Fantasy Summer

by Susan Beth Pfeffer

  “It sure is,” Harvey said, grinning even more broadly. “I’m lead singer in the group Infanticide. Ever hear of us?”

  “You know, I have,” Tim said. “You play a lot of the SoHo clubs, right?”

  “We sure do,” Harvey said. “Actually my name is Harvey Goldberg, but Ashley insisted that for tonight I show up in my stage persona. A girl that beautiful, you don’t argue with.”

  “I see you’ve all met,” Ashley said, walking over to them. Robin hadn’t even noticed her enter the lobby. And Ashley usually succeeded in making an appearance. “Well, are we ready to go?”

  “As ready as we’ll ever be,” Torey said. “That’s quite an outfit, Ashley.”

  “Thank you,” Ashley said. “I thought it would make a nice contrast with your dress.”

  “It certainly does,” Torey said.

  Robin stared at Ashley. All she appeared to have on was a man-sized violet-colored sweatshirt with its sleeves torn off. What should have been its waistband formed a sort of skirt right below Ashley’s crotch. On the shirt’s back were large white letters saying NYU. The only other thing she had on were bright red high-heeled shoes. She’d put her hair up in braids, held together with very red ribbons. She managed to look simultaneously perky and perverse.

  “It’s all right, Robin,” Ashley said, staring straight at Robin’s gaping mouth. “I’m decent. I have underpants on. I am a fashion statement.”

  Robin managed to close her mouth.

  “Well, come on, everybody,” Ashley said. “It’s time for us to storm the Emerald City.”

  7

  It didn’t surprise Robin that the job she liked best at Image was helping out at the studio with Herb. At first he’d scared her a little, with his grouchy disposition, but after two weeks she found she got along with him fine if she kept quiet and listened to what he had to say. What he said usually interested her, so that was no problem. Herb had done fashion photography, but had given it up years before. “When models started having brains,” he explained to Robin as she moved some of the smaller lights around the studio for him. “Used to be a good model was tall and skinny and brainless. Young and scared at first, and then a little bit cocky, but never too smart. Nice girls. They all came from the Midwest, like you, kid, and all they wanted was a little glamour and then marriage to a nice hubby, a couple of kids, and their memories.”

  “Sounds boring,” Robin declared, lugging a light. “Sounds like they were boring.”

  “Were they ever,” Herb replied. “Boring, but very well-behaved. Nowadays, they all go to college, and half of them think they know more about photography than the photographer does. Some of them are even right. And they know if they take care of themselves, their careers don’t have to end when they turn twenty-five. They can market themselves for years and years. Big money. Poof, they’re a corporation. I have enough problems in life. I don’t need to take pictures of a corporation.”

  “So you take pictures of food instead,” Robin said. Her arms felt like they were going to fall off.

  “Food never talks back,” Herb said. “You don’t bite it, it don’t bite you.”

  “But don’t you miss the excitement of fashion photography?” Robin asked. “There’s more to life than asparagus.”

  “Wait until they send you out on a location shoot,” Herb said. “Give you a taste of that excitement. Then ask me that question.”

  “Do you really think they’ll send me out?” Robin asked.

  “Sure,” Herb replied. “Don’t think they don’t come around asking me how your work is. They ask, and I tell them. You’re okay, I say. You could use a little more upper-arm strength, but you’re smart enough, and you got good manners. Your parents did a good job with you.”

  “Thank you,” Robin said. “I’ll tell them you said so.”

  “One thing to watch for when they shoot on location,” Herb began. “The models are all well and good, but what counts is the clothes. Clothes in action. A good fashion photograher knows that, but makes sure the model doesn’t.”

  “I’ll watch for that,” Robin said. “Thank you.”

  The phone rang. Herb gestured that Robin should answer it, so she did. “Hello?” she heard. “Robin Schyler?”

  “Speaking,” Robin said, feeling very grown-up.

  “Jean Kingman here,” the voice said. “We have an unexpected visitor here, and we’d appreciate it if you took a few minutes to talk to her.”

  “Sure,” Robin said, although she would have preferred to keep talking to Herb. “Who?”

  “Her name is Terri Antonelli,” Jean replied. “She’s the youth editor of the McKinley Sentinel, in McKinley, New Jersey. She’d love to interview you.”

  “Oh, okay,” Robin said. “I’ll be over in a couple of minutes.” She hung up the phone and told Herb where she was going.

  “Media star,” Herb grumbled, not even looking up as Robin left the studio.

  Robin walked rapidly down the hallways until she found Jean’s office. After two weeks, she could find her way around Image pretty well, but there were still a few corridors that confused her. The smell of the test kitchen greeted her as she made her turns, but she steadfastly ignored them. Their makeover sessions weren’t that many weeks away, and Robin had no intention of showing up for hers with a double chin.

  “Here she is,” Jean said as Robin opened the door. “Robin, this is Terri. Terri, this is Robin Schyler. Robin is our photography intern. She’s from Ohio, and like our other interns, she’s been here for two weeks.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Robin said, walking over to Terri and shaking her hand, picturing the way Torey would do it. Terri, she was pleased to note, looked impressed.

  “I’ll leave you girls to yourselves for a while,” Jean declared, getting up from her desk. “But don’t worry, Terri. I’ll be back before you go, in case you have any questions for me.”

  “Thank you,” Terri said. She and Robin watched Jean leave the office. “She’s very nice,” Terri said to Robin when they were alone.

  “She is,” Robin agreed. “Everybody at Image has been terrific to us. They’ve all made special efforts to make us feel comfortable.”

  “So you like it here?” Terri asked.

  “I love it,” Robin replied.

  Terri sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that,” she said. “I applied for the writing internship. I made it past the first cut, but some other girl got it. I was really kind of hoping you’d tell me I wasn’t missing anything.”

  “Torey Jones is the writing intern,” Robin said. “You shouldn’t feel bad about coming in second to her. The rest of us have been coming in second to her all summer.”

  “She’s really special, huh?” Terri said.

  “She’s beautiful for starters,” Robin replied. “And she’s obviously very smart. But it’s more than that. She has so much self-assurance. I’m sure she’s the one they’ll use as the cover girl.”

  “That makes me feel a little bit better,” Terri said. “But how about telling me all the stuff you don’t like here? There must be something.”

  “Well, there isn’t very much privacy,” Robin said. “I share a hotel room with Ashley Boone—she’s the fashion intern—and even though she’s awfully thin, she takes up a lot of space somehow. And they keep you incredibly busy. There’s the job, for one thing, and then they want to make sure you’re never bored, so they schedule you for all kinds of evening activities. I’ve been to New York before, but there’s still lots of stuff I’d like to do, and I know I won’t have the chance to do most of it.”

  “Any other bad stuff?” Terri asked.

  “Not that I can think of,” Robin said. “I’m really having the time of my life.”

  “I figured as much,” Terri said. “Oh, well. What kinds of things do they make you do, anyway? During your spare time, that is.”

  “We go to the theater,” Robin replied. “And to museums. I can’t get over how many museums New York City has. And
we sightsee and eat out. Boy, do we ever eat out. The food here is fabulous. I may never eat in a fast-food joint again.”

  “Are there parties too?” Terri asked. “I bet there are parties.”

  “There sure are,” Robin said. “Just last Saturday night, Mrs. Brundege, the editor-in-chief, gave a party in our honor.”

  “What was that like?” Terri asked. “Was it wonderful?”

  What was it like? Robin thought to herself. How could she begin to describe what that evening had been like?

  First there was the immediate camaraderie the six of them had felt. They’d laughed together from the moment they left the hotel until the time they got off the elevator at Mrs. Brundege’s penthouse.

  And then there was the reaction they got when the people at the party first saw them. It was great being part of a group that was actually gasped at. It was even greater knowing they weren’t gasping at you.

  Harvey was a big hit with the makeup editor, who rushed over to him and examined his eyebrows for what seemed like hours. She was intrigued with his Z also, and Harvey allowed her to run her fingers over his face to feel what he had done. Apparently she was considering it as a new look for the makeup section.

  But that was nothing compared to the fuss made over Torey. Robin heard at least three people whisper “white gloves” as Torey walked in. The fashion editor immediately grabbed her and started checking out her entire outfit, circle pin and all. Torey obviously indicated that Ashley had helped design the outfit, because she was brought over to talk with them, and the fashion editor seemed to be listening very carefully to everything Ashley had to say. Then the hairstyles editor joined them, and looked over Torey’s twist like it was a revolutionary hairstyle. Nobody seemed to notice the stain on Torey’s pathetic blue dress, or even that it was a pathetic dress. Torey had carried it off.

  Mrs. Brundege had set aside one room just for dancing, and that was where Robin spent most of the evening. She would have been perfectly content to spend the evening dancing with no one but Tim, but Mrs. Brundege had invited several young men who could actually dance, and Robin found she danced about half the dances with them. The rumor was that they were friends of Mrs. Brundege’s son, Ned, but Robin didn’t care where they came from. None of them was half as wonderful as Tim, but she enjoyed being fussed over by a collection of good-looking New York City boys.

  Robin wasn’t the only one they danced with. At first about half of them went straight for Ashley and the other half for Torey, but as the evening rolled on, Torey spent more and more time with just one boy, which left the others free to pursue Robin and Annie. Not that Annie was doing so badly by herself. Robin noticed, not especially approving, that Annie was dancing a lot with Harvey.

  Robin got more and more curious as the evening progressed about who it was Torey was dancing with, but there weren’t that many chances to get Annie aside to ask her. But when Tim went to the bathroom and Annie wasn’t dancing, Robin tried to satisfy her curiosity.

  “Who is that with Torey?” she whispered.

  “Who do you think?” Annie replied. “That’s Ned Brundege.”

  “You’re kidding,” Robin said. “Mrs. Brundege’s son?”

  “Son and heir to millions,” Annie said. “Who else would Torey end up with?”

  “He’s gorgeous, too,” Robin said, staring at him while he danced with Torey. “It isn’t fair.”

  “You’re right,” Annie said. “Torey deserves more and better.”

  Robin wished Annie would speak about her with the same sharp loyalty. She wondered if Annie ever did.

  “You’ve been dancing a lot with Harvey,” Robin said. “What’s that like?”

  “Actually, he’s very nice,” Annie said. “He’s majoring in premed at NYU, and he’s on the dean’s list. He’s only in the band to earn money for med school.”

  “His hair is gruesome,” Robin declared.

  “It could be worse,” Annie said. “He used to shave it off completely. He only grew it back when his mother got hysterical because he’d been invited to a family wedding. So they compromised on a crew cut. He plans to grow his eyebrows back this fall.”

  “What you’re telling me,” Robin said, hoping Annie didn’t hear the giggle in her voice, “is that Harvey Horrible of Infanticide is actually a nice Jewish boy.”

  “That’s it exactly,” Annie said, and to Robin’s relief, she was giggling too. “No wonder I like him.”

  “Well, I don’t think Ashley is into nice,” Robin said. “So you might have a clear field if you wait a little.”

  “I hope so,” Annie replied. “Harvey invited me to hear his band play, but I don’t know how I’ll manage that. He says their sets don’t usually start before ten, and SoHo is a long way away from our hotel.”

  “You’ll manage something,” Robin told her. But before she had a chance to figure out what, Tim was tapping her on the shoulder, asking her to dance.

  And dance they did, as suddenly a waltz was playing. Robin saw Torey and Ned first, a tall, graceful couple. Then Harvey and Ashley caught her eye, the prince and princess of punk, doing a fairly respectable imitation of Astaire and Rogers. Finally she saw that Annie was dancing too, with one of Ned’s friends.

  Robin rested her head dreamily on Tim’s shoulder and let the music carry her thoughts away. It was a moment indescribable in its sweetness, crystal clear in its perfection.

  “What was the party like?” she repeated to Terri. “It was the best party you can imagine. They even let us stay out an hour after curfew. I mean, who was going to argue with Mrs. Brundege about that?”

  “You have curfews?” Terri asked.

  “Miserable ones,” Robin replied. “They really watch over us.”

  “I feel better already,” Terri said. “Thank you, Robin.”

  “Anytime,” Robin said with a grin. “Want to see the offices? I can give you some idea of what I actually do around here if you’re interested.”

  “Of course I am,” Terri said, and she and Robin started walking around, with Robin mentioning points of interest. She was surprised, and pleased, with how many people said hello to her by name. She hadn’t realized how much a part of Image she had become in just two weeks.

  Robin made a specific point of introducing Terri to Torey, who, although she was busy with some copywriting, took a few minutes off to talk with them. When Robin and Terri returned to Jean’s office, Terri said, “I see what you mean about Torey.”

  “She’s unbeatable,” Robin said.

  “Maybe I’ll reapply for the internship next summer,” Terri said. “Maybe they’ll confuse me with her. Terri, Torey. It’s an easy enough mistake.”

  “I hope you do,” Robin said. “And I hope you get it. This is a great way to spend a summer.”

  “Just what I wanted to hear,” Jean said, returning to her office. “How did the interview go, girls?”

  “Just fine,” Terri said. “I certainly got plenty of material.”

  “Have any questions for me?” Jean asked, sitting down at her desk.

  “None I can think of,” Terri replied. “Thanks again for all the time you took. And thank you, Robin.”

  “Remember to send me a copy,” Robin said. “I’ve never been in a newspaper in New Jersey before.”

  Terri got up and left the office. Robin wasn’t sure whether she was supposed to leave, but when Jean gestured for her to stay, she remained seated.

  “How did you enjoy being interviewed?” Jean asked her.

  “It was fun, I liked it,” Robin said. “You know, Terri had applied for the writing internship. I told her there was no way anyone would have beaten out Torey for it, though, so she shouldn’t feel bad.”

  “As a matter of fact, Torey wasn’t the first choice,” Jean said. “She only got it when our first choice turned us down.”

  “You’re kidding,” Robin said. “Who was first choice? Wonder Woman?”

  Jean laughed. “Just about. She was beautiful, brilliant, an
d black. Mrs. Brundege always likes to have a good ethnic mix among the interns. But she got a fellowship to study the violin this summer in Switzerland and decided to do that instead. Of course, Torey was a wonderful backup candidate.”

  “Were the rest of us backups as well?” Robin asked, still shocked that Torey had been.

  “Hardly,” Jean said. “Ashley was hotly debated, let me tell you. She was obviously a risk, but she takes a superb photograph, and the fashion sketches she sent us were so talented that the fashion people won and she was invited. And there were a couple of editors who were sure Annie would turn out to weigh more than she claimed. You get an instinct about these things after a while.”

  “Annie’s been very good about her diet,” Robin said. “She hardly ate a thing at Mrs. Brundege’s party.”

  “I wish I could say that,” Jean declared. “I’m going to have to work out at the gym every night this week to pay for my sins.”

  “What were people worried about with me?” Robin asked, hoping the question wasn’t too bad for Jean to answer.

  “With you?” Jean said. “Nothing. You were our only unanimous choice this summer.”

  “Me?” Robin said, sure Jean had mixed her up with someone else.

  “Absolutely,” Jean replied. “Herb needed a little convincing, but that was all. There were a couple of girls who sent in fabulous photographs, professional quality really, but we pointed out to him that those aren’t always the easiest girls to work with. But he was the only one with even the remotest reservations about you. You were first choice all along.”

  “Why?” Robin couldn’t resist asking.

  “Your demographics,” Jean said. “They were ideal. You come from just the right-size town near just the right-size city and you go to just the right-size high school. You’re one of two children, your father is a doctor, for heaven’s sake, and your coloring was so typical, it was ideal. The makeover people were thrilled with your picture. You give them the right raw materials, and they can do wonders with you. As opposed to someone like Torey, who, no matter what they do, she’s basically going to look the same. You are the perfect Image reader, Robin. You’re the person we put this magazine out for. I bet you’re even a cheerleader.”