Getting Even (17 page)

“I'm sure if you had a problem with her—”

“You'd renege on the job offer?” Ivy snorted. “Orianna, sweetie, that's hardly your style.” Orianna looked even more uncomfortable, but Ivy was keen to make her squirm. “When does she start?”

“Monday.”

“Monday!”

“Yes.”

“Hardly much time to hook up beforehand, is there?”

By now Orianna was scarlet.

“Don't worry,” said Ivy, knowing Orianna would, a lot. “I'm sure if you like her…”

“That's what I thought.”

“I guess we often chose the same candidates at interviews before.”

“Precisely.” Orianna sounded relieved.

“And I trust your judgement.”

“Thank you.” Orianna clarified, “And you do know that I'll still be teaming up with you too?”

“Indeed.” I won't hold my breath, thought Ivy. How much work did Neil ever do with a writer? But she merely smiled. “I'm looking forward to it.”

Orianna beamed back. “Me too,” she said, and resumed her packing.

Ivy sat watching her lift the boxes onto the trolley.

Eventually … “Phew.” Orianna sighed, exhausted. “I better get one of the guys to help me wheel this through.”

“Don't want to hurt yourself.” Ivy pictured Orianna tumbling, headlong.

“No.” Orianna puffed and lifted the last box with a grimace. “So you'll see Cassie's taken care of?”

“Nothing would please me more.”

“I knew I could rely on you. Well, best get on.” And with a squeak of straining wheels, Orianna was off to her new room.

Ivy sat glowering at the empty desk in front of her. Its laminated surface bore traces of Orianna's presence—years of marker stains, scalpel-knife scratches, coffee-cup rings. Beneath where her computer had been, an unsavory collection of dust, crumbs, and used staples now lay exposed.

So, she'd been left again, deserted. Just like Cherie deserted Trixie … And from where she was sitting, Ivy could already see Orianna unpacking, happily lining books along the shelves Neil had cleared for her, playfully color coordinating the spines.

While I'm being made to work with some
junior
, crammed in the same cubby hole I've put up with for years, she seethed. Just look! Orianna's got
four
shelves, where I've got one—a shelf I'm to share with some bimbo. Orianna's got a big, wooden desk with a return; I've barely room for a sheet of A4 alongside my keyboard. Orianna's got a large, comfy, leather chair with armrests and a high back; I've got this old swivel thing more suited to a typist. And Orianna's got a shiny new speakerphone with a direct line and lots of buttons; I've got this grimy extension with mangled wires.

Wherever Ivy turned, echoes of the past reverberated around her. It was the story of her adolescence, all over again.

 

18. The green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on

To:
Everyone

From:
Orianna Bianchi

Date:
Monday, July 1, 8:41

Subj:
New recruits

As most of you already know, today is my first official day as creative director. You will now find me permanently based in Neil's old office at extension 450.

Although in the long run I may well make changes to the department, I don't intend to implement any dramatic alterations yet. I plan to get settled before looking at the way we operate.

I would like to say, however, that from the start I wish to foster an atmosphere of openness and trust. I want anyone—and I do mean anyone—to feel they can come and talk to me about work. If my door is open and you want a quick chat, please pop in and share. If you've something lengthier to discuss, I still want to hear about it, so e-mail me and we'll sort a time out.

Finally, I'd also like to take this opportunity to announce that a new member of staff is joining us today. Cassie Goldworthy is an art director and she'll be sitting opposite Ivy, at my old extension, 457. I'll be bringing her around to introduce her to all of you, so please make her feel welcome.

Orianna

She'd just pressed
Send
when Philly called to announce Cassie was in reception.

She's early, a good sign, Orianna noted, and she headed down to meet her. She bounded out of the elevator, into reception, and held out her hands in welcome.

“Hi, Cassie!”

As Cassie got to her feet and warmly took Orianna's hands in hers, Orianna was struck by how incredibly pretty she was.

*   *   *

Later that day, Ivy was sitting at her desk, once again focused on the space in front of her, glowering. The only difference was Cassie was opposite, and Ivy had shifted her computer screen so she could send negative vibes without being seen.

I loathe her, she thought.

Of course she'd been sweet as pie when Orianna had introduced Cassie, purring that she remembered her. But underneath the sugary smile Ivy had been glowering then, and she was glowering now.

It wasn't merely that Ivy had disliked Cassie's youth, appearance, and manner from the start; it was that she promised to be an ever-present reminder of the widening gulf between herself and Orianna.

Worse, Cassie seemed to attract men like bees to a honeypot. Although Orianna had hauled Cassie around the agency on the customary round of introductions that morning, it seemed this had only whetted the appetites of the male population of Green, and that afternoon one by one they came to pop their heads around the partition wall and ogle.

Gavin was first, then Earl, then Leon. Leon stayed laughing and teasing Cassie for several minutes about her Aussie roots, and if Ivy wasn't mistaken there was a little sexual frisson there. This increased her rancor, as she'd long appreciated Leon's Jamaican good looks, and previously enjoyed a mild flirtation with him herself. Moreover she was struggling to write a leaflet about mortgage interest rates, and could have done without the distraction. But then came not one, but five account handlers.

The supercilious little creeps, thought Ivy, treating Cassie like she's a piece of new business to be wooed and won.

Yet Cassie was equally sweet to them all, and rather than basking in their attention, handled it with natural ease.

To add insult to injury, at four o'clock Russell sauntered by on the pretext of heading for the coffee machine. He leaned against the partition, bantering lightheartedly with the two of them, but Ivy knew him well enough to appreciate his nonchalance was feigned. She observed that he primarily directed his conversation to Cassie, and his eyes seemed to linger on her petite, bronzed form.

I always suspected he had a thing for small blondes, she bristled, recollecting his lust for Lara. She sent imaginary daggers flying through the screen of her PC at both of them.

Lastly, who should come bounding in, with a chuckle and an amiable slap on the back for Cassie, but Mr. Long-Limbed Handsomeness himself.

Dan folded his legs onto the small two-seater sofa and grinned. “Seems you've been quite a hit.”

“Oh?”

But loyalty to the boys' network meant he wouldn't elaborate. “So, tell us a bit about yourself, Cassie.”

“What do you want to know?”

“I gather you're from Sydney.”

Cassie shook her head. “In the immediate sense, yes, I suppose I am, but actually I'm from close to Alice Springs—I grew up on a sheep farm. My parents emigrated there after the war.”

Good grief! Brought up in the outback? Daughter of a farmer? No wonder she's so lacking in guile, thought Ivy.

Cassie continued: “I went to college in Sydney then got my first job in an agency there. After a couple of years, I decided to come to London.”

Strange choice, advertising, pondered Ivy, for a girl like her. Still, she was heartened. With a background like that, it would be like shooting fish in a barrel. One parochial agency in Sydney was hardly going to give Cassie the edge that working in Soho required. So if Ivy was going to get one over her—which as the day wore on she was increasingly keen to—the advantage was all hers.

“I see. And what brought you to the Big Smoke?”

“I came on the off chance—I've always wanted to work here. After all, the standard of creative work is reputed to be the best in the world.”

“So they say.”

“It's a great opportunity for me, this. A sort of dream come true.”

“Hard to imagine working here being anyone's dream.” Dan laughed.

Ivy couldn't agree more, but Cassie didn't seem to mind. “And how 'bout you, Dan, where are you from?”

Well, thought Ivy. I've never asked him that. Could be telling.

But the answer was dull: “Me, I'm a North London lad. Born and bred in Hampstead.”

“That's nice,” said Cassie. There was an almost undetectable pause while they both searched for where to take the conversation next.

At this point Ivy, finished with her leaflet copy, decided to interrupt. “You ought to be especially nice to Dan. He's not just any old head of production, you know.”

“He isn't?”

“No.” Ivy chose her words carefully. “He's our creative director's partner.”

“Oh?” Cassie turned to Dan. “You and Orianna are married?”

Dan didn't even blink before answering. “Not yet.”

It was all Ivy could do to contain her surprise. “Is there something I don't know?”

“Oh no.” Dan's tone was congenial.

“You're not engaged or anything?”

“No, no. I'd have to put in some groundwork with my family before considering that.”

“But it is pretty serious then?”

“Mm.” Dan nodded, looking embarrassed to be discussing this in front of Cassie. “Er … I guess you could say so.”

“Oh,” said Ivy. She had deliberately avoided asking Orianna about the relationship—hearing it was going well would only increase her sense of isolation, and Orianna hadn't spoken much about Dan either. This revelation pained her; she knew that if Dan was prepared to admit publicly it was serious it must be; men like him tended to keep such personal revelations to themselves until they were sure.

“Well, best get going.” Dan got to his feet, clearly keen to avoid further questioning. “Catch you later.”

“See you.” Ivy nodded.

“Nice to meet you,” said Cassie.

“And you.”

Ivy sat there, thinking. At once she buried her discomfort, concentrating instead on how she might make herself feel better. So he was
that
serious about Orianna, was he? Very interesting … Yet he'd jumped at the chance of meeting Cassie, albeit in probable innocence. Unlike the other boys who'd made a beeline for Cassie that afternoon, Ivy was pretty convinced he was curious and being genuinely friendly. Still, here might be a great way to wipe the smile off not just Orianna's face, but Cassie's too.

Two birds knocked from their perch with one stone.

Hmm.

Now
that
was a truly creative idea.

 

19. Dangerous conceits are in their natures poison

“Well, hey.”

“Hey.” Cassie swiveled around in her chair.

It was Leon, who'd come to show Cassie some artwork. He loped over to her desk, dreadlocks swinging, and spread a large color run-out before her.

In a tie-dyed T-shirt and floppy black trousers, he's by far the coolest-looking guy in the agency, thought Ivy. And he's sexy to boot.

She felt a stirring of desire, but pushed it away, and focused instead on her two colleagues. She'd been sharing space with Cassie for several weeks, during which time Cassie and Leon had been working together on some ads. Yet while Ivy acknowledged it was common practice for art directors and designers to collaborate, she recalled that in the past his behavior had been rather different. Leon was talented but frequently got so caught up in details that he'd run late on jobs, and when Orianna had worked with him, she used to have to check up on him regularly and chivy him along. Often she'd have to sit by his Mac and oversee his work. Whereas with Cassie, he seemed one step ahead of her requirements all the time.

That Ivy had been attracted to Leon for years on the quiet herself increased her curiosity. Her computer screen still blocked her vision of Cassie, but she could see Leon and hear Cassie's responses. And although they merely talked of tints, logos, and images, she saw Leon's hand brush Cassie's more than once, and there was something about Leon's lowered voice and Cassie's giggling that led her to conclude they fancied one another, big-time.

Ivy was determined not to have anything put past her again, so when he'd gone, she said, “I think he rather likes you.”

“Oh?”

Ivy gently slid the wheels of her chair sideways and sneaked a peek at Cassie's face. Hmm … Her head was down, concentrating, but she was blushing. Ivy pushed further. “In fact, I'd say he's got the serious hots.”

Cassie flushed pinker still. How pitiful they are, thought Ivy, these women who can't disguise their feelings. Yet maybe there's more than a simple flirtation going on here—a few weeks is a long time where lust is concerned. I wonder if they've gone further than mutual appreciation already? What the hell, I'll ask.

Ivy could tell Cassie was intimidated by her—like most young creatives—so to gain Cassie's confidence, she turned on the charm. She wheeled her chair along farther, leaned around, and eyed Cassie so pointedly that she was forced to look at her. Then she edged in close, over her desk. “Is there something going on?”

Cassie almost dropped her pen. “Er…”

“You can tell me,” Ivy cajoled. “I won't breathe a word.”

Cassie, who normally had an answer for most things, was speechless.