Copygirl by Anna Mitchael

Author:Anna Mitchael
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2015-09-18T04:30:00+00:00

being bubbly

Day seven of Todd’s plan is finally here. Don’t know how well it’s worked, but I do know that I am more comfortable in my apartment than I’ve ever been. Seems like before this week I had never spent much time here unless I was sleeping or watching TV with Ben. But with us being out of work pretty much every day “to brainstorm,” I’ve logged some serious hours inside these four walls.

I guess Todd told the big guns that he wanted our team to work on our own and they said that was fine. Can’t believe he got such an extended hall pass, but he did.

I did pop into the office once, midweek, but it was only to bring Ben his mail. Okay, that was a bit of a ruse. I really wanted to see him, and also to show my face in front of the partners and Elliott so they wouldn’t think I was slacking. But none of them were even there. Veronique told me Travino was still in St. Barts, Schmidt and Ben had gone to Café Noir to concept, and E and the boys went to a matinee of the new Quentin Tarantino flick at the Angelika.

Veronique even scolded me for coming in!

“Girl, ain’t you supposed to be working off-site?” she said while feverishly stitching her latest muumuu. “What you doin’ coming by here, trying to look all goody-goody in front of the bosses? Or are you trying to make googly eyes at that old partner of yours? Get on out of here before I tell Todd I saw you.”

Then, I kid you not, she stuck her sewing needle into that voodoo head thingie on her desk and I swear I got a kink in my neck five minutes later. I wanted to ask Todd about Veronique and her alleged black magic but I didn’t dare. It would only give me away.

Back on the street, I was feeling down about missing Ben, and guilty for breaking Todd’s rules, so when this little Asian street vendor whispered, “Pssst . . . Miss. Mahk Jakub bag?” I didn’t ignore him like I normally do. Instead, I nodded yes, because what could be more fabulous than a Marc Jacobs bag—even if it was a knockoff? And Todd did say if I wanted to write fabulous, I needed to feel fabulous. But feeling fabulous has never been my strong suit.

The vendor motioned for me to follow him down the block, and led me to a gated door next to a Chinese grocery. Is this a little weird? I wondered He removed the padlock, opened the gate, then looked left and right like he was checking to see if the coast was clear. That’s when I knew, this was mega weird. The streets of Chinatown are lined with tables of fake bags with misspelled logos, like Channel, Luis Vitton, and Mark by Marc Jakobs. What were we doing here?

Against my better instincts, I followed the little man through the door, where we stood together inside a dark windowless room the size of a walk-in closet.

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