I more than tried, okay? It’s this market. Look, we still have one more brand and I’ve got the paperwork ready to go. Forget the others, forget it ever happened … Why? Because what’s the point otherwise? Look, I’m doing my best, what else can I … Okay. Okay. Okay. Fine. Sure. Bye.’ She slammed the phone down. ‘No, no, nooooo.’
She leaned back, flicked her bob and sighed. A long, drawn-out sigh that didn’t match her power-woman persona. That kind of fed-up exhalation usually came from creatures further down the magazine food chain. Creatures like the mail boy, who got blasted for putting the domestic mail in the international mail crate. Creatures like me.
Rae looked up and our eyes met through the glass. Taking that as my cue, I opened her office door, wincing at its loud creak. Rae didn’t say a word, which prompted my usual bumbling, stumbling need to fill the silence.
‘Skinny cap. I got you one. A skinny cap, that is,’ I blurted, palms sweating. ‘Liani thought you might like one, so I went to get you one and, ah, well, here it is. Your favourite. It’s a bit cold, though, I’ve been waiting for a while out there, so it might taste like rubbish. Actually, do you want me to get you another one? I’ll get you another one.’
Rae’s expression didn’t change. ‘That’s fine, bring it over here, just mind the proofs.’
‘The what?’
‘Proofs. The shiny magazine pages on my desk? Forget it.’
I walked toward her, readjusting the cup in my hand for better balance. Then, in what seemed like slow-mo, I stubbed my toe on a leafy green plant in a bright yellow pot and tripped forward. The coffee cup lurched from my hand and its contents drenched the mountainous stack of proofs on Rae’s desk.
‘Oh crap!’ I tried to blot the pages with a coffee-shop serviette. ‘Let me help. If I just dab this and —’
‘Stop it!’ Rae said. ‘Put that thing away and get out of here. You’re making it worse.’
‘I’m so sorry, one minute I was holding it, the next —’
‘The next, what? What am I supposed to do? I have a presentation with these pages in fifteen minutes.’
‘I think —’
‘You know what I think? This internship program is more trouble than it’s worth. Do you understand what you’ve done? Do you understand the hours that went into those proofs? The time and energy?’
My jaw tightened and I fought the urge to bite my fingernails. ‘I swear it was an accident. The coffee slipped. If you’ll let me help you —’
‘I think you’ve done quite enough for today,’ she spat. ‘I learned a long time ago that if I want something done right around here, I have to do it myself. Now get out of my office.’
‘Once again, Rae, I’m so sorry.’ I lowered my head and walked toward her door.
‘Josie?’
I turned hopefully. ‘Yes?’
‘Your Billy feature is weak and needs rewriting. Fix it before you leave today. I don’t know what you were thinking. Well … clearly, you weren’t.’
I walked out of her office feeling as though I’d been slapped in the face.
I made it to Sia’s desk before bursting into tears. She wrapped her arm around me and whisked me away from prying eyes into the stairwell, waving Steph over, who was filling coloured bags with beauty products.
They didn’t ask questions; Sia just rubbed my back and whispered, ‘I know, she’s a witch,’ while I whimpered. I wanted to quit then and there. Damn uni requirements, I thought. The excitement of celebrity interviews and beauty products had lost its shine. But I needed the internship at Sash to pass the subject. And I needed the subject to pass the degree. And I needed the degree to become a journalist. I had to toughen up and plough on through the internship whether the editor hated me or not — and boy, she really hated me.
‘Seriously, what’s wrong with Rae?’ I asked. ‘Is she insane? It was an accident!’
‘Insane, no; stressed, yes,’ said Sia, her arm still around me. ‘The hawks are circling and they’ve got their eyes on her.’
‘Hawks?’
‘The bigwigs upstairs,’ said Steph. ‘They’re crunching the numbers on Sash and they don’t like what they see.’
‘Why? What’s not to like?’
‘Our reader numbers are dropping, which can be a death sentence,’ Sia said. ‘And we’re losing ads. Money’s everything in this business, so when the bigwigs aren’t happy, Rae hears about it. And when Rae hears about it, we hear about it. Circle of life.’
I still didn’t understand. ‘How do you guys know all this stuff? Does Rae tell you?’
‘No way. I heard her bitching the other night while she was cooking dinner,’ said Steph. ‘Then she ate a bowl of carbolicious risotto the size of your head and cried. Until she realised I was in the next room and the I’m-practically-perfect-in-every-way facade went up again. She even tried to dish out some tips on organic living — ’cos shopping at an overpriced health store makes you a real greenie, apparently.’
‘Maybe she was trying to bond with you?’ I said.
‘Maybe … but I wish she was more honest. If you’re sad, be sad. If you’re happy, be happy. Pissed off? Let it out. I can’t handle her whole ice-queen thing. It’s like she missed the memo that it’s okay to show real emotions. You know what I mean?’
‘Yeah.’ I did. More than Steph realised, I thought, remembering Rae’s late-night breakdown the other week.
‘You know, J, you look like you could use a drink after your close encounter of the magazine-editor kind,’ said Steph. ‘And I’m not talking about apple juice.’
I smiled. ‘Got any plans next week?’
I smiled. Despite our many, many differences, Kat always made a big deal out of birthdays. Earlier that morning, she’d woken me up (brave woman) to present me with a swag of helium balloons with ‘I’m 18’ printed on them, then she’d climbed into my bed with me and we’d shared chocolate cake.
Now, hovering in the doorway, she’d reverted to her usual bossy self. ‘Jose, come into the kitchen.’
‘Why?’ I yawned, snuggling deeper under the blankets. ‘Have you planned something?’
Kat scoffed. ‘In your dreams. It’s 10 am, time to move your lazy butt.’
I hopped out of bed and followed her into the kitchen, to be greeted by Mum singing a pitchy rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’. The smell of fried bacon, eggs, roast tomato and hash browns had me salivating. Three glasses of orange juice sat on the counter top.
Kat began piling a plate with bacon and eggs.
‘Darling daughter, let me say something first,’ Mum said to Kat, rolling her eyes.
Everyone was beaming, laughing and giggling together. Just like we used to. You know, before. It felt wonderful.
Mum raised her glass of orange juice in a toast and Kat followed suit. I drifted off into a happy place as Mum talked, so only heard snippets of her speech — words like ‘lovely’, ‘my favourite eldest daughter’ and ‘so very proud’. When she’d finished, I grinned at her like a goon.
Mum leaned across to kiss me on the cheek. ‘Happy birthday, love,’ she said.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ I said, squeezing her hand. I had a feeling there’d be another speech coming. And boy, I was right.
‘Ohhh, love, it feels like only yesterday when I brought you home from the hospital. You were so small — my god, tiny — and wrapped in that pale green blanket which you didn’t let me throw out ’til you were eleven —’
‘Mum, I wasn’t eleven and —’
‘I was like a baby myself. I couldn’t believe those nurses with their fancy clipboards and answers for everything trusted me to look after you.’ Her eyes glistened. ‘But here you are, my big girl, and I couldn’t be more proud of you. Editing a magazine and —’
‘Mum, I’m not the editor,’ I said. ‘I’m an intern. I don’t even get paid!’
‘Eighteen, I can’t believe it.’ She pretended to swoon, not listening to a word I said. ‘Is this the age where you flee the nest?’
‘Not quite ready to flee, Mum,’ I said. ‘You’re stuck with me for a little while longer.’
She wrapped an arm around me. ‘Happy to hear that. So you’re not the editor?’
‘No!’
‘Oh, you’ll have to explain it again later. It’s all too glamorous for me to get my head around. Anyway, love, I’ll serve us up a big brekkie, hey?’
Mum bustled off to the stove, straightening a square platter on the way, which looked fine to me. I grabbed Kat’s hand and pulled her toward me.
‘Mum seems better,’ I whispered. ‘I haven’t seen her this excited for ages.’
‘Yeah, she has her days,’ Kat replied, chomping on a hash brown.
I raised one eyebrow, confused. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Sorry, that came out wrong,’ she said, trying to backpedal. ‘I meant, yeah, you’re right, she does seem better.’
Except I could tell that wasn’t what she meant at all. I didn’t get a chance to find out what was going on because Mum appeared next to me holding a small pile of colourful parcels.
‘Preeeeeseeeeents,’ she announced.
‘They look awesome, but I told you not to worry,’ I said. ‘We’re not exactly rolling in money right now.’
‘Oh, don’t be silly. Every birthday girl deserves presents.’
‘Yeah, it’s just a few books and a bracelet,’ said Kat. ‘Don’t worry, they didn’t cost much.’
Mum bristled. ‘Kat, would you please —’
‘But they didn’t!’ Kat laughed. ‘Whatever, just open them, Jose.’
I reached for the first present.
14.
Angel, Steph and I were huddled into Tim’s pint-sized bathroom. Angel was pressed up against the mirror, pouting and posing while she slathered her face in makeup; I was perched on the edge of the bath, wincing as Steph, standing in the tub, played with my hair. The room was soaked in perfume, a fitting scent for my first night out in the city. Steph’s iPod pumped dance tracks, which sounded to me like fingernails being scratched down a chalkboard to a doof-doof beat.
‘So what’s your cousin’s name again?’ asked Steph.
‘Tim.’
‘Tim, Timmo, Timmy,’ butted in Angel, swiping on an extra coat of mascara. ‘He has a nice … name.’
We all laughed. ‘He’s only in the lounge room,’ I said. ‘His head will explode if he hears all this.’
‘All done,’ announced Steph, tapping me on the arm. ‘Look in the mirror.’
I stood up to peek at my reflection over Angel’s shoulder. Thanks to Steph’s styling prowess, my hair now looked beautiful, not scruffy. She’d fashioned it into a half-up-half-down hairstyle: the top layer was pulled into a feminine fishtail braid that fell loosely over the rest of my hair, which Steph had curled into soft waves.
‘Wow,’ I gushed. ‘If I could marry this hair, I would. Like, I’d frock up and walk down the aisle so we could be together forever.’
‘It’s stunning,’ beamed Steph. ‘I’ll teach you how to do it sometime — it’s so easy. Okay, I better do my make-up now. I don’t want to look like a troll next to you two.’
Yeah, right, I thought. Steph was that rare breed of person who could wear a dress made of empty milk bottles and still look incredible.
Three quick knocks sounded on the bathroom door. For a moment I was taken back to the night when I’d met James and accused him of being a burglar. Then Angel snapped me back to reality.
‘Is that Tim?’ she mouthed.
‘Shhh,’ I hissed, then turned to face the door. ‘Tim?’
‘Cuz, can I grab you for a sec?’
I squeezed out of the bathroom and huddled with Tim in the hallway. ‘What’s up?’
‘Nice dress,’ he said, admiring the yellow fabric. ‘Looks sweet.’
‘Thanks. Kat loaned it to me.’ Not that she knew it.
‘So, ah, are you girls nearly done in there or what?’
‘Yeah, nearly. You guys ready to head?’
‘Er, there’s been a slight change of plans.’
Tim led me into the lounge room. It stunk of boys, aftershave and alcohol — a potent mix. The guys — two skinny-jean-clad party boys called Luca and Tran — were asleep. Luca was on the couch with his mouth wide open, while Tran was curled up on the floor in the foetal position.
A snort of laughter exploded from me and I clasped my hand over my mouth. ‘It’s not even nine. What happened?’
Tim scratched his head. ‘Dunno, they were just talking, then I guess they got comfortable, then fell asleep. That couch is damn comfy.’
I raised my eyebrow.
‘Okay, they may have overdone it last night.’ Tim swigged his beer. ‘My bad. I’ll get rid of them before we leave.’
I noticed Luca was drooling on my pillow. ‘Oh, brilliant.’
‘I’m still up for it and that’s all that matters, right?’ Tim said. ‘Oh, and James can’t make it either.’
My throat tightened. ‘You invited him?’
‘Yeah, roommate one-oh-one. But he’s staying at what’s-her-face’s joint again.’
‘All good, doesn’t bother me.’ Oh, but it did.
‘We’ll have a wicked time, especially if Stella can get us into that club,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard it’s epic.’
‘Steph, her name’s Steph. Yeah, I think her brother’s mate works the door.’
‘I hope you’re braced for the best night of your life, cuz.’
‘I’m braced, Tim. I’m braced for anythi
ng.’
Lights pulsed and the crowd heaved. The four of us were packed into a corner of the dance floor, bumping into everyone who squeezed past. A couple nearby were grinding and kissing, almost losing their tongues down each other’s throats. A lone older man in a navy suit bopped and swayed to the music while every woman in the bar avoided eye contact, lest he took it as an invite. A drunk redhead sloshed wine down my dress. Another guy blew cigarette smoke in my face.
‘I thought smoking was banned in clubs now?’ I coughed to Steph, trying to ignore the wine trickling down my back.
‘Yeah, it is, but anything goes here,’ she yelled. ‘Chill out, birthday girl. Relax and dance.’
And so I did. I danced, I twirled, I popped my butt out like I was a girl in a video clip and only fell over once. Okay, twice. The second time I was trying a complicated move with Angel, but our legs got interlocked and I crashed to the floor. Luckily, the lights were so dim no one could see. Well, that’s what I told myself.
A circle of girls danced next to us, their handbags piled in a heap in the middle of their group. One girl wore a tiara that flashed with the words ‘18 today’.
‘Aww, Jose, we should’ve got you one of those,’ said Angel. ‘Friend fail number two.’
‘I’ll sort this,’ said Tim.
He wandered over to the pack of dancing girls, and veered toward the one in the tiara. We watched Tim pull her aside to whisper in her ear. She listened, laughed, listened again. Then she took off her tiara, walked over to me and planted it on my head.
‘Happy birthday to you, too,’ she slurred, then grabbed my hand and dragged me to the bar.
My trusty trio scurried behind us, cheering.
‘Birthday shots!’ yelled Tim.
The girl, who I later found out was called Rachel, cheered when the bartender lined up our bright-blue drinks. Every time she woo-hooed, the nerves in my stomach clamped tighter. I’d never been a good drinker. The time I’d downed a shot of rum and impersonated Beyoncé in front of the most popular girls at school came to mind — if ‘impersonating Beyoncé’ meant falling over and gaining two bruises the size of butter plates on your butt cheeks. But there wasn’t time to worry about that. Both groups — Rachel’s girlfriends and my friends, who seemed to have formed a demented rumba line — egged me on.
The Intern Page 12
