Fantasy Summer

by Susan Beth Pfeffer

  Someone—the editor-in-chief, she thought—had said something about how the girls were probably exhausted, so presumably they were all excused. The funny thing was that Ashley, who had come the longest distance, was the most sparkling of them all. Annie had mostly been quiet, staring hungrily at the food, which she wasn’t allowing herself to eat. And Torey had showed a cool reserve, which Robin envied. Torey could have been sleepwalking, for all she knew, but it just appeared that she was graciously making a royal appearance. Robin had merely felt middle-class and sleepy.

  “Ladies’ room over there,” Shelly continued as she led Robin through the maze of corridors and offices that constituted the home of Image magazine. “There’s the sample kitchen. They’re forever trying out new recipes there, wonderful high-caloric things. You have to be real careful when you walk around here, because one of them will just grab you and demand you try something out for them. I gained ten pounds my first year here just from that kitchen. It was brutal trying to take them off.”

  Robin hoped Annie’s office was nowhere near the kitchen.

  “I was an intern one summer,” Shelley declared as she allowed Robin quick peeks into conference rooms and editors’ offices. “Twelve years ago. It was a great summer.”

  “Was that how you got this job?” Robin asked, hoping she remembered from the night before just what Shelley’s job was. Assistant art director, she thought, but she’d met so many people the night before, it was hard to be sure.

  “It was certainly a help,” Shelley replied. “Hi, Donna,” she called to the woman who was showing Ashley around. Ashley looked like she belonged right there. She was even dressed similarly to Donna, whoever she was. Robin felt very schoolgirlish in her skirt and blouse. Not that Ashley wasn’t wearing a skirt and blouse herself. Just a different, more sophisticated sort of skirt and blouse. Robin resolved to buy a whole new wardrobe, even if she had to sell her old one to be able to afford it.

  “There’s so much to remember,” Robin said, figuring she wasn’t going to fool anyone by pretending to understand any of what was going on.

  “My first week here, I was in a total fuddle,” Shelley confided. “I remember feeling like a fool, and I was sure everybody knew what an idiot I really was, and they were bound to send me back to Tacoma, Washington, at any moment. My second week here, I just knew they were keeping me here for the sake of charity.”

  “But then it got better?” Robin asked, trying to keep the hope out of her voice.

  “It sure did,” Shelley said. “That’s Mrs. Brundege’s office. She was editor-in-chief here when I interned that summer, but she’d just started, so she was a little less intimidating. Not a lot, but a little. We called her Mrs. Brundege then, and we call her Mrs. Brundege now. I suggest you do so also.”

  It had never occurred to Robin to call Mrs. Brundege by her first name. She was startled to learn Mrs. Brundege even had a first name. The woman reminded Robin strongly of her elementary-school principal, a woman Robin had spent years in mortal terror of. Only Mrs. Brundege had a wardrobe that probably cost the equivalent of her principal’s yearly salary. Everyone at Image dressed wonderfully except for herself. And Torey. Even Annie looked just right.

  “She’s really a nice person,” Shelly said. “And not at all stuffy. But she’s in charge, and she knows it, and you’d better know it as well. Which is perfectly reasonable, I suppose. This is the studio.”

  The studio. Finally. Robin hoped Shelley would let them linger here for a while, but she was too nervous to ask.

  “Is it like what you imagined?” Shelley asked as she and Robin walked in. “I know it didn’t match my image at all when I first saw it.”

  It didn’t look like what Robin had imagined either. She’d pictured something large and white and airy, with a couple of huge lights, one incredibly handsome photographer snapping endless pictures of glamorous models who were swirling around to the sounds of the latest hit rock album. Instead there was a massive number of lights, none of which were on, endless wires on the floor, which Robin knew she was going to trip over, and open shelves loaded with all kinds of gadgets and clamps and tools. Everything seemed dark gray, and instead of a beautiful model, there was a small table set up with a plate, a napkin, and an empty glass.

  “I know,” Shelley said. “It really is a disappointment, isn’t it? Image has a staff photographer, he’s around somewhere, and he has an assistant, and we even have a darkroom to develop the black-and-white prints, but we only use it for still lifes and food shots. We hire outside for fashion and glamour. Most magazines use outside photographers for everything, but Mrs. Brundege likes to have someone on staff, and Herb is a great food photographer. Well, you know how great the food looks in Image every month.”

  Robin nodded. If all they shot at the magazine was food, did that mean she wasn’t going to do any of the exciting photography she’d dreamed of doing all spring? If all they wanted her for was to take pictures of cookies and hot dogs, then why did they ask for photographs of people?

  “There’s a food-shooting session planned for this morning,” Shelley said. “If you want, you can certainly watch as it’s done.”

  “I’d like that,” Robin said. It might come in handy someday to be able to take pictures of sandwiches. And anything she could learn about professional photography was better than nothing.

  “I wanted to weep when I first saw that studio,” Shelley said. “I think that was even a worse disappointment than when I found out I wasn’t picked as the cover girl. Of course the girl my summer who did get picked for the cover went on to a very successful career as a model, so the competition wasn’t really fair. We all knew she’d be picked, because she was just so gorgeous, but I couldn’t help fantasizing that they’d pick me just because I was so much more average-looking. That’s a basic lesson for you to learn about Image. Their idea of average is our idea of perfect. The sooner you learn that, the faster you move ahead here.”

  “Jean told Annie, one of the other interns, that she had to lose weight immediately,” Robin said. “Annie isn’t skinny, but she’s pretty normal-looking. Probably most of Image’s readers look just like her.”

  “But they don’t want to see pictures of girls who look like themselves,” Shelley said. “They want dream images of themselves instead. Perfect skin, perfect figures, perfect clothes. Image peddles fantasy, the same as all the other fashion magazines. Only Image specializes in teenage fantasy.”

  “Is that good?” Robin asked.

  Shelley shrugged her shoulders. “When I interned here, years ago, I didn’t think it was,” she said. “In the early seventies, we were all determined to see the truth come out about everything. But now I’m not so sure. If you can’t have fantasies about life when you’re a teenager, when can you? Besides, I’m absolutely addicted to decorating magazines, and I’ll never have a home that looks like anything I’ve ever seen in House and Garden. Not at New York City rents, anyway.”

  Robin looked at Shelley carefully. She looked a lot like Jean had the night before, wearing just a little bit of makeup, but with a great, obviously well-tended hairstyle. Robin brushed her own back from her forehead self-consciously. Jean and Shelley also had slender, well-exercised bodies. But mostly what they had was a look of total self-confidence. Torey had had it when she’d stood up the night before to shake Jean’s hand. Robin would never have it, unless they figured out a way to sell it in specialty shops at her local mall. She sighed with thoughts of her own inadequacy.

  “Cheer up,” Shelley said. “See, here we are back at the art director’s offices.” They walked into the small suite of rooms they’d started out from. “Alice, are you in?”

  “I certainly am,” Alice Abrams said, coming into the outer office. “Did you enjoy your tour, Robin?”

  “I think I’m dizzy,” Robin admitted. “There was so much to take in.”

  “Nobody expects you to master it all at once,” Alice said with a cheerful smile. She was in her early forti
es and reminded Robin of her second-year French teacher, only without the accent. Except Alice Abrams was the art director of Image, which made her Robin’s boss, and Shelley’s boss, and the boss of lots of other people as well. So Robin knew not to feel too comfortable with her just because she reminded her of home.

  “I think I showed Robin all the significant things,” Shelley said. “Except, of course, where we keep our supply of incredibly good-looking male models.”

  “Well, that we don’t show just anybody,” Alice said. “You have to be here for at least two weeks before we show you that closet.”

  Robin laughed. She prayed it didn’t come out as a giggle.

  “I told Robin about the shoot set for this morning,” Shelley said. “She seemed to be interested in seeing it. Right, Robin?”

  “Definitely,” Robin said, trying to sound definite.

  “Fine,” Alice said. “Herb can be a real bear, so don’t pay any attention to him if he growls at you. Unless he tells you to do something, like get out of his way. Herb is the boss in that studio— not that he’ll let you forget it.”

  “Herb was here when I interned that summer,” Shelley said. “He was grumpy then too.”

  “Can I ask a question before I go there?” Robin asked.

  “Of course,” Alice replied. “Ask away.”

  “What am I going to be doing here this summer?” Robin asked. “I mean, what exactly is my job?”

  Alice and Shelley laughed. Robin didn’t know what kind of a sign that was, and didn’t join in.

  “You’ll be doing lots of things,” Alice said. “Very little of it glamorous. At least not here, with me. Basically you’re spending the summer at Image for two reasons. First of all, and most important, you’re here to learn about magazines, how they’re put together, how they work. In order to do that, we’ll mostly have you work as a gofer. You’ll run errands, chase people down, and generally keep out of the way and behave yourself. And if you prove to be reliable, we’ll give you some more interesting jobs. For example, if we think you can be trusted with it, we’ll send you to take some black-and-white pictures of Jennifer Fitzhugh when we interview her.”

  That one took Robin by surprise. Jennifer Fitzhugh was one of the hottest young actresses on TV. In none of her springtime fantasies had Robin imagined herself actually taking pictures of somebody that famous for Image.

  “That’s part of the Image internship tradition,” Shelley said. “We send the writing intern to do the interview and the art intern to take pictures of the two of them. It’ll be in the same issues as your makeovers.”

  Robin nodded, trying to act as though her heart was beating at its usual steady pace. Actually this was the moment she’d dreamed of, the moment when she finally realized she was at Image for the summer, that it was all real. She’d be taking pictures of Jennifer Fitzhugh. She’d be made over. She might even be on the cover. The dream was real.

  “The other reason why you girls are at Image is the fun reason,” Alice said. “We want you to have the sort of summer our readers want you to have. In other words, perfect. Full of parties and fun events and good old-fashioned glamour. Carriage rides in Central Park. Boat tours around Manhattan. Sightseeing. Shopping. TV interviews. Makeovers. Modeling. Handsome young men. Just the slightest touch of romance. Perfection.”

  It certainly sounded that way to Robin.

  “The trade-off is an almost total lack of privacy,” Alice continued. “And not a heck of a lot of freedom. You might be enjoying running around here one day, doing errands for me or Shelley, when suddenly someone will summon you for an interview with some high-school-newspaper editor or a luncheon with some of the other editors.”

  “More to the point, you might have one of those fabulous over-by-eleven dates with a handsome young man and then have to cancel it at the last minute because someone at Image has arranged something altogether different for you that night,” Shelley said. “That happened to me at least three times my summer here, and it cost me two boyfriends. Of course boys should be more tolerant now of the demands a career makes on a girl.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Alice said. “Basically for the next eight weeks you belong to Image, body and soul. Some girls can’t take that.”

  “When you’re at someone else’s party, you have to play by their rules,” Robin quoted sagely.

  “Exactly,” Alice said. “You catch on fast.”

  Robin had the feeling it was Torey who caught on fast, but she was willing to take the credit.

  “End of lecture,” Alice said. “Poor Robin. You’ve been in New York for twenty-four hours and your head must be spinning. We’ll treat you easy today, don’t worry.”

  “I can handle it,” Robin said. For all she knew, she could, too.

  “Fine,” Alice said. “Then I’ll give you your first job. I want you to take these sketches to Herb. He’ll need them for the shoot. Do you think you can find your way back to the studio?”

  “If I’m allowed to ask people directions,” Robin replied.

  “You certainly are,” Alice said. “That’s a good basic rule. If you don’t know, ask. These are sketches of the way I want the photographs to look. Want to see?”

  “I’d love to,” Robin said. Alice spread out the pictures on Shelley’s desk. Sure enough, there were four penciled sketches of food on dishes. “Cupcakes?” Robin asked.

  “Cupcakes,” Alice said. “January is always such a tough issue to put out. Nothing interesting to focus on between Christmas and Valentine’s Day. So we’re doing a lot of sports stuff this year. These are cupcakes with little footballs and basketballs iced on them.”

  “Wholesome cupcakes,” Shelley added. “Made with carrots and zucchini.”

  “Zucchini cupcakes,” Alice said with a shudder. “Food isn’t my department. Making the food look good is my job, that’s all. Take the sketches in to Herb and tell him I’ll be there in a half-hour or so to see how things are going.”

  “All right,” Robin said, and held the sketches as though they were a first-folio Shakespeare. She found her way to the studio more easily than she’d anticipated, and that made her feel better about things immediately.

  The studio was busy. There were lights on, and a young man was setting them up so they lighted the table. There was food on the plates now too, being fussed over by a woman Robin didn’t remember seeing before. The man who just had to be Herb was also in the studio, checking things out through the large camera set up on a tripod facing the table.

  “Herb?” Robin asked, approaching him carefully.

  “Yeah, what?” he asked, not bothering to look at her.

  “I brought the sketches from Alice,” Robin said, trying to sound assured.

  “Oh, good,” Herb said. “It’s about time.” He walked away from the camera and took the sketches from Robin’s hand. Robin found she was reluctant to give them up. Maybe now that Herb had them, he’d kick her out of the studio. “Yeah, they’re pretty much what I expected. Thanks, kid.”

  “You’re welcome,” Robin said, backing away carefully.

  “You the new intern?” Herb asked, still looking down at the sketches.

  “Yes, sir,” Robin said.

  “Wanna stay here and watch?” he asked. “You gotta swear to stay out of the way, though.”

  “I’d love to,” Robin said. “I swear.”

  “I swear too,” Herb said with a grin. “We’ll have to have a cussing contest someday.”

  Robin laughed. Herb laughed harder.

  “Okay, stand back in a corner and keep your mouth shut,” Herb instructed her. “Maybe you’ll learn a thing or two this summer.”

  “I sure hope so,” Robin replied. “Oh, Alice said she’d be here in about half an hour.”

  “Good,” Herb said. “Thanks, kid.”

  “You’re welcome,” Robin said, and walked over to what she hoped was a safely neutral spot.

  The woman who’d been fussing with the food paused for a moment and jo
ined Robin. “I’m Marlene Isaacs,” she said. “Food stylist. You’re Robin, right?”

  “Right,” Robin said. “The food looks great.”

  “Well, that’s just the stand-in food,” Marlene said. “They’re in the kitchen now finishing up the real stuff for the photographs.”

  “I wouldn’t mind a taste of the stand-in when Herb’s through with it,” Robin said. “Do all of you get to sample it when you’re done?”

  “Never touch the food,” Marlene said. “Not the stuff that’s used for photographs. Never. It’s full of chemicals and stuff to make it look good under the lights. It’s poison, Robin. We have to throw it away really carefully so bums don’t dig it out from the garbage cans and eat it.”

  “You’re kidding,” Robin said. “You mean none of that food is edible?”

  “Not that gets photographed,” Marlene replied. “Is that understood?”

  “Absolutely,” Robin said, inching away slightly from the table where the food was being lighted. So the food was all poison. She wondered how millions of Image’s readers would feel about that one if they ever found out.

  But then Robin smiled. The one reader she’d be sure to tell was Annie. Maybe that was just the diet trick she needed to become the symbol of perfection all of them—and all that food—were supposed to be.

  4

  Robin was lying on her bed Thursday afternoon, hoping that she would never have to put on a pair of shoes again, when Ashley barged into the room. Nobody had warned her that having a summer internship would be so hard on the feet. Most of her job was running around, just as Alice had promised. Thus far Robin had run around to everybody’s satisfaction, but it was proving rougher on her feet than she ever would have dreamed. She made a solemn vow never to get a job as a waitress.