Jane popped by CeCe’s office as my boss was taking Polaroids of a sad-looking Estonian who was perched on the window-side stool like a scared crane.
“Just get a whole new mouth full of choppers and we’ll see. You have potential,” mused CeCe aloud as she handed me the girl’s card for her wall of “maybes.” “We just have to get a great color job ’cause your hair couldn’t be more mousy. And you need a facial like an orchid needs water. Speaking of which, start drinking fifteen glasses a day now.”
“Hi, CeCe!” said Jane from the doorway. “Can I steal Kira away for some eats?” Her voice was loaded with charm and she batted her eyelashes as if asking Daddy for the keys to the Rolls.
CeCe had been looking at me through a new lens lately. She could see that I had been slowly absorbed into Daphne Hughes’s gang and therefore went easier on me than she usually did. “Sure! Take her,” she said as if she were handing off a used Kleenex for disposal.
I followed Jane out to the elevator landing where Daphne and Cecilia were waiting.
“Hey, Keerster,” Daphne said, looking me over. “I’m loving that kilt. It’s all about tartan for this fall, you know,” she pronounced. “Oh! And Jamesie said he saw you last weekend! So funny you guys were both like slumming it! Hilarious.” But the way she said hilarious sounded like the news of our run-in was anything but.
“Guys, sorry, but I don’t think I can go to lunch,” I said. I was annoyed that Jane had dragged me out of CeCe’s office. I mean, yes, CeCe sucked, but I had work to do, and while I did want to be friends with Daphne and co., I didn’t want to be considered a “Trumpette.” I was worried that all of this time away from the office could not look good.
Daphne’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I just…I promised Richard I’d help him sort through the new Sergio Rossi shoes that just came in, and Alida asked me to help her with her Baby Heiress shoot.”
Daphne’s nostrils flared ever so slightly. “Alida asked you to help her on that?” Her voice was tight.
“Yeah,” I said.
Daphne stopped and flipped her hair. “Interesting. Are you going to the shoot?”
“I don’t know.” What was going on?
“Is that the one Orlando Bloom will be at?” Jane asked Daphne.
“Yes,” said Cecilia.
Daphne was studying me carefully in silence.
“Is there a problem?” I asked.
“Why would you think there’s a problem?” asked Daphne, her voice sarcastic.
“Okay…”
“Look, if you don’t want to go to lunch with us, just say you don’t want to go to lunch with us,” said Daphne.
I felt suddenly nervous, and I hated that. Why was Daphne all pissed off? Did she want to go on the shoot?
“It’s not that. I just have work to do,” I said.
“Kira, I own the magazine. If I want my friend to go to lunch with me, then there are no questions asked.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. She was acting so strange. Cecilia and Jane stared at me, unsure of what to do.
Just then, Alida walked by. Daphne turned to her with a grim smile.
“Alida, do you mind if Kira takes a lunch break?” she asked in a fake sweet voice.
“Um, no, of course,” said Alida, giving me a strange look as she walked away.
“See?” said Daphne.
“Come,” said Jane finally, but in a meek voice.
Cecilia nodded.
“Fine,” I said.
“Great,” said Daphne, walking ahead. “I want to go to Lever House.”
I didn’t want to go. And I felt torn the entire time we walked to the restaurant, knowing it was against my better judgment to do so. Jane and Cecilia seemed clueless, chattering on the entire time about some hot guy they had met at their beach club and wondering how much money he was worth. Daphne barely said a word, and I could only imagine what was going on in that mind of hers. I figured her out all right—she was just as manipulative as I’d originally suspected. Clearly the fact that I was being involved in such high-profile projects was a threat to her. And what was up with that comment about James? Was she jealous? It seemed strange to think it, but I now felt like I had confirmation that Daphne had befriended me so that I would not work as hard. And she was trying in her own little way to take me down.
When we got to the café (another fifty-bucks-a-head joint) they all ordered their usual piles of leaves.
“You guys know Madeline Cobb, right? She has serious ka-ching: G-5, manse in Montauk, thirty-room triplex on Fifth, sick house in Aspen, ski-in, ski-out,” marveled Jane. “You know, her family invented the Cobb salad.”
I was fed up with this inane chatter and finally spoke up.
“But it’s not like they get royalties every time someone orders a Cobb salad,” I thought aloud.
The three girls considered this fact and shrugged. It was kinda weird how someone with billions herself would sit and count other people’s money. I guess the rich want to know their peers.
Daphne remained unusually quiet through the rest of the lunch, while Cecilia and Jane continued to gossip now about which heiress’s dad was banging the secretary and who had a prenup. All the while I looked at my watch. As we got up to leave, my heart rate started to spike as I realized that I had just wasted a good hour and a half on this stupid lunch. A lunch with girls I was starting to intensely dislike.