The Making of Mia

by Ilana Fox

  ‘That will show him, Minty. Oh, well done,’ enthused Hannah, Gloss’s travel editor. ‘As soon as we stop writing about it, Bababund will be dead!’

  Jo gulped – Bababund was the hippest, most exclusive bar in Europe at the moment, hotter than the Met Bar or Soho House had ever been. Did the Gloss girls really have that much power? When Jo queued up at Chantez the next night with the hope that she’d accidentally on purpose bump into them, it became clear that they did. Jo watched them with envy as they strutted through the queues of gorgeous babes, straight past the velvet rope into the club. She could hear murmurs of jealousy rippling through the queue behind her, but Jo had to begrudgingly admit that the Gloss girls knew how to work their status as London’s journalistic elite, even if they couldn’t write very well. She wondered if she’d ever be part of their gang, if she’d ever be able to swan past the hordes of nobodies because she was that important. Jo looked down at her Miss Selfridge outfit – the skimpiest, sexiest dress she owned – and saw the bulges of flesh through the tight Lycra. She knew that if she didn’t look the part she wouldn’t have a chance.

  Suddenly whispers vibrated through the back of the crowd, and some girls stood on tiptoes to see who was getting out of the long, sleek, black limousine that had smoothly pulled up in front of her. Jo looked on with interest as she spotted a woman get out of the car, and she was trying to pinpoint exactly how she recognised her when there were yells from the ubiquitous photographers whose cameras began to flash. ‘Madeline, Madeline, over here!’

  Jo gasped. It was Madeline Turner, the editor of Gloss. Jo hadn’t seen her in person before, and only knew what she looked like from her photograph in the magazine. In the flesh she was gorgeous, with almond-shaped eyes and thick, glossy black hair. She looked like a skinnier version of Bianca Jagger in the 1960s, with flawless skin and impeccable make-up. She was wearing what appeared to be a deep purple couture Miu Miu dress, and the diamonds round her neck picked out the steely glint in her eyes. Madeline gave the photographers a tight little grimace and waited as the chauffeur went to the other side of the car to open the second passenger door.

  Joshua Garnet climbed out of his seat and the cameras flashed frantically. In the flesh, Joshua Garnet was absolutely gorgeous, and Jo felt her face flush red as she saw him. He had short, dark brown hair, chocolate-coloured eyes, and his face was tanned from a recent holiday. He wasn’t as good-looking as William, Jo thought, but she could see the appeal, could see why Joshua was paparazzi fodder. Unlike Madeline, Joshua had kept his outfit simple; a beautifully cut black suit highlighted his strong shoulders and arms, and his crisp white shirt was open at the neck, allowing a tantalising glimpse of chest hair.

  Madeline took Joshua Garnet by his arm, and they stood having their photograph taken as he assessed the crowd coolly. Jo had read in an old copy of Press Gazette that the pair had married the year before – which had caused quite a stir – but she didn’t think they looked happy or comfortable together. She kept her eyes on Madeline, who, in turn, watched Joshua Garnet irritably as his eyes swept the crowd. He bypassed Jo without even noticing her and then drank in the erect nipples of the freezing, semi-clothed teenagers that were in the queue behind her, flashing them a sexy, easy grin. Madeline locked eyes with Jo for a moment, and then the couple walked into the bar.

  ‘Debbie, have you heard?’ A few weeks later Katherine rushed into the small typing office, brimming with excitement and spilling her cup of tea. Debbie stopped typing and looked at her in amusement, but Jo kept on moving her fingers, wondering what the cause of Katherine’s flushed face and wide eyes was. A boy, probably – nothing to do with work, and definitely nothing to do with her.

  ‘Joshua Garnet is going to have a new personal assistant because he sacked the last one for being lazy! And they’re going to choose someone internally!’

  Jo looked up at Katherine with a jolt, and the typing pool went silent as everyone stopped typing and gasped. Debbie’s face began to go red.

  ‘Are you joking?’ Debbie looked as though she were beside herself. Jo watched her carefully. It was as if she had just been told she’d won the greatest prize on earth, but Jo knew Debbie didn’t give a damn about the work and was only excited because she fancied the pants off Garnet.

  Katherine shook her head quickly. ‘Justine in sales heard it from Edwina in design who heard it from Lizzie in editorial. Garnet needs someone as soon as possible and, rather than advertising, they want to pick a current secretary here. It’s an internal promotion!’

  Debbie leant forward in her chair and looked excited.

  ‘Technically speaking I have been here the longest,’ she said, looking at her freshly painted nails. ‘And Joshua certainly knows who I am. Do you know if we need to apply, tell them if we’re interested?’

  Jo looked at Katherine and held her breath.

  ‘I think the assumption is that whoever is asked will want to do it. I mean, he’s so divine who wouldn’t want to be Joshua Garnet’s PA?’

  Jo looked down at her half-typed-up article and felt an ache in the pit of her stomach. She knew that if she was Garnet’s PA it would mean that she could sit at the desk in front of his office and be part of the editorial team. If she were Garnet’s PA, she thought, she would not only have one of the most coveted positions in the company, but a chance to sit in on editorial meetings, the chance to see her name on the Gloss masthead. Jo wanted to be Joshua Garnet’s PA more than anything, and unlike everyone else, she thought, she didn’t give a damn about what he looked like.

  Debbie gave Katherine a lazy, slow smile. ‘You’re right. There’s going to be stiff competition for this job, absolutely everyone is going to want it. Do you know when they’re making the selection?’

  Katherine was practically jumping up and down. ‘Today! I think they’re going around the office today! Well, that’s what Justine said, anyway.’

  Debbie suddenly didn’t look so sure of herself. She sat bolt upright. ‘Today? Are you sure? But I haven’t got any make-up on, I’m not wearing my new mini-skirt, and oh!’ Debbie looked down at her Elizabeth Duke engagement ring and tore it off with difficulty. ‘I can’t have Joshie Garnet thinking I wouldn’t give him one hundred per cent. Quick, toilets! This is an emergency.’ She shot Frieda a quick look. ‘Sorry, Frieda. Needs must,’ she said, as the others practically ran out of the office to look at themselves in the decent mirrors in the ladies’.

  Jo sighed, and started typing up the rest of the article. She hadn’t a chance. Even if she was tall, skinny and had Scandinavian cheekbones it wouldn’t have made a difference – Debbie would clearly get the job, as she had been here the longest. She had paid her dues, Jo thought with a sniff, and she didn’t look too bad when she put lots of make-up on to cover up her spots. But still, wouldn’t it be nice if Joshua Garnet walked up to her desk to ask her if she would like to be his PA? He’d stand in front of her and she’d look up at him, taking in his dark hair, broad shoulders and easy charm. He’d tell her how wonderful he thought she was, and mention how he had always admired her from a distance. Why, he would say, he had always known she was talented and this was her chance to shine. He would offer a hand and Jo would get up from her desk and glide to his office with him where he would tell her that he didn’t actually need a PA, but a new editor of Gloss because Madeline had been struck down with a mystery illness—

  ‘Joanne!’ Jo heard Frieda’s curt voice through her daydream and she stopped typing to look up at her. Standing in the corner of the office was Madeline Turner, watching her with a strange expression. Frieda turned back to Madeline when she was satisfied Jo was paying attention. ‘Sorry about that, Ms Turner, but Joanne does like to get engrossed in her work.’

  Jo blushed. She couldn’t believe Madeline Turner was in the same room as her. She wondered if she remembered her from the night at Chantez.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ she said, her voice sounding polished and cool. ‘I’ll cut to the chase. Rather than being a typist we’d li
ke Joanne to be Mr Garnet’s new personal assistant. The role would involve assisting Mr Garnet on his personal business as well as providing some support to the journalists. We think Joanne would do a good job and would like her to join the team. That is, if she would like to.’

  Jo’s mouth dropped open. Her daydream had spilt into real life.

  ‘Joanne, would you like the job?’ Madeline Turner was almost smiling at her, and rumour had it that Madeline was normally so miserable that she never smiled.

  Jo turned to Frieda, whose expression remained blank, and then back to Madeline. ‘I’d love it,’ she said, praying she would stop blushing. ‘I’d absolutely love it.’ Was this really happening to her?

  Madeline grimaced. ‘Then it’s all settled. Let’s go.’

  Jo picked up her handbag and followed Madeline out into the hallway in shock. She couldn’t believe it. Not only was she about to meet Joshua Garnet, but she was going to be his right-hand girl. This was the break she’d been waiting for – she’d have to get in touch with William to let him know that her career was on track after all.

  Chapter Eight

  December 2002

  ‘You mean after all this time you still don’t know why you were picked? Oh, that’s so sweet.’ Debbie was sitting on Jo’s desk, casually swinging her long, slender legs, and Jo wondered how she could get rid of her without causing a scene. It was still early – not yet half past eight – but Jo knew Joshua Garnet had a meeting at nine with Madeline Turner and she was worried that he would come in at any minute. She didn’t want him to think she was the type that liked to gossip with the other secretaries.

  ‘OK, let me put it another way,’ Debbie said, picking up a card Amelia had sent her and reading it idly. ‘Why do you think Madeline Turner, a magazine editor who happens to be Joshua’s wife, came and picked you herself rather than human resources?’

  Jo didn’t know whether knocking her off her desk or ignoring her outright would be the better option. ‘Look, can you please just go?’ she said, trying not to sound annoyed. Both girls could hear the soft murmurs of the editorial staff filtering into the office, and Jo knew that if Frieda found out that Debbie was in the editorial office – let alone the executive suite – there would be hell to pay. Debbie shot her a dirty look but she knew Jo was right.

  ‘It will keep. But have a think about it, won’t you?’ she said, glancing back at Jo. ‘I’ll give you a clue. You certainly weren’t promoted because of your typing skills.’

  Jo watched Debbie swinging her hips in her tight pencil skirt as she strode out of the office, and she put her and her bitchy comments out of her mind. She was just jealous of her promotion, Jo thought with a smile. And who could blame her? Jo had finally arrived – not many girls who wanted to work on magazines began their careers as Joshua Garnet’s right-hand girl. And not many of them had his complete trust, either.

  Jo had been working for Joshua Garnet – Mr Garnet in front of visitors or Joshua when they were alone – for almost two months and despite being exhausted she had loved every minute of it. From the moment she woke, Jo was dedicated to making Joshua’s day easier. Her first task was to pick up Joshua’s bespoke Savile Row suits from the dry-cleaner’s. The Greek owner of the shop marked Jo out as a special customer due to the number of items Joshua sent to them, and he sometimes cleaned some of her blouses free of charge – a kind gesture considering Jo never had time to go to the laundrette during the week. From there she would hastily eat a breakfast of two croissants from the canteen, and then, when the private-entry security guard buzzed her to say Joshua had entered Garnet Tower, she would brew him his first cup of coffee with a blend imported especially from America. Sometimes Joshua stopped at her desk to thank her, but most of the time he swept past her in a business-like rush. Jo didn’t mind; she respected the lack of small talk, and besides, he was so powerful he didn’t need to make pleasantries with anyone.

  ‘Hold all my calls, will you? I have to go through this dummy front cover with Madeline,’ Joshua said that morning as he casually walked past Jo’s desk, brutally ignoring the piles of circulation reports she’d been reading in a bid to impress him. Madeline Turner was behind him wearing a Gucci shirt and the most amazing snakeskin stilettos Jo had ever seen – and she was deeply envious. Madeline had told her that as a secretary she wasn’t allowed to dress provocatively in any way, and Jo had duly obeyed. She was in a crumpled grey striped blouse and a faded black skirt, and she knew she looked like a poor relation compared to all the stunning girls on the magazine.

  Jo carefully switched Joshua’s phone to voicemail, and contented herself by surreptitiously watching Joshua and Madeline through the glass-fronted office. They were engrossed in conversation, and when Madeline began to gesture, angrily, Jo looked on in fascination, and wondered if they were having a work disagreement or a marital spat. Joshua caught her eye, and then gestured for Jo to come into his office.

  ‘Joanne, you’re a Gloss reader, aren’t you?’ Joshua was sitting in his leather Eames chair behind his walnut desk, and he casually put his hands behind his head. He looked ridiculously relaxed in comparison to Madeline, who seemed tense as she sat upright on a chair next to the dummy front pages.

  Jo nodded warily.

  ‘See, Madeline? I told you she was. She’s young, aspirational and desperate to be told what to wear and what to think,’ Joshua remarked with an eyebrow raised at his wife. Jo tried to keep her expression neutral, even though he was mocking her. He was right about the target audience, but wrong that it included her. She wasn’t a bimbo, she thought with determination, and she was going to make him see that.

  Madeline didn’t look happy. ‘I’m sure Joanne’s a lovely girl but she’s not as sassy as our readers, Josh, and you know it.’ Madeline turned back to Joshua behind his desk. ‘Our readers aren’t blank canvasses that will just buy what they’re told. They want to be more like an Oxford-educated beauty than a Playboy bunny. They want to be appreciated for their brains as well as their looks. Which is why,’ she said, in her perfect cut-glass accent while jabbing at one of the enlarged front covers with a perfectly manicured fingernail, ‘this image is completely wrong. The model needs to wear a jacket. To represent her power.’

  Joshua smirked. ‘And cover up her tits, no doubt. Joanne, which do you prefer?’

  Jo looked down at the two mock-ups of the Gloss front cover. The model on the front was a corkscrew blonde who looked like a provocative Carrie Bradshaw. A baker-boy hat with navy trim sat jauntily on her head, and her lips were made up with a pale 1960s-style lipstick. Her dress was a peacock blue – the exact same shade as the large letters that spelt the word ‘Gloss’ at the top of the page. The only difference between the two photographs was that in the second one the model wasn’t wearing a short white jacket. Instead her shoulders were bare, and if you looked closely enough you could see the model’s dark pink nipples brushing against the blue of the delicate fabric. It was a sharp, sexy, disturbing look. And it was perfect for Gloss.

  Jo bit her lip and forced herself to concentrate on Joshua rather than on Madeline, who was looking at her Patek Philippe impatiently. ‘I like the one without the jacket,’ she said, finally, wanting to be honest, and, more importantly, not wishing to piss off Joshua. Madeline sighed, and Jo hoped she wouldn’t get into trouble for taking sides.

  ‘Oh, what does she know anyway,’ Madeline said to Joshua, who grinned.

  ‘She’s the target audience, Madeline, and as you know, we always give them what they want.’ He gave Madeline an infuriating smile and then turned to smile at Jo, who basked in his gaze. He agreed with her!

  Jo was excused, and for the rest of the day she sat at her desk in a warm glow. Joshua had taken her advice for the front cover instead of Madeline’s, and it felt great. She briefly thought about phoning William to tell him, but the idea of speaking to him and actually hearing his voice started to upset her, so she consoled herself by writing a short email to Amelia, who was now in her thir
d year at university. Amelia’s reaction was exactly what she’d hoped it would be – happy, impressed and proud of her – but Jo longed for a hug from William. To get him out of her mind she thought about Joshua and Madeline’s relationship, and wondered why they appeared to be at war.

  A few days later – when Jo overheard the editorial team gossiping in the canteen – the reason for the rift became clear.

  ‘Did you see Mad Madeline’s face yesterday when Joshua said we had to pay more attention to features about beauty products?’ Araminta said, taking a bite of a sandwich and grinning. ‘She looked like she had eaten a lemon!’

  ‘But why did he say that? I don’t understand.’ Lizzie, one of the fashion editors looked confused. ‘We already have fourteen pages of beauty, why do we need more? I thought Madeline wanted us to write more about “fashion culture” or whatever she’s calling it, not writing copy about lipstick.’

  Araminta looked smug. ‘It’s all about advertising. If we write favourable reviews of products then the companies will place more adverts. It’s all about keeping them sweet.’

  A girl called Lucy laughed. ‘You have to wonder what Joshua knows about keeping people sweet, because his wife doesn’t seem very happy at the moment!’

  Araminta grinned, and flicked her long, shiny hair behind her shoulders. ‘You have to admit he’s a good publisher, though. We must be making money considering the latest Christmas pay rises!’

  Jo felt herself blush red. She had issued the payslips on Joshua’s behalf a few days earlier, and when she heard the squeals of pleasure she quickly rushed to open her own. Unlike the girls on editorial, Jo hadn’t been given an extra penny, and she’d been annoyed – she didn’t even get paid for all the overtime she did and her wage barely covered her Central London rent. Jo had spent the rest of the day in a bad mood, and despite telling herself to be grateful that she had a job, that she could, in theory, be out of work or still working in The Royal Oak, it didn’t do any good. She was exhausted.