What came next was an Academy Awards–style montage of burgeoning romance, complete with Central Park smooches, sunsets by Chelsea Piers, and hand-holding down little winding streets. Matt would pick me up from Skirt, where I was still busting my hump working late, but his cute perch in the lobby made it all worth it. Within ten days, I felt like he was my full-out boyfriend! He started spending the night in our apartment every night, and while I hadn’t given up the V-card, I knew he was the one I’d sleep with first. Definitely by summer’s end.
During my CeCe servitude, my only bright moments were times plopped in Richard’s office or when James and I would have the occasional chat in the hall. He was always so sweet, but not like Matt, who was so demonstratively attentive and, unlike James, clearly into me. Meanwhile, in my cinematic whirlwind, I oddly found that I didn’t quite have everyone’s approval on the new amore. Gabe, naturally, was as over the moon and was living vicariously through every kiss or inhalation of the fragrant flowers Matt brought me almost every day. He’d gush about how hot Matt was, how charming, how perfect. Teagan, however, was far less effusive.
“Are you, like, not into Matt?” I boldly asked one morning after Gabe gushed and she sat silent.
A shrug was her response. “He’s okay, I guess.”
Huh? Just okay? He was a prince! A chivalrous gent of yesteryear!
“Why aren’t you into him?” I asked casually, trying to tone down my defensiveness.
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I mean, he’s perfect. On paper,” she said, cautiously. “But something about him seems a shade…” her voice trailed off.
“A shade what?” I probed.
“A shade shady.”
Matt? Jealous, much? “I don’t see it,” I replied flippantly, and grabbed my bag to leave for work.
As I waited for them in the lobby, I just knew Teagan and Gabe were still in the kitchen talking about me, but I didn’t really care. Sometimes I thought Teagan had to ruin everyone else’s happiness. I mean, she almost seemed to gloat that she was right about Daphne getting the internship, and now she was probably just so envious that Matt went for me that she’d search for any excuse to hate him.
“Kira, no offense, okay?” said Teagan when she and Gabe emerged downstairs.
“Whatever, Teagan,” I said, not looking at her. I pushed open the front door.
“Snippy!” Teagan muttered behind me.
I didn’t even humor her with a response and refused to talk to her the entire subway ride. She didn’t exactly try to talk to me, either. Gabe nervously maintained a monologue about celebrity gossip and other vapid topics the entire way to break the ice.
When we got to Skirt, the staff was gathering in the conference room for their weekly meeting. Alida had requested that the interns come to the first five minutes for some important announcement, and then we were to make ourselves scarce.
I sat down in the back corner, and James quickly slid into the seat next to me.
Although I was in the throes of my affair with Matt, I had to admit that I still kind of felt something for James. It had been sweet of him to defend me to Daphne that day—more than sweet. Sexy. Hot. Confident. But now that I was with Matt, I really wanted to move away from viewing him as a potential love interest, which he obviously was not, and try to view him as just a friendly colleague.
“Hey, Kira!” he whispered as Alida walked up to the head of the table. “Would you want to come with me to this Hockney lecture at the Whitney tonight? I have an extra ticket—”
I started to flush with excitement until I remembered Matt.
“Oh, thanks, James,” I responded. “I can’t. I have—I’m busy, actually. But thanks, anyway. I love Hockney.” It sounded like a cool event, but Matt was going to take me out to Klimt, a new Austrian restaurant in Tribeca.
“Oh. Okay. Another time, then,” he said.
“Okay, people, simmer,” ordered Alida. “So, as some of you know, Genevieve, aside from being editor in chief, also works tirelessly for the Fashion and Design Institute at the Manhattan Museum of Art, and their annual ball—which is the party of the year—is on Friday. Mr. Hughes has generously taken an extra table this year and so we are inviting the interns to attend.”
“Provided that you all work through the cocktail hour checking people in,” added Genevieve. She was a woman of few words, but whatever she tersely said had a strong effect.
Even though we had to work, there were gasps of delight from all of us. This event was profiled not only in every magazine—Hughes-owned or not—but also on television channels and newspapers around the world. It was attended by Hollywood stars, top fashion designers, and other luminaries who wanted to see and be seen.
“In addition,” Alida added, “you are each allowed to bring one guest.” Squeals of delight. I hoped Matt would be free.
The rest of the day was nonstop craziness as I finished my travails for CeCe, helped Richard with his files, and popped by Alida’s office to see if she needed anything. Her intern had left already (at the stroke of five, natch), so she took me up on my offer to be of assistance. I knew Matt wasn’t picking me up at home until eight o’clock, so I had plenty of time.
“So Kira,” Alida asked as I sorted new threads, Polaroiding them and placing them in fall shoot files while she answered e-mails, “tell me, do you see yourself working in magazines?”
“Oh yes,” I gushed. “I love it here. I mean, granted, I’m total Xerox girl, but I feel like I am soaking up so much.”
“And what if you were ever an editor…” she looked at me curiously. “What would you do? What would you want to add?”
“Me?” I was surprised she’d even care what a lowly worker bee like moi would ever think. As much as I thought Alida and I connected, I still felt like a mannequin with hands for snapping Polaroids, not a thinking human.
“Well, I’d do a lot,” I started cautiously as she looked at me. “I would really sharpen the tone of the writing, give it that voice—it used to be snarkier, you know, kind of witty, tight, funny. Um…I’d overhaul some of the graphics, make them bolder, darker, edgier. Maybe experiment with more vintage looks like Warholian silkscreen images, chunky lettering, collages, things that lend energy. You know, that make every page pop. I like to turn the page and have everything be eye-catching and bold,” I finished, thinking maybe I’d ranted too much. I was letting my imaginary corner office eclipse reality.
“Interesting,” she said with a smile. “Good to know.”
“I’m really excited for the big FDI event,” I said, revved up. “I’m bringing this new guy I met recently.”
“Oh really?” Alida asked with Richard-style taunting. “Can’t wait to meet him!”
“I’m actually meeting him for dinner tonight—” I said, checking out the clock. It was still only seven.
“Go, go, go!” Alida said. “A gal’s gotta primp. I’ll take over and see you tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. I didn’t want to leave her with more work.
“Totally,” she said sternly. “Have a blast.”
At the elevator, I found James waiting as well. “Hi, what time’s your lecture?” I asked.
“In about twenty minutes. I’m just going to hop on the bus. Hopefully there will be one.”
“I’m sad to miss it,” I said as we boarded the surprisingly empty elevator. James got on and pressed the button, brushing against me ever so slightly.
He looked at me carefully. “What, you got a hot date?”
I couldn’t decipher his tone. It was even, but not without emotion.
“Actually, yes,” I said, turning a little red despite myself.
James’s eyebrows shot up and his mouth tightened. “Really?”
“Yup,” I said weakly. It was weird to talk to James about this. I felt…like I was cheating on him? No, that was dumb. I was sort of embarrassed. I didn’t know why. I liked Matt, and I was into him, but for some odd reason I felt like I was betraying James a bit. Which was insane! We had only had a relationship in my mind.
“I’m jealous,” said James.
“What?” I sputtered. “You are?”
James looked straight into my eyes as I felt my knees grow weak. It was definitely a moment, and I thought he would say something, but then the elevator stopped and a woman got on, ruining everything. He watched the woman furiously press the lobby button three times, and then he turned back to me with a smile.
“Of course,” he said, now playful. “I want to make sure my friends are going out with nice guys. You’ll have to bring him around so I can grill him.”
“Oh, okay,” I said.
The moment was broken. When we parted ways, I felt a weird dizzy strangeness, wondering if that really happened or if I was just making it up. But I put it out of my mind as I raced home to primp.
As soon as I got to the apartment, I dove into the shower. Shoot. Fifteen minutes to dry my hair, pick out a killer outfit, and put on makeup. After a racing whirlwind to get ready, I’d pulled it off. It was 8:05. Then 8:15. Then 8:30. Where was Matt? Finally, at 9:15, Teagan and Gabe came home from shooting pool at a hall in the East Village.
“Whatcha doin’ here, girl?” Gabe asked, looking at my gussied-up self, all dressed with no place to go.
“Matt didn’t come or call,” I lamented. “I’m really bummed.”
“Kira,” began Teagan.
“You know what, Teagan? Your thoughts about Matt are really not helpful,” I said. Why did she have it out for Matt? No need for lemon juice in my emotional paper cut.
“Okay, sorry, I won’t give you my two cents,” said Teagan, heading off to her room.
“Thanks,” I said. I didn’t need her two cents if they made me feel like one cent.
“Don’t worry, honey, he must’ve got laid up. A mellow night in will do you some good,” said Gabe, hugging me.
By eleven, I was in pj’s, face washed, still bewildered, when my cell rang. It was Matt, apologizing profusely. He’d bumped into an old friend from Holt Academy and then he tried to call me but his phone battery died, and he was incredibly sorry but wanted to make it up to me. After being so excited and then so let down, I was at least happy to know he was (a) alive and (b) still into me, so I brushed off my annoyance and asked him to come to the FDI event with me.
“But you have to show up on time to the event, Matt,” I said. “It’s part of my job.”
“Don’t worry, Kira, I’ll be there,” he promised. “Sleep tight.”