Last week I was given an intern as an assistant. Production is coming up and, what with there only being me, Neil and Rick as the only members of staff and with the label rapidly growing, production has been handed over to me to juggle with PR. Holly is pretty with a type of femininity rarely found in this era. She watched me with her grey-blue eyes as I talked her through things. She was in her late twenties, having graduated St. Martins. (I am nineteen with mediocre A-levels and a year long Art foundation diploma.)When I had finished explaining shipping it was almost the end of the day. I asked her if she had any questions. 'Do you ever eat anything?' She asked raising her eyebrows, 'I've been here five days and all I've seen you do is drink constant cups of peppermint tea. The only thing I've seen you eat is a small punnet of strawberries last Friday.' I frowned, this was not a question about production or shipping. I wanted to say; 'Well, Holly. No, I don't really eat that much seeing as my small pay check (very small considering everything I do for this company) is spent on my extortionate rent, because for some reason I have found myself living with two very rich people in an apartment that really is very much too posh for me. Secondly, I don't eat much because I am very neurotic about my weight, I am the fit model for this season and if I get fat the collection is fucked.' But instead I mumbled, 'I eat a huge breakfast and dinner'.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Fuck! I have just come to realize that I have spent ten months in the position of Head of PR for this fashion label sending out Press release emails to all the important PR and magazine editors beginning:
Hello, I hope your well.
Dammit! Why couldn't my godawful school manage to teach me anything. Your. You're. Your. You're. I hate my life!
I wake up early, in Thomas' bed, feeling out of sorts. I get up and dressed then take a few seconds wondering if I should leave a note. I decide against seeing as during our six month relationship he has fought to keep out any progression of intimacy and would surely be happy to wake up and find me gone. It would save him his early morning speech about how fantastically busy he is. Too busy to offer me a cup of tea before suggesting in more or less words that it was time for me to go.
It was only 6.30am but the day was already sunglasses bright but with a biting chill. I reached the tube station, swiped my oyster then began counting the steps as I trailed down the spiral staircase still too scared to try the lift down to the platform that was seemingly in perfect working order everyday. Two hundred and one, two hundred and two, two hundred and three... it really was time I face this lift phobia, it would save me twenty minutes and a lot of unnecessary exercise everyday.
It was seven thirty by the time I got home. Jake and Rosie were still asleep. Of course they were, there's no need for a trustafarian and a socialite to be up before three in the afternoon. Panza, Rosie's teacup chiwauwa, started nipping at my ankles. I looked down at the rat-like creature, wriggling in a custom made tutu, with eyes wild and scared. I went to his dog bowl (pink plastic with mock diamonds) there I found some dried up chocolate cake with some kettle chips sprinkled on top. 'For fuck sake' I said to no one before dumping the contents in the bin and searching for dog food but finding none. I brushed my teeth in the shower then got out to find there were no towels in the cupboard. I jumped up and down to shed some of the water before creeping downstairs and into Rosie's room. I didn't recognize the man lying naked, asleep, next to her with fighting dragons tattooed on his chest, she must be cheating on Christopher again. Her bedroom floor is carpeted in filthy designer dresses and bags, I select an Alexander McQueen dress (the crochet detail hides the cum stains on it) and I step into it. At the last moment I scoop up the rat-dog, pulling off the dumb tutu. Once again I will take him into work to let him frolic in the court yard and feed him some dog food.
I am late meeting Thomas at the Japanese. Pretty oriental paper shades loop from the celling, out from their pinky-red crepe paper pours streaks of unflattering light. I see him at a table and walk to him, he stands to kiss me on the lips then takes a second to survey my outfit. His expression makes me feel nervous, so I sit down. I was wearing high waisted Kenzo shorts with a tucked in white t-shirt. White socks and brogues sat at the bottom of my bare legs and I was suddenly all too aware of the 'schoolgirl' connotation the sock detail added to my outfit. He looked thoughtful, "Do you ever wear your hair in pigtails?" he asked slowly, cautiously. "No" I said in a bored tone, I didn't need another reminder that I am nineteen and he is thirty two. "Would you like me to?" I added in a flirty tone then immediately wanted to take it back, confused as to how it had escaped my mouth in the first place. He smiled the kind of smile that revealed he had a raging hard-on under the table. Thomas surveyed the menu with a frown of concentration, I lifted mine with one hand but didn't pretend to read it. The waiter came over, "order for me?" I looked at Sam. He looked back at me then reeled off our order. The waiter was gone then returned with Saki. I knew that Sam thought I couldn't order because I was too young, inexperienced and uneducated to possibly understand a menu that consisted of more than fish and chips but I was simply feeling indecisive. He reached to hold my hand across the table. I couldn't decide wether I enjoyed this kind gesture or not. I decided that I didn't but remained still. His hands were small and feminine, maybe more so than mine which is bizarre as I used to be a hand model. Sam grilled me about my school life and growing up and I told him everything about the horrific school I attended where I learnt precisely nothing except for how to fist fight and how to break into any house as well as details of the dirtiest sexual acts. I explained the squalor of growing up in lifeless small town with a cockney criminal as my only parent. He sat fascinated and interview me some more. My life was a world away from his upbringing as an Etonian with two parents, lots of love and money and a dog and whatever else. I didn't question his questions, I've always been very willing and very talented when it came to talking about myself.
The sushi arrived white, beige, brown, all the invisible colors. I was hungry and raised my chopsticks. "Now the key with chopsticks" he began in a teacher-y voice. He didn't not look up but sat unsettlingly straight in his chair. He picked up a piece of a california roll as if demonstrating, wait, he WAS demonstrating, how to use chop sticks. "The key is to believe you can use your chop sticks and then you will be able to successfully eat with them." I waited for the joke, he was a funny man. I waited and waited for something ironic, sarcastic or silly to follow but it didn't. I sat horrified. What? what just happened? I asked myself. I could feel my expression straining my face. He was studying our selection of small plates for his next choice and was oblivious to my fury at being so horribly patronized. I raised my hand to my forehead and pushed my palm into my skull to levitate the anger. Somehow it worked and I re-picked up my chop sticks and began eating.
We finish the meal and he pays and I remember why I'm seeing him. We turn the Camden corner to the cinema. He already has the tickets, I do like efficiency, another point in his favor. "We can have ice cream or popcorn." He says this as if he is my Uncle and has taken me on a trip to the toy shop for a treat. "Why don't we just get both?" Without thinking I had blurted out the cliche child's answer. Ignoring my comment (because it was the incorrect answer) he buys ice creams and passes me one. I didn't even want it. I hate eating a huge meal, late at night, then having sex feeling like a whale when i'd rather just sleep. I guess I have to hold up my end of the deal, he is my meal ticket, I am his whore.