Charlotte Bennardo - Blonde Ops A Novel

“The schoolgirl look only works in Japan,” he said—in American English.

“I’m—” I started.

He rolled his eyes heavenward. “Bec Jackson. Also known as my latest headache.”

Hey! I was a compatriot!

But he stalked off, stopping a short distance away, then turned and huffed. “Stop gawking. I don’t like to be kept waiting. Come on!”

If I apologized nicely, would Dean Harding take me back?

Not a chance.

I hurried after him to a back room where he pointed to a dusty corner.

“Put your stuff there. Trust me, no one will touch it,” he said.

I wondered how he was so sure, but instead I asked, “And you are…?” I wanted to know who I was dealing with.

“Kevin Clayton, managing editor. Now, as the newest intern ,” he said as if saying the word left a bad taste in his mouth, “your job is to tend to the models. They want water? You get it. They need a neck massage, you do it with a smile. You deny them carbs, no matter how much they beg—it makes them look bloated in pictures. But do it nicely, and make sure they eat something. They need to be kept happy and focused—if they aren’t, no one around here will be happy or focused. Got it?”

I held up a hand.

Whoa.

Wait a minute.

“Intern? I think there’s been a mistake. I’m staying with Parker—uh, I mean, Ms. Phillips. She’s expecting me.”

“Parker delegated you to me,” he snapped, killing any hope of a reprieve. “You’ll see her later.”

I blew up my frazzled pink bangs so he’d see how annoyed I was. “I just got off a plane. Where’s the bathroom? And I need something to eat.”

“Bathroom.” He threw a hand over his shoulder, indicating a room behind him. Then looking at me as if lunch was something I should reconsider, “The caterer was here earlier. There might be some fruit left in the kitchen downstairs which you can look into after I’m done with you.”

As soon as I got out of the bathroom he crooked a finger at me. “Let’s go.”

I followed him, hoping I didn’t pass out from hunger or dehydration.

“I’ll introduce you to everyone,” he said, as if he didn’t relish the task. “Unfortunately Parker couldn’t bring everyone over from New York. Titles don’t matter here, so everyone pitches in where it’s needed.” He paused at the open door of the room where my not-so-fun encounter with Gianni the White had taken place.

“First rule, never interrupt a shoot, for anything, not even lunch. The models are expensive, and they get paid by the hour, so every second counts. I heard you already met Gianni,” he said, tilting his head at the designer, who was back on his throne. “Don’t even speak to him unless he asks you a question or tells you to do something. The photographer is Angelo, his assistant is Aldo. Ugi does makeup, Joe does hair. Serena is the executive editor, has first say on styling the photo shoots. I handle the details of everything else.

“That’s Taliah.” He pointed to skyscraper-girl from the photo shoot I almost ruined, now twirling around in a slinky fuchsia dress. I could see her skeleton poking through. Kevin’s fingers grabbed my shoulder and he swung me around to face several doors across the hall. “That office is Parker’s.”

The one with the nameplate that says “Parker Phillips”? Thanks for the info.

“The one to the left belongs to Serena and me. There’s the bathroom, and then the wardrobe and changing rooms. That last small door is a storage room.” He walked over to the balcony and leaned over, pointing. “Francesca is our receptionist. Toward the back is the kitchen, to the left is the common area where we edit copy and photos, write and fact check articles, do research and administrative work. It’s not a big place and there aren’t too many people. Even you won’t get lost.”

“You mean like you did when we first got here and Serena sent you to look for the extra binder clips?” said a female voice, softly sweet.

I turned around to find myself face-to-face with a pretty girl—red hair, creamy porcelain skin, and green eyes. She smiled. “We never have enough binder clips. Seems the models get thinner every season.” She held out her hand. “I’m Sophie.”

Kevin looked like he was fighting being annoyed and amused. “Show her how to work the espresso machine. She’ll be using it. A lot.” With a final dark look at me, he turned and left.

He so needed to chill.

“Don’t mind Kevin. He’s a little high-strung, but he’s not so bad once you get used to him,” Sophie said when we were safely out of earshot.

I didn’t plan on being here long enough to get used to him or anyone else. I followed her down into the kitchen. Thankfully there was a lot more than fruit. A large tray of sliced meats and cheeses rested on the counter, along with a basket of biscotti next to the monster espresso machine. I filled a plate while she worked.

“Cappuccino?” Sophie asked, filling one of the filters with ground espresso. The rich smell of ultra-strong coffee snapped me awake. I could use a gallon of the stuff, I could feel jet lag settling in.

Nodding, I said, “I’m Bec, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you. I hear you’re staying with Parker.” She snapped the filter into place and switched on the machine. “And that you’ll be interning here.”

“That’s a surprise to me,” I said.

She raised pale brows at me as she tipped two small porcelain cups under the spout to catch the steaming espresso. “You didn’t know you were interning?”

“Not exactly.”

She pressed her lips together into a sympathetic smile. “Well, it’s not so bad. I’m an intern too. I help Parker with the copyediting. She runs a tight ship, but she’s fair. I think you’ll like it here.”

Francesca poked her perfect face into the tiny kitchen.

“Make me a cappuccino. I was out all night and I’m so tired,” she said, then looked over her shoulder. “I’d do it myself but … I have to stay at the desk.” And then she was gone.

“Like the models, Francesca can’t figure out how to use this thing, but she can work every free app and game on her cell phone.” Sophie made a face in the direction of the front desk. “Poor thing has to stay up front—unless Angelo is screaming for a model who’s late. Then she offers to ‘fill in.’” Sophie struck a model pose and blew a kiss. “She’s a little unfulfilled as a receptionist.”

I giggled and Sophie joined me.

“I can tell we’re going to be friends,” she said.

Sophie spooned a thick dollop of frothy milk onto the top of each cup before handing me one and sipping from the other. For the first time since Dean Harding called me into his office, I started to relax. It felt good not to be alone.

“Where are you from?” I asked, taking a sip.

“Boston. I’m in Italy for a semester and staying with a host family not too far from here. What about you? What’s your deal?”

The truth? I got kicked out of school and Mom banished me here because she knows Parker .

“My mom and Parker went to college together. She had a long business trip and couldn’t take me along. Dad’s traveling too.” There. The truth, but only the part she needed to know.

She eyed my whistle, dangling outside my shirt.“That’s an interesting accessory. What is it?”

“A Cap’n Crunch whistle.”

“You mean you got it out of a cereal box?”

“Not exactly. It’s kind of like … an antique.”

She squinted at it like she was trying to understand. “Does it work?”

“Sure,” I said, and picking it up, blew a blast on it. A few people turned around. “Sorry!” I said. “But that’s not what it’s for.” How to explain … “Okay, so the frequency of this whistle was the exact same frequency the phone company used to route calls before everything went digital. If you blew the whistle into the phone when you dialed the operator, you became the operator.”