Unsticky (61 page)
Authors: Sarah Manning
Grace wanted to howl in outrage. She knew lots of dry art facts about Tracey Emin and could probably recite the names of at least ten of her works off the top of her head if she wanted to. She was in the middle of firing off a furious email to Alex telling him that, when her inbox pinged with a message from Kiki demanding her presence.
‘Ah, it’s our newly minted fashion editor,’ Kiki said as Grace appeared in her doorway. ‘It’s funny, but I don’t remember promoting you.’
‘Yeah, well, I didn’t know anything about that until I read it just now. And it was full of inaccuracies because I don’t even—’
‘So you’ve heard about Posy too, I take it?’ Kiki looked as if she was plotting a world of pain for her former junior fashion editor. ‘She couldn’t even pronounce Givenchy properly when she first got here.’
Grace’s pronunciation skills had always been first rate, but she wasn’t sure if this was the right time to point that out. Or whether she should enquire politely if Kiki was going to put an ad for a junior fashion editor in Monday’s
Guardian
, unless she had a strong internal candidate in mind. ‘Did you see the Barcelona pictures?’ she asked eventually, inwardly bracing herself for the inevitable invective.
Guardian
, unless she had a strong internal candidate in mind. ‘Did you see the Barcelona pictures?’ she asked eventually, inwardly bracing herself for the inevitable invective.
‘They were all right.’ Kiki was really off her game to turn down the opportunity Grace had just given her. ‘Neither Nadja nor Alessandro can take a bad picture but Lucie said you were very helpful. Put out a lot of fires. Just like a proper fashion editor.’
It was the single nicest thing Kiki had ever said, and even though the situation was far from ideal, Grace had to seize the next five minutes and hope she survived them without bodily harm. ‘Actually, Kiki, I know Posy’s only just gone but I’d really like to be considered for her job. I’d love the opportunity to—’
‘You know, I had Kia from
ELLE
on the phone not even an hour ago saying exactly the same thing,’ Kiki said brightly. ‘We had a really good chat; she had some very interesting ideas about our High Street coverage.’ She turned her attention back to Grace who was trying very hard not to look too pissed off. ‘I expect you to pick up the slack with Posy gone.’
ELLE
on the phone not even an hour ago saying exactly the same thing,’ Kiki said brightly. ‘We had a really good chat; she had some very interesting ideas about our High Street coverage.’ She turned her attention back to Grace who was trying very hard not to look too pissed off. ‘I expect you to pick up the slack with Posy gone.’
‘I will, I will.’
‘I need you to set up interviews back-to-back on Thursday at the Soho Hotel.’ Kiki’s smile had never been so malicious. ‘And before you ask, we
are
putting an ad in the
Guardian
because we’re legally required to advertise the job, but I already have a candidate in mind so there’s not much point in applying. I’d really hate for you to waste your time when you have so much on already, Gracie.’
are
putting an ad in the
Guardian
because we’re legally required to advertise the job, but I already have a candidate in mind so there’s not much point in applying. I’d really hate for you to waste your time when you have so much on already, Gracie.’
‘Fine,’ Grace said, although she didn’t sound at all fine, but she wasn’t getting paid for her acting skills.
‘And I want ten ideas for new regular pages on my desk first thing tomorrow.’ Kiki could never just quit while she was ahead, she had to stick around and twist the knife in a different direction. ‘With some of those darling little illustrations you do.’
So she could show them to Posy’s successor and they could have a good laugh before the new Posy completely ripped them off and pretended that they’d been her ideas all along, which was what the old Posy had done too.
It was a point of pride to produce ten ideas, complete with illustrations and tear sheets, and have them on Kiki’s desk the next morning.
Vaughn was meant to be watching some turgid documentary on emerging Japanese underground artists, but it was in Japanese so he was more interested in watching Grace pull out her fibre-tip pens and start drawing a picture of a snooty girl walking an even snootier dog.
‘Have you been holding out on me all this time, Grace?’ he drawled, leaning over her shoulder to watch, which was distracting and very, very annoying. ‘What would you say your influence is?’
Grace’s influence was the stylised drawings on vintage sewing patterns, but she wasn’t telling him that. ‘Don’t make fun of me,’ she said shortly.
‘But I’m
this
close to giving you your own exhibition,’ Vaughn laughed. ‘Seriously, you have a nice sense of whimsy and a good line.’
this
close to giving you your own exhibition,’ Vaughn laughed. ‘Seriously, you have a nice sense of whimsy and a good line.’
‘I only got a B for my Art A-level so my line can’t be that good.’
Vaughn ruffled Grace’s hair, even though she was always telling him not to. ‘You’re very touchy tonight,’ he murmured, kissing the side of her neck. Grace squirmed away, because there was one patch approximately three millimetres below her left ear that was so erogenous it made her want to crawl into Vaughn’s lap and demand he fuck her right there and then. But if Kiki wanted these ideas on her desk, she was going to have them, and devoid of bodily fluids too.
‘Is this business at work really bothering you?’ Vaughn asked.
‘Mostly, but that piece in the
Mail
didn’t fill me with warm fuzzies either. I don’t know why they quoted Alex, like he’s an authority on me, and he made out that I was some empty-headed bimbo.’
didn’t fill me with warm fuzzies either. I don’t know why they quoted Alex, like he’s an authority on me, and he made out that I was some empty-headed bimbo.’
‘Poor Grace,’ said Vaughn, as he stroked the back of her neck. ‘If it would make you happy, I’m sure I could find some Russian mafia types who’d break his legs.’
Although she’d have sworn it wasn’t possible, Grace giggled. ‘No, you wouldn’t.’
‘Of course I would - just say the word. Really, Grace, Alex is just a vindictive little shit who can’t resist stirring up trouble to take his mind off his own inadequacies, which are legion.’ Vaughn could do a character assassination like no one else. ‘Now, let’s talk through your Kiki problem. Calmly and rationally,’ he added, as Grace threw down her fibre-tip in a fit of pique.
‘She could at least let me interview for the job,’ Grace said, almost calmly and rationally. ‘Even though it’s a done deal. I thought I was getting on really well with her, or better anyway, and then she goes and pulls a stunt like this. It’s just really unfair.’
‘There are always other options,’ Vaughn commented, turning Grace round so he could start kneading at her shoulders with his thumbs. He had an innate talent for back-rubs. ‘I was reading in the
Financial Times
that sales of sewing machines are up by fifty per cent. You could open a shop that sells yarn and fabric or those odd things you put on the end of your knitting needles.’
Financial Times
that sales of sewing machines are up by fifty per cent. You could open a shop that sells yarn and fabric or those odd things you put on the end of your knitting needles.’
For one second, Grace saw the name
Graceland
in a swirling apple-green cursive on black outside her very own shop. Then reality sank in. ‘Yeah, but who’d give me the money to run amok sourcing hard-to-find Liberty prints?’
Graceland
in a swirling apple-green cursive on black outside her very own shop. Then reality sank in. ‘Yeah, but who’d give me the money to run amok sourcing hard-to-find Liberty prints?’
‘Well, I would, of course.’ Vaughn sounded surprised that she even had to ask. ‘It’s something to think about anyway.’ His hands were kneading a particularly stubborn knot of tension on her left side so Grace couldn’t twist around and look at his face to see if he was teasing.
‘Do you really think I could be trusted with a business plan and a company chequebook?’ Grace asked lightly, as if Vaughn had meant it as a joke and she was taking it in the spirit he’d intended.
‘Well, there’d be people who’d look after that side of things for you,’ Vaughn said very carefully, then he dug his thumb right under Grace’s shoulderblade so she yelped. ‘Like I said, it’s just an idea. You don’t seem particularly happy at work - or you don’t today. Though tomorrow you’ll probably be ecstatic about it.’
‘The bits of my job that I like, I really like - and then there are the other bits that suck.’ Grace leaned back against Vaughn’s chest because her tension knots were now gone and she was halfway to gloop. ‘I know I’m shallow, but I really think my life’s vocation is dressing models in pretty clothes. It was probably because my grandmother made me give my Barbies to Oxfam because she said they encouraged antiquated gender roles.’
‘Really? Your grandmother struck me as a woman who had no time for feminism.’
‘She might bake a mean sponge cake but my gran’s a firm believer in equal opportunities and being self-sufficient.’ Grace pulled a face. ‘The only time I ever saw her cry was when I failed my Latin GCSE and she realised that I wasn’t going to be a lawyer.’
Vaughn laughed so hard at this that Grace felt a little miffed. She would have made a terrible lawyer who’d have constantly bitched about the wig ruining her hair and cried if she got a difficult judge, but Vaughn didn’t have to find it quite so funny.
‘It’s really odd,’ he said. ‘I can’t actually see your face, but I know you’re pouting.’
Grace tried to rein in her lower lip as she struggled into a sitting position and picked up her sketchpad. ‘I’m not pouting,’ she denied. ‘Go back to your boring Japanese documentary and stop disturbing me. I’ve still got eight more illustrations to do.’
Eventually, Vaughn went up to bed muttering about Grace’s work ethic and left her hunched over her pad, ignoring the cramp in her right hand as she drew a troupe of Esther Williams-style bathing beauties. She didn’t finish until two in the morning and it seemed that she’d only just crawled into bed and wrapped her cold, aching limbs around Vaughn, who was always toasty warm, when he was shaking her awake and telling her that she had half an hour before the car arrived.
Kiki didn’t even look up when Grace placed the ideas on her desk and hurried out of her office because she couldn’t bear to glance behind her to see her boss chucking the folder in the bin.
‘Love the ensemble, Gracie,’ Kiki cooed as Grace let the door accidentally hit her in the arse on the way out. ‘Though I think head-to-toe black makes you look very pasty.’
Grace was in the cupboard with Lily trying on a different top to see if she could do that season’s burnt orange (it turned out she couldn’t) when Elise, the Editor’s PA, poked her head round the door.
‘Lorna and Kiki want to see you at Soho Hotel in half an hour,’ she announced cheerfully. ‘They’ll be in the private event room. You’d better run along, you don’t want to be late.’
‘Why do they want to see me?’ Grace tried to sound curious rather than panicked.
‘Haven’t a clue,’ Elise said peppily, because she was always full of pep. Grace and Lily suspected that she was either permanently on drugs or had accepted Jesus Christ as her personal lord and saviour.
‘I have an awful feeling that I’m so very sacked,’ Grace said, as she struggled to free herself from a burnt-orange cotton choke-hold.
‘The only time I ever had a meeting with Lorna, it was to tell me off for poor timekeeping,’ Lily reminisced in an extremely aggrieved tone. ‘She threatened to put a warning on my file.’
Grace adjusted the bow on her blouse so it hung at a jauntier angle and turned to Lily with a helpless shrug. ‘Do you think I should put on a really red lipstick to show that I’m a power player?’
Lily carefully surveyed Grace’s raw goods. ‘You haven’t got time to do a base and without it you’ll just be even paler.’ She paused. ‘I’ve got a nice muted rose from Stila you can try, and you can rub my bump for luck.’
chapter thirty-four
‘Ah, so here’s our little Gracie.’ Lorna’s voice came into the room approximately five seconds before she did. She was one of those women who made low maintenance look effortlessly chic. Handsome, rather than beautiful, she emphasised her patrician features with ruthlessly cropped hair and geek girl specs. She also never wore anything other than beautifully cut black trousers and crisp white shirts. ‘I always think that if you have a statement bag and shoes, no one gives a good goddamn what you’re actually wearing,’ she was quoted as saying when she first became the Editor of
Skirt
five years earlier - and the industry collectively wondered if a woman who’d spent most of her career as a serious journalist had the credentials to run a fashion magazine.
Skirt
five years earlier - and the industry collectively wondered if a woman who’d spent most of her career as a serious journalist had the credentials to run a fashion magazine.
Grace’s interaction with Lorna consisted of being treated as if she turned up every day as part of a community outreach programme. ‘Our little Gracie,’ she always cooed when they shared an elevator because Lorna was almost topping six foot and Grace was five foot three and a bona fide dwarf in the Editor’s eyes.
Grace stood up as Lorna and Kiki both came into the room and nervously rubbed the bilious-green stripes on the chair in front of her. ‘No need to look so worried,’ Lorna said, but Grace knew she liked the way Grace became instantly deferential in her presence. ‘I’ve been hearing all about your adventures. You’re mixing in some rarefied circles.’
‘Grace’s nabbed herself a very rich, very well-connected boyfriend,’ Kiki elucidated with glee. ‘It’s all the fashion department talks about.’
‘How very Jane Austen. I hear he’s an art dealer. What did you think of the Turner Prize shortlist last year? I thought it was very uninspired.’
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