Apple's Angst (15 page)

Apple put on the cute blazer and then Michael took them back to the dungeon of the intern office.

“First things first,” Michael said, sitting on a desk. “Code of conduct. When you work at
Angst
you are to act professionally. But when you are outside the offices of
Angst
, including when you are not working—and I mean from the second you walk out of this office—you are to also act professionally. You are not to be seen doing any drugs, running the streets naked, acting in any other way that would embarrass anyone one of us here. Capiche? We don't want a repeat of our last intern.”

“What happened to her?” Apple asked. Because Michael reminded her so much of Guy, she forgot that she hadn't in fact known him for more than twenty minutes. She hoped she hadn't offended him by asking the question. But wasn't Emme dying to know too?

“Let's just say two words, or maybe it's one word. Whatever. Let's just say ‘Rehab,'” Michael said, like he was letting them in on a big secret.

“That's not good,” Apple muttered.

“Trust me, it
wasn't
good. She had a brilliant résumé, amazing design ideas, and could make someone's entire look change just by adding a brooch or a single gold bangle. She was too good at what she did. I think the
stress got to her, though. Or her friends in the fashion world, if you know what I mean.”

Apple didn't know what he meant until he said, “Sniff! Sniff!” Oh, right, drugs.

“She was brilliantly creative, and it was really too bad that one of the editors saw her snorting in the washroom. But that's not going to happen to you guys, right? Neither of you is going to end up in rehab. I just can't take another talented cokehead. I loved the girl. Everyone loved her, because she had the eye. Models, who are notoriously difficult, even loved her. But, alas, her time had to come to an end. We couldn't have someone like that working here. We're role models! Still, I miss her. It's just so disappointing to me when someone has that much talent and blows it.”

“I understand completely,” Emme said. “We're not going to end up in rehab, or at least
I'm
not.” Was Apple being crazy, or was Emme trying to push her out of
Angst
already?

“Absolutely,” added Apple. “I don't do drugs.”

“Good. Now, as for your jobs, Apple, we need your column by Monday. And we need you to start practicing your lines for your
Angst TV
spot next week.”

“This
Monday?” Apple asked.

“Yes, this isn't a monthly high school rag, dear. We're weekly! Are you sure you're up for it?” Michael asked, not unkindly. Why did everyone here keep asking her if she was “up for it”? Apple wondered if she looked like a person who just wasn't “up for it.” She'd have to get Brooklyn to read her aura later. She'd ask Brooklyn if her aura said, “I'm not up for it.”

“Yes, yes. Of course. I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page,” Apple answered.

“Here are the letters for you to answer. We've picked them for you. You answer three of the five. Of course, after you write your answers, they will be looked at by about three editors to make sure we're all on track. And we'll pick one for you to read on television, and you'll have to answer looking into the camera, kind of off the cuff, but I'm sure you're good at speaking from the heart. Or so we saw on that episode. And Nancy said you feel very comfortable in front of the camera,” Michael continued. “Is that right?”

“Yup. I mean, yes. I do,” Apple said. She felt like she should salute him. And, God, when were people going to forget her appearance on her mother's show? Her mother had told her that people had short memories, but it didn't seem that way to Apple. It seemed that everyone still remembered.

“Today, though, we need you to clean this dungeon. All these clothes in piles have to be organized by color, size, and designer. It shouldn't take more than five or six hours,” Michael said.

Apple gulped. Five or six hours? When did they expect her to write the answers for her advice column? And practice for television? And, more important, would Lyon still want to pick her up in
six hours?

“Have fun, guys. Welcome to
Angst
. We have to let you know that you have to work your way up, and what better way to work your way up than from down here?” said Michael, laughing. Obviously it wasn't the first time he had used the joke. Apple at least liked
Michael. Now she just had to work on liking Emme, if that was even possible.

“Did he just say five or six
hours?”
Apple whispered to Emme, trying for a bonding moment. She wasn't sure if Michael was still outside the door, and she certainly didn't want him to hear her complaining.

“What did you expect? This is a
job
. Did you think it would be
fun?”
Emme asked, looking at Apple like she was not the brightest penny in the till. Obviously Apple's attempt at bonding had backfired.

“Well, sometimes, yes!” Apple said. “It sounded like that girl who ended up in rehab actually did some pretty amazing and interesting things here.”

Emme shook her head, looking at Apple as if she lived under a rock.

“You know how many people out there would kill to fold clothes at
Angst?”
Emme asked. “That girl may have been talented, but she royally screwed up. That's not something to be impressed about.”

“I guess,” Apple muttered.

“Well, it's true. So let's start folding,” Emme said.

“I just don't know how I'm going to spend the next five or six hours folding clothes, do this advice column by Monday, and do my schoolwork,” Apple said. She regretted it immediately.

“Oh, poor you. It's hard to work, isn't it?” Emme said. “Not that you probably have had to work a day in your life. And now you'll be a columnist here, which is what I really want to do, and you'll be on television. God knows, because my mother isn't famous, if that will ever happen for me. But I'm going to do everything in
my power to prove that I'm an
Angst
-worthy employee and can do more than just fold clothes. I'm going to work my ass off.”

Apple wanted to punch her. Instead, she breathed in, counted to ten, like Brooklyn always told her to do, and started folding clothes. She doubted any celebrities even knew this room existed. Nope, there was no way she was going meet anyone famous today. She was stuck folding clothes with Emme.

After two hours of Emme not saying one word, Apple actually did wonder if she would have more fun at rehab. She wondered if Emme would drive her to doing drugs. It was possible.

“I
t's ten o'clock,” Lyon moaned, but he didn't sound unfriendly.

“I know. I'm so sorry. That's how long it took to fold three hundred sweaters. I totally understand if you don't want to pick me up. I can call Aunt Hazel. It's not a problem,” Apple said. Apple was trying not to sound annoyed. Yes, it was ten o'clock, but Lyon hadn't had to fold sweaters for the last few hours in complete and uncomfortable silence in a tiny-sized room below ground level with a new “colleague” who refused to talk. If anyone had the right to be in a bad mood, it was Apple.

“No, no. I'll be there in fifteen minutes,” said Lyon. “It's no problem.”

“Really?” Apple asked.

“Really.”

“Okay, I should get off. I'm not sure if talking is allowed here.”

Emme shot her a look as Apple hung up. She grabbed her bag and took off the blazer, hanging it neatly on a rack.

“Well, I guess I'll see you Thursday,” Apple said.

“Guess so,” Emme said.

“Aren't you leaving soon?” Apple asked.

“I'm just going to stick around awhile longer,” Emme said.

Of course she is, thought Apple. She's such a kiss-ass. Apple could see no redeeming qualities in Emme, though she had tried for the last few hours. Aside from her being gorgeous, Apple could not think of anything else complimentary about Emme, except, clearly, that she was so ambitious.

Apple waited outside the offices for Lyon's car to pull up. Her hands were sore and her back was killing her from being hunched over a table. She raised her arms in a stretch, yawning at the same time.

“How was your first day?” a voice called out, walking past her toward the entrance of the building. It was Fancy Nancy, looking like she had just come back from a week at a spa. Apple hoped that Fancy Nancy hadn't seen her yawn. That would look bad.

“It was great,” Apple said, trying to sound excited. “Just waiting to get picked up. Are you leaving now too?”

“Oh, God, no. It's only ten. I'll be lucky to get out of here by midnight. I had a dinner meeting and I'm just getting back. Is Emme still here? Did she have a good day?”

Apple couldn't lie. She wasn't cruel.

“Actually, she's still downstairs working,” Apple admitted.

“Hmm, good for her,” Nancy said. “I'm impressed. See you later, Apple. And say hi to your mother for me. We can't wait to do that feature. Full interview with your family and a lot of photos. It's all set up for next week. Next week is going to be busy for us, isn't it?”

“I know. I'm ready,” said Apple, again trying to sound upbeat. “By the way, you look stunning.”

The compliment sounded strange coming from Apple. Fancy Nancy did look stunning, but Apple wondered if she came across as sucking up. Maybe Emme had already started to rub off on her, as if sucking up were contagious.

“Ta-ta,” Fancy Nancy said as she walked into the building, seeming not to hear Apple's compliment. Apple wondered if she was going up to work or to work out. She figured working out was part of Nancy's job. She had to look good when meeting celebrities, to look like one herself. Apple decided that Fancy Nancy was going to work out and then work, and probably wouldn't be home till long after Apple had fallen asleep.

One minute later, Lyon's car pulled up.

“I want to quit,” Apple said as soon as she got in.

“What? No kiss first?” he asked flirtatiously.

Apple gave him a peck on the cheek.

“That's all I get?” he said, smiling. “I want a better one.”

Though she didn't feel like kissing Lyon—she was too annoyed and tired—Apple leaned over and kissed him again.

“I want to quit,” she repeated.

“It couldn't have been that bad,” Lyon said.

“Yes, it could. And it was. I was two minutes late, and that, apparently, is akin to murdering someone. And Emme? Oh my God. She hates me. She thinks that just because Dr. Bee Bee Berg is my mother, I don't deserve to be there. And she knew everybody's background. She studied them! And the stylist thought she was dressed perfectly, but I wasn't. Then I spent hours folding and organizing clothes next to Emme, who didn't say one word except to tell me when something wasn't folded perfectly. And she's still there! She's making me look bad already. Not to mention all the homework I have to do, plus getting my advice column in by Monday. And it has to be good! This was a huge mistake. It's too much,” Apple said, feeling both self-pity and self-loathing.

“Don't be so hard on yourself. You'll be fine. You'll get it all done. It takes a while to fit in somewhere new,” Lyon said supportively. “It was just your first day. It's going to get easier.”

“Easy for you to say,” Apple huffed. She was mortified by how cruel she sounded, especially since Lyon had gone out of his way to come pick her up and was trying to give her a pep talk.

“Hey! I'm on your side, remember?” he said, eyeing her questioningly.

“I know. I'm sorry. I'm just feeling a little stressed,” Apple responded tensely. “I shouldn't be taking it out on you. I'm sorry.”

“Don't worry. It will get easier—it always does. You'll see.”

Apple gave him a small smile. He was trying.

“Well, I guess there are a couple of cool people who work there,” she said. “Like this guy Michael, who's kind of my boss, and Morgan, the receptionist. They seem really cool.”

They sat in a comfortable silence until Lyon drove up into her driveway and pulled her in for a kiss. She kissed him back, even though she found her mind wondering to her unfinished homework.

“I should really go. It's late and I have three chapters of history to get through,” she said, pulling back after what she thought was a passable amount of kissing time not to hurt his feelings.

“Don't go in just yet. I miss you!” Lyon said, rubbing her neck.

“I'm right here,” said Apple. “But I really should go in and get started. I'm so tired.”

“You know what I mean,” Lyon said, pulling on one of her ringlets. “I love your hair. I think I may even be in—”

Before Lyon could finish his sentence, there was a loud, frantic knocking on the car window. Apple and Lyon both jumped.