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“You really want to lose access to my clients over some dime-a-dozen Russian model?”
“She’s Czech, not Russian.” I’m not sure why I said that as I had decided that the best course of action would be to keep my mouth tightly shut. Both Max and Shauna stare daggers at me.
“All right. Fine,” Max concedes, but Shauna’s not finished.
“I want her to do the piece.” She nods at me. “She’s the one who wrote that shit piece and now I want her, and her only, to fix it! She needs to write a brilliant piece that makes David look like a saint.”
“But she is a new—” Max protests.
“Max. Just keep your trap shut and get this done. You're already on borrowed time.”
“Fine, fine.” He looks resigned. “Carrie, you'll do this piece on David Adams, and this time, please consult with me and Shauna here for guidance. I will personally be involved and make sure that this works out to everyone’s advantage.”
After the horrible experience interviewing the model, the last thing I want to do is spend a few days interviewing another obnoxious, arrogant celebrity. This isn’t for me and I’ve been meaning to talk to Max about it. If nothing else, I want him to put me back in my old position. But Max has been avoiding me like the plague. This seems as good a time as any.
“Max, I wanted to talk to you about this,” I muster the courage to say. “This kind of stuff isn’t for me. I mean I can’t…”
“Enough, Carrie. Just see that it gets done!” Max thumps his desk, his eyes full of anger.
“Jesus!” Shauna chuckles. “Quite a shit show you've running here. I wonder how long before the Griswolds get tired of your antics and decide that you've wasted enough of their money.”
Shauna shakes her head in mockery and heads out of Max’s office. I wonder what Shauna meant by her last statement, but I’m not given any time to ponder over it, as Max’s fury rains down on me.
“What the hell were you thinking? Contradicting your boss in front of an outsider? Do you have zero team spirit left in you?” Max is right in my face now. He’s using me as a virtual punching bag.
“When I tell you to do a job, you do it! When you're given an assignment, you take it! When I say jump, you say, ‘how high?’ Or have you forgotten how this industry works?”
“But Max—”
“Do you know how long people slog before they make their way to the print edition? Do you really want to write for the online edition for another four years?” Max demands. “I moved you to print, did you a favor and you pay me back by being disobedient? Insolent? I’m very disappointed in you Carrie. You’ve got talent, but you must pay your dues before you can have it all. We all did!”
He’s right. Every single intern in this office wants to make their way to being a real journalist, a real writer. They slog their asses off writing for the online edition, getting paid peanuts. Max gave me this opportunity. This is my chance to make something of myself, even if it means that I start out by writing celebrity garbage. I can’t give up at the first obstacle. I might not get a chance like this anytime soon.
“I'm sorry Max. I was just being... impatient,” I look down at the floor.
“Look, Carrie. We all have to grind our way to the top, and many times, we have to do things that we don’t want to.” Max seems like he’s speaking from experience. “But we all want to succeed and that’s why we gotta do the dirty work. I’m glad you understand.” He pats me on the back.
“Now. Let’s get this thing started. Paint that hack David Adams as a saintly picture and give that bitch Shauna what she wants. I know you can do this, Carrie. And trust me, this is the only way to get to the top.”
My head is spinning as I leave Max’s office. Max may have been angry at me, chided me… but he’s also encouraged me. My head is full of a whole lot of emotions. And the lingering feelings from when I saw Max and Katherine together at the bachelor auction swirl around inside me. I still haven’t had the courage to bring that up with him, not that he’s shown any inclination to clarify his position either. For the first time since I met him, I don’t know what to think of Max.
Chapter 83
Who the hell goes to a meeting on a Sunday!
Trying to navigate my way around the narrow, confusing streets of Bel Air, I’m getting more and more frustrated. All I wanted to do was to go on a long jog by the beach. Then grocery shopping to do as I’ve been surviving on Ramen for the last few days. And if I still have any time left, I wanted to get a trim, considering how unruly my hair has become of late, split ends popping up everywhere.
Instead, I got a call from David Adams’ PR agent who asked me to come in today. Even on a Sunday, there’s enough traffic that it takes almost an hour to drive all the way out to Bel Air, the place for the rich and the famous. I mouth a curse as I take yet another steep curve that my decade-old, beat-up Honda Civic struggles to ascend.
It’s not a neighborhood I frequent, and neither is it a locale that makes me feel exactly comfortable. I’m more at ease in my low-income neighborhood where I’ve got a small one bedroom apartment. For the hundredth time that morning I look at the navigation to figure out whether I’m headed in the right direction and finally it seems I am.
“Yes?” A stern voice calls out on the intercom as I press the button. I’m parked outside a huge gate beyond which, apparently stands a large mansion.
“Hi! I'm Carrie from Coyote magazine. Here to meet Shauna... and David Adams,” I add. I’ve never met the guy but I already dislike him for making me drive all the way out here. Couldn’t he just come to the office like any other normal celebrity and give an interview?
Then there are the nasty stories about him that Ana, the Czech model, told me. Guy seems like an absolute ass. What kind of a single man needs such a huge mansion to stay in unless he is doing it to satiate his ego? I wonder as I wait.
After a couple of minutes, the intercom buzzes to life again.
