Blonde Ops

by Charlotte Bennardo, Natalie Zaman

  “Scusi.” I went over to my backpack, found my purse, and pulled out the twenty the Fiat driver refused.

  She waved her hands, refusing my offering, then smiled at me.

  “Thank you,” I said, adding hurriedly, “Grazie,” and smiled back. She nodded approvingly and left.

  The buttery pastry melted in my mouth, and the espresso was so strong each cup required three teaspoons of sugar. The stuff could fuel jets, it was so intense.

  Showered, fed, and outfitted in my sleek new clothes, I felt human again—and determined not to be at anyone’s “Bec and call.” As nice as Parker and Sophie seemed, I didn’t want to tend to models—or deal with Kevin Clayton, Office Dictator. And was I getting paid for this internship? No one mentioned a word about a paycheck. Resigned to a long day, I packed up my laptop and left the glittering hotel, strolling along and taking in the scenery I’d missed the night before. Budding flowers and tiny curled vines crept over the stucco walls of ancient houses, and I took care walking over the uneven pavement, inches taller in my cool wedge sandals. Could I get used to this?

  At first I wasn’t sure because there were so many cars, Vespas, and motorcycles that it was hard to tell one sound from another, but after a few seconds, I was certain: I’d heard this particular droning buzz before. And I tried not to smile.

  A green Vespa putted until it was next to me, keeping pace. I turned my head to the driver.

  “Bec, come sta!” Dante pulled up to the curb, and, taking off his helmet, shook out his shiny blond hair.

  “Hello, Dante,” I said, unable to keep the delight out of my voice. “What’s up?”

  “Busy day,” he said, looking over his shoulder at a pile of envelopes and boxes bound to the back of the Vespa with a bungee cord.

  I’d rather be rolling around Rome, my arms wrapped around you and delivering packages than going to certain servitude at Edge. Parker would be too busy to spare any time for me so I’d be delegated to Kevin as soon as I walked in the door.

  “You working at the magazine?” he asked. “I thought you might … be a student.”

  “Yeah, I’m kind of doing both. What about you?”

  “I go back to school soon. Need to save some money first. You want a ride over?”

  I looked longingly at the Vespa. I wouldn’t mind taking it for a spin around town—but I didn’t just go riding around with guys I barely knew, gorgeous or not. Besides—what would Sophie say if I showed up clinging to Dante on the back of his ride? She might not appreciate it if she was into him. Common sense prevailed.

  “I want to walk around a bit and see everything,” I said, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

  He tilted his head at me and flashed the smile that made my stomach do flip-flops.

  “Okay. Next time,” he said, and putting his helmet back on, turned the Vespa into the road and disappeared in the traffic.

  I hurried through the crowded street. It was a sunny day, but the occasional chilly breeze made me long for my hoodie, which was en route with my other things from school arriving who knew when. At lunchtime maybe I could go shopping with Sophie.

  Francesca was on the phone when I walked in, speaking so fast I couldn’t catch any words but “Parker.” Looking up and seeing me, she impatiently waved at me to go upstairs.

  The place was even more hectic than yesterday. Downstairs had been calm, but now people rushed around, yelling, bumping into each other. When I reached the top of the steps I spied Taliah in the big room fussing with the wardrobe racks, and another model looking semicomatose as Ugi slapped a palette of color onto her face.

  “No more late nights!” he scolded her. “You want these dark circles to be permanent?”

  “But Gianni gave me a personal invitation to that party,” she sniffed. “No one says no to Gianni!”

  “You start to look like an old lady and you’ll be lucky if Gianni will let you carry his shopping bags. No more crazy parties! You wait until after the shoot!”

  A series of bright flashes startled me; Aldo was adjusting a light for Angelo, who was clicking away on his camera.

  “Sinistra! Sinistra!” he shouted at the model in front of him. She pouted, and swayed to the left.

  Kevin and Francesca whispered urgently in a corner, their own little clique. Seeing me, Sophie hurried over and pulled me to the balcony. Below I could hear the espresso monster gurgling away. The rich aroma of roasted coffee beans wafted up to where we stood. I was already full of coffee but suddenly craved more. I hoped they had lots of sugar.

  “Parker’s not here. Everyone’s going crazy,” Sophie said, sounding anxious.

  I frowned. “She left me a note and told me to meet her here, but maybe something came up—a last minute appointment or a meeting.”

  Letting go of me, Sophie shook her head. “She did have an appointment. Here. Parker never does a no-show. And she’s always on time.”

  I didn’t understand what the big deal was. Everyone was late sometimes, reputation or not. Parker probably stopped somewhere to field a phone call. I was willing to bet she got just as many as Mom. Or maybe she stopped in one of the bajillion cafés I’d passed on the way to the office and decided to indulge in an early cappuccino. And wasn’t life supposed to be more relaxed in Italy? One wouldn’t be able to tell by looking at this office. Here it was never-ending mayhem on a colossal scale.

  “So call her,” I said.

  Sophie regarded me gravely. “I did. So did Kevin and Francesca. She didn’t answer—and Parker always answers.”

  Again with the “always.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be here soon.”

  “You don’t understand.” Sophie lowered her voice when a lanky model slunk by to go downstairs, probably to the kitchen. She gave us the evil eye—poor thing had to get her own water! We stood there, not saying a word until she was out of earshot.

  “There are a million things to do, and Serena’s not here either. That means until one of them gets back, Kevin’s in charge.”

  I could see how that would be annoying. No—more than annoying. But I was sure Parker would show up soon, and when she got wind that he went all tyrant in her absence, Kevin might find himself on the next plane to you’re-fireds-ville. Before I could assure Sophie that everything would be okay, Kevin stepped part way into the hall, motioned us closer, and sharply demanded quiet from everyone.

  His expression grim, his mouth tight, he said, “Parker’s in the hospital.”

  The air rushed out of my lungs as the shock hit. Kevin waited while people gasped and fretted. Some of the models just stood there, looking clueless or unconcerned.

  My heart sank as I thought of Parker; the connection we’d managed to make in our brief conversation. Although now I was … free. What or who could stop me from buying a plane ticket to anywhere? No one. I’d have to call my parents, but it could wait a few days …

  “Serena just called. Parker and Agent Ortiz were in a car accident early this morning, and were taken to the emergency room,” Kevin said. “Apparently it’s serious.”

  My grand plan to escape curled up into a ball that wedged itself in my throat. There was no way I could leave now, not if Parker was—

  “Is she okay?” I asked.

  Everyone started talking at once and Kevin tried to shush them.

  “I’ll pass along any information as soon as I find out,” he said quietly, “but the order from Serena is to stay on schedule. The First Lady will be here the day after tomorrow and Serena said to keep things running as usual, so until she gets in, I’m keeping things organized.”

  Grumbles of discontent erupted all around, but everyone dispersed. And if Serena said to keep things going, it might not be that bad, although car accidents could be harrowing experiences. No one knew that better than me. That time I took Dad’s new Lamborghini to get a latte? I really should’ve figured out how to drive a stick shift and parallel park before I got behind the wheel. Traumatic—most def.

  It was a relief
that Kevin wouldn’t ultimately be in charge, but I hadn’t really seen Serena in action. It would be best to keep busy with a low profile and not think about the possibilities of what could happen. I shuffled behind Sophie, unfortunately still catching Kevin’s eye.

  He motioned to us. “Sophie, Bec—you’re with me.”

  TRICKS AND TIPS FOR THE EDGE-Y GIRL

  Size matters—for heels. Stand tall in your highest and tower over any obstacle!

  5

  Sophie and I followed Kevin into Parker’s office. He did have the decency not to sit in her chair, but he pulled something off her desk to show us. Something big.

  “Is that a—” I started.

  Sophie shook her head. “No. You didn’t. Kevin, that’s not a—”

  “It’s a chore chart,” he said, holding it up with obvious pride.

  When did he have the time to make that?!

  “I’ve been working on it, but haven’t had a chance to show it to Parker yet.”

  I had to shield my eyes, nearly blinded by the neon glare of multiple Post-it notes. My column was all pink.

  “I don’t need a chart to know what my job is,” Sophie said, crossing her arms over her chest, clearly not impressed.

  Francesca glided by the door and peered in, her eyes sliding over the poster board. “Nice chart,” she said, then made a pouty face. “Where’s Angelo?”

  “In the studio where he belongs,” said Kevin kindly. “You need to stay at the front desk. I’m waiting to hear from Serena.”

  She sighed heavily before melting back into the hallway. He followed her with his eyes before they returned to his chart of Domination and Distress.

  “I think we’re done here,” Sophie said and moved to leave, but that only snapped Kevin’s attention back to us. He went over our assigned duties in painful detail. My glamorous Italian adventure—reduced to a poster board of pink sticky notes.

  I knew what Kevin was up to. When Serena came back to the office and Parker eventually returned, he’d show both of them how well he kept things running while they were out. He had to be sucking up for a promotion or a raise. Maybe his name on the masthead?

  In the end I did none of Kevin’s assigned chores. To keep the issue on schedule, I was recruited by Aldo to set up for the morning and afternoon shoots, call the models to confirm their sessions, and of course make uncountable cappuccinos. As Parker had said, other parts of the September issue were being tended to; bit columns on accessories, a double-page spread on the upcoming trends for eyeliner. While Parker and Kevin claimed everyone did a little of everything, it felt like I did most of the work reserved for people on the bottom rung of the ladder.

  Sophie and I passed each other on the stairs, each time with a grim “I can’t wait for this day to be over” smile. But even in all the chaos, there was a sort of restraint in the atmosphere. Every time the phone rang everyone froze and quieted. When, after a few moments, no message came from Francesca with news on Parker, everyone reluctantly went back to work. It was hard to concentrate, but staying busy helped me not to focus on “What if…”

  At the end of the day, there was still no word.

  Back at the hotel, I ordered room service for dinner. Between forkfuls of pesto-soaked gnocchi, I trolled the Internet for area hospitals. I called the closest ones, trying to locate Parker or even an African American woman that had been admitted. Between their poor English and my worse Italian, I had no luck. Finally my body begged to go into sleep mode.

  Tomorrow, everything will be better, I promised myself.

  But it wasn’t.

  In spite of being exhausted, I had a restless night and didn’t sleep well. In the morning, I was disturbed to find that there was still no news about Parker’s condition.

  “Any word?” I asked Kevin as soon as I could corner him.

  “No. But Serena’s here…” He didn’t finish, and he sounded annoyed—at my question, or at his new boss?

  I debated calling Mom. I didn’t want to worry her, even though I’d gotten no clue about Parker’s status, which directly affected my own. I had ways of finding things out. Serena had been with Parker before the accident. She might spill some valuable intel—if I asked the right questions. The problem was where and how to corner her.

  At that moment she appeared on the balcony and clapped her hands for attention. She wore a serious frown, but there was a glint in her eye and a sharp edge to her lip that looked like she was almost fighting a smile. Parker told me that things would be a wreck without her. Was she pleased about being in charge now? She opened her mouth to speak, but at the same time there was a loud crash as the front door was flung open.

  A statuesque blonde woman in sky-high alligator heels and a crisp navy suit with edges so sharp they could slice off a finger swept through the place with an entourage and on the arm of a man who looked like he’d arrived fresh from Fashion Week in Paris or Milan. His suit was a dark coppery color, set off by a pumpkin-colored shirt and striped tie. A coordinating paisley pocket square peeked out in two perfect points. His hair was wavy, not too long, and he had an exotic look to his eyes. Which didn’t look kindly on any of us.

  Behind them came Nelson, and then Ortiz, black-eyed and bandaged, and a new guy—tall, dark, and menacing.

  It became instantly silent as everyone, myself included, stared. Serena still stood on the balcony, her mouth open, apparently awestruck. I knew the blonde woman—totally knew her—but couldn’t immediately remember where. Behind me, someone whispered, “It’s Candace Worthington!” I had a name, but still couldn’t place the face.

  Her dishy companion unhooked himself from her arm and flipped a slim palm in introduction. “Candace Worthington will be taking over Edge for Parker Phillips,” he said, looking down his nose and speaking in a posh British accent worthy of the stuffiest aristocrat.

  “You,” she pointed a danger-orange fingernail at Kevin, “must be Kevin.”

  “Managing editor,” he said, stepping up with a hand out for her to shake, but she squashed him with a look.

  “Come with me.” Then she glanced at Mr. Dish, who acknowledged her with the barest of smiles. “You too, Varon,” she said to him. “Everyone else,” and she whirled around like a lethal ballerina, looking at each individual person, “you know what you need to do for the next half hour. Do it. And be quiet about it.” She twirled a dismissive wrist jangly with golden bracelets and strode briskly up the steps. When she reached the top she paused to raise her large black sunglasses and glare directly at Kevin. “Coming?” He hurried after her to Parker’s-temporarily-Serena’s office. A moment later, I heard a door slam.

  I couldn’t decide if I liked her or hated her. Candace Worthington, Candace Worthington … Who was Candace Worthington?

  All eyes turned to the new Suit. He glowered back, assessing everyone. When his critical eyes landed on me, taking in my pink-with-blonde-roots braids, he frowned. I smiled back brightly and turned to Sophie.

  “This isn’t going to be good.”

  “That’s an understatement,” she replied morosely, tugging me into the kitchen. Yes. Coffee. Now.

  I chuckled. “Although Candace put Kevin in his place.”

  Sophie punched my arm. “Ms. Worthington!”

  “Candace, Ms. Worthington, who cares?”

  “Do you live under a rock? That’s Candace Worthington. Supermodel? Reality show host?”

  Then it clicked.

  Oh yeah.

  Former supermodel. The bitchy cohost of such quality TV viewing as You Want Me to Wear That? And, Did You Get Dressed in the Dark? Oh yeah. And the star of that scandal when she flipped out on a designer boutique owner who tried to sell her an imitation bag. She brought TV cameras, cops, and state and federal investigators and ended up uncovering a multibillion dollar counterfeiting operation. No one crossed her.

  And now she was my new boss.

  No.

  No no no! No buona fortuna!

  “This really isn’t going to
be good,” I said.

  Sophie gave me a slow, sad nod. “You bet your Gucci.”

  TRICKS AND TIPS FOR THE EDGE-Y GIRL

  Even if you’re clawing your way up the corporate ladder, your business suit needs some glam: a pin, a scarf, a sparkling top, a vibrant color. Fight like a man, but look like a woman!

  6

  When Kevin emerged from Candace’s—no, Parker’s—office, he was dazzled and frazzled—and called me over with a finger snap

  “Candace wants you to go to the hotel with agents Ortiz, Nelson, and Case, and show them where her room is, and then—”

  “I don’t know where Candace’s room is,” I cut him off. I didn’t—and no one snapped their fingers at me.

  “Candace is staying in Parker’s suite. Candace is in charge of Edge. Candace is now your boss, so you’d best make her happy.”

  Candace had better not think she was going to be both boss and guardian. Not. Happening.

  “What about Parker?”

  Kevin’s arrogant face went soft with worry. “She’s still in the hospital.”

  “Which one?” I demanded.

  Back came the sneer. “Candace didn’t say.”

  Candace had all the answers, didn’t she? Except the ones that I wanted. Mom and Dad would have something to say about this—I didn’t care how busy they were. I opened my mouth to protest, but Kevin had already waved over Ortiz and Nelson and the new Suit, Case.

  I’d play along for now, but as soon as I got a second alone, Mom was getting an SOS call.

  Varon stood close by, looking absolutely perfect; not a hair mussed, nor a wrinkle in his perfectly coordinated ensemble, not even a shiny nose although it was warm.

  “You coming too?” I asked him.

  A patronizing smile. “Ms. Worthington needs me here,” he said, as if I should have known better than to ask.