Meet Clara Andrews: A totally vacuous girl with a hangover... (4 page)

I awake on Monday morning feeling fresh as a daisy. After my takeout night with Marc, I spent most of Sunday recovering from yet another hangover. I did, however, manage to squeeze in a quick visit to the hair dresser along with a cheeky French manicure. With my confidence boosted from the beautifying and a lot of self encouragement, I decided to compose a response to the mysterious George. After typing and deleting for over an hour, I turned off my phone in frustration and headed up to bed, telling myself that I would return to it in the morning.

Well, now it is morning. With a sudden burst of adrenaline, I snatch my phone and wait impatiently for it to spring to life. I double tap the screen to load up my messages and hit the reply icon.

Hi George, a drink sounds great, how are you fixed for Saturday? Xxx

Before I have chance to change my mind and chicken out, I tap on the send button. My heart races and I clutch my phone excitedly. That was actually really fun, I think to myself. What was I so scared about? With a wave of exhilaration I jump out of bed and make for the shower.

Once satisfied that I am suitably clean, I wrap myself in a towel and give my teeth a good scrub. Turning up the radio, I head back into the bedroom and slather myself in moisturiser before flinging open my wardrobe and assessing my outfit choices. I dig out a black, tailored, fit and flare dress and chuck it on the bed along with a pair of suede courts. A quick look out of the window convinces me to throw a pair of opaque tights on the pile too. Where has the summer gone? The scene outside could easily be confused for a chilly November morning.

I pour myself into my chosen outfit and turn my attention to my face and hair. Using what seems like a million Kirby grips, I twist my masses of curls into what I hope is a pretty yet professional up-do. Grabbing my make up bag and positioning myself at my dressing table, I set to work on bringing some definition to my face. After giving myself a smokey eye and a touch of red to my cupids bow, I’m all set to go.

Putting on my military inspired coat, I collect my handbag and keys and give myself a final once over. Maybe a little over dressed for a Monday but since when was that a crime? With a spring in my step, I lock the front door and make my way to the car, ready to face the day.

‘You look very nice.’ Lianna comments, giving me an accusing look as I enter the office complete with Starbucks coffees and a couple of blueberry muffins.

I hand her the brown paper bag and perch on the end of her desk. She gladly accepts the coffee and immediately begins nibbling on the muffin.

‘Thank you very much,’ I respond, lapping up the compliment.

‘How was Saturday? An invite wouldn’t have gone a miss,’ she frowns and takes a sip of coffee.

‘You said you were at a wedding!’ I protest, knowing full well that she is winding me up.

Her desk phone starts to ring and she brushes crumbs off her fingers frantically.

‘This will be Kate from Ethereal. I’ll call you later.’

I pick up my breakfast and head over to my desk. Kicking the chair out and sitting down, I notice a sticky note on my computer screen. As I take in the message, I can’t help but feel incredibly disappointed. Apparently there’s no need for me to attend Oliver’s introduction meeting as we already got acquainted on Friday. Annoyed, I screw up the paper and chuck it into the bin. What a waste of makeup.

Loading up my computer and responding to this morning’s emails takes all of ten minutes. I pull out my sketch pad and start elaborating on last week’s drawings. Losing myself in my work comes so naturally, it’s almost like a virtual comfort blanket. I can spend hour upon hour lost in lace and leather and not even notice.

I must have been sketching for at least a couple of hours when I am disturbed the vibrating of my mobile phone. Reaching into my handbag I have a mini heart attack. George. I totally forgot about the text I sent to George! Oh God! I dig out my phone from the depths of my Cavalli handbag and hesitate for a moment before looking at the screen. It’s him! With my heart beating fast I open the message and scan the text.

Saturday it is. Ice bar at 8? X

Not a man of many words then. Wait a minute, Ice bar? A quick Google search informs me that Ice bar is a small, indie hangout in the centre of town. Why have I never heard of this place? The little voice in my head reminds me that it is probably because it looks like a heroin addict’s lair. I tell myself not to be so judgmental and just go with it.

Ok, see you then x

Before giving myself chance to chicken out, I hit send and throw my phone back into my handbag. A thought suddenly hits me. Did I text back too fast? Isn’t there like a two hour rule or something? Have I just made myself look like a desperate bunny boiler? Trying to stop myself hyperventilating, I get up and head to the water distiller.

Filling a plastic cup and downing it in one makes me feel instantly better. I really have to stop over thinking things, why I always have to go worst case scenario I have no idea. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lianna chatting animatedly to Marc. I wish I could be more like Lianna, always happy and care free. Unfortunately, I inherited Mum’s worrywart gene. Marc catches my attention and gestures towards his office.

Throwing my cup into the recycling bin, I return to my desk and screen lock my computer before following Marc into his huge, glass fronted office. Watching him check his phone and smile like a school boy, I shake my head in amusement. He slams a set of folders down on the desk and sits down in his executive leather chair.

‘How did Oliver’s introduction meeting go?’ I ask, crossing my arms and legs in unison.

‘Funnily enough, that is what I wanted to talk to you about. The delightful Mr. Morgan has insisted on having his own studio and office space. Apparently, shared studios are not something he feels he can work with.’ Marc rolls his eyes and leans back, putting his feet up on the marble desk.

‘What does that have to do with me?’ I ask, slightly confused.

‘It has everything to do with you seeing as you are our junior designer. Head office have been in touch and we have eight weeks to get our winter lines over to production.’

‘Eight weeks? That’s pushing it isn’t it?’

‘It is, hence why Oliver wants his own office and studio to work solidly on this for the next two months. This is where you come into it. You and Oliver will temporarily move into the sixth floor studio until the winter line is finalised.’

I feel my heart pound and try to keep a poker face. Just me and Oliver? In our own studio? For two months? Oh my God! Before I get chance to respond, Marc jumps in.

‘I don’t want any funny business, Clara. This is your big chance to show them all what you are capable of and prove that you actually have some half decent ideas rolling around in that teeny head of yours.’

‘You can count on me, Marc. I promise I won’t let you down!’ I squeal excitedly and clap my hands together like a very happy seal.

‘After you have taken your lunch, make the move downstairs. Oliver is already down there going over the past two years portfolios.’

I flash him the thumbs up sign and jump to my feet.

‘I meant what I said, Clara. No funny business,’ Marc glares at me and turns his attention to his computer. I am just about to reach for the door handle when it suddenly springs open and in prowls a leopard print clad Gina. Her joker worthy grin drops the second she lays eyes on me.

‘Gina! What are you doing here?’ I demand, shooting Marc a furtive look.

‘I’m just err, I was just um, I was just wanting to speak to Marc about an overdue invoice,’ Gina stammers looking incredibly guilty.

‘Well don’t mind me, I was just leaving.’ I make for the door, willing myself not to start laughing.

It’s not that Gina is not a nice woman, she is. It’s just that she isn’t exactly what I would call Marc’s type. For starters, she is at least ten years his senior, although she claims to be thirty one with the help of a truck load of botox. Her size twelve frame is dwarfed by her generous chest in a way that is almost comical. In the five years I have worked here, I have never seen her in anything that isn’t pillar box red or leopard print and her jet black locks and ruby red pout complete the caricature. Well, they do say love is blind.

Getting back to my desk, I decide to take any early lunch. I open my emails to see if Lianna wants to join me for a sandwich, when a message flagged urgent pops up on the screen. It’s from Oliver!

Fancy joining me for lunch? I ordered a ton of pizza.

A ton of pizza? Who orders pizza to their work place? I stifle a giggle and hit reply.

Have you seriously ordered pizza to the office??

I wait for a few minutes until another message springs into my inbox.

No, I have ordered pizza to
my
offic
e
I’m in the new studio if you fancy giving me a hand getting through it?

I feel my pulse race and lock my computer screen, before hurriedly touching up my makeup in my compact mirror. I honestly don’t know what it is about Oliver that makes me feel like a teenager again, but I like it, a lot. I head for the lift and dive straight in, immediately tending to my hair in the mirror. Impressed that my up do has stayed put for the duration of the morning, I stride down the corridor to the studio.

Pushing open the double doors, I am actually lost for words. The minimalistic work table is drowned by at least ten pizza boxes, the smell is incredible.

‘You made it then,’ I spin around at the sound of Oliver’s southern drawl.

‘Why did you order so many pizzas? Who else is coming?’

‘Just you,’ he smiles and gestures over to the pizza.

‘I couldn’t make my mind up, so I ordered pretty much everything they had.’

I prop myself up on one of the stools and flip open a box. Wow, I have never seen so many toppings on one pizza! Opening the lids one at a time, I feel like a fat kid in a sweet shop. Deep pan, Italian, pepperoni, vegetarian, the list goes on. I grab a slice of Hawaiian and take a bite.

‘This is amazing! Beats my usual cucumber and Philly sandwiches any day.’

‘I’m glad you approve. It’s nice to see a girl with an appetite.’ He winks at me and makes a dive for the Pepperoni.

Wait a minute. Did he just call me fat? I pause, pizza slice halfway into my mouth and debate causing World War 3.

‘What do you think of our new crib?’ He asks, sitting down opposite me.

‘I like it,’ I nod in approval, trying not to get pineapple chunks down my very expensive Armani dress.

‘You don’t think it’s too soon to be moving in together?’ he says with a hint of a smile in his voice.

‘Very funny.’ I respond, trying to avoid all eye contact.

We sit in silence for a while, both thoroughly enjoying the amazing pizza. On my fourth slice, I make a mental note to go for a jog later, already knowing full well that I won’t. I watch Oliver devouring his pizza, happily and content. Considering he is so cocky and arrogant, sometimes he has a real air of childlike innocence about him. He chucks his pizza crust back into the box and flips the lid shut.

‘That was great, seriously good pizza.’

‘You’re very welcome Miss Andrews. That will be two lunches I have stood you. Now, if you want to take me out for dinner as a thank you, you should know that I’m a very busy man.’

I make a half cough, half spluttering sound and try not to let my face burn up. For the want of something to do, I pile the boxes high and place them on one side. Oliver laughs heartily and shakes his head. 

‘So, this winter line. Marc tells me you already have some ideas drawn up?’

‘Yes, I have been working on this line for a few weeks now.’ I reach for my sketch pad and lay it out on the table.

I am actually really proud of my designs. They have taken many hours of mental and physical work, but I honestly believe they are fantastic. He pulls the papers towards him and studies them thoughtfully, before taking a pencil and getting to work on a pair of leather studded ankle boots.

I try not to feel annoyed as he mutilates the original drawing with a series of strokes and shading techniques. Does he have any idea how long it has taken me to create the perfect take on the classic ankle boot? From the shiny, patent leather and pointy toe to the silver studding down the heel, they are seriously beautiful and probably my favourite design to date. He suddenly puts down his pencil and spins the pad around for me to see.

Wow! The previous patent upper has been substituted for distressed, buffed leather and the sharp, pointed front replaced with a slight peep toe. The studding has spilled out onto each side of the shoe and incorporated a selection of metal spikes. They are seriously the coolest pair of boots I have ever seen, far more out there than any design previously seen at Suave. I stroke the paper in admiration.

‘Fantastic! Marc will love these!’ I smile from ear to ear and watch in awe as he studies a pair of lace up wedges before picking up his pencil and starting to sketch.

No wonder he was head hunted. We’ve had designers before that have had two years to complete an assignment and still over run. It must have taken him all of twenty minutes to transform my original art work into a couture masterpiece.  I have never worked with anyone like Oliver. The design process usually takes hundreds upon hundreds of drawings and fabric sampling to achieve the perfect finish, where as he is hurling final ideas down on paper in one quick sketch.

He catches my eye and I realise I have been staring for longer than is what is socially acceptable. I hold his gaze for a few seconds before looking away, feeling his eyes burning into the back of my head. I really need to kick this stupid crush if we are going to be working together for another eight weeks. I mean, what exactly am I expecting to happen here? Aren’t inter work relations against the rules anyway? I find myself procrastinating over the politics of office life and what exactly constitutes an ‘inter work relation.’ I glance over to Oliver and a devilish thought dances around my mind. Well, if Marc and Gina are doing it. No, Bad Clara.