The Intern Read online

  The crowd swallowed me up. I allowed myself to be swept past sushi shops and high-rise buildings, bumping people with my overnight bag and apologising when they glared at me. I also had a handbag bouncing off my right hip and a smaller tote holding my resumé and certificates.

  Despite taking six wrong turns, I arrived at the Sash office early, so I took a seat inside a cafe across the road. I’d heard internships involved lots of coffee-fetching, and wondered if they expected me to remember their orders off by heart. I had visions of screaming girls clawing at me because I’d bought them a skim soy latte with no sugar instead of a rice milk tea with three sugars. A cute waiter wearing skinny jeans and a black tie interrupted my panicked thoughts.

  ‘Tea? Coffee? Hug?’

  I looked up. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Just kidding. What can I get you, doll face?’

  I blushed redder than the lipstick Kat had ordered me to wear.

  ‘A water would be great, thanks.’

  ‘No worries,’ he replied. ‘You know, I haven’t seen you in here before.’

  ‘I guess I’m new.’

  ‘Oh yeah? What brings you here?’

  Damn, I clearly wasn’t channelling my inner glamour enough yet. Maybe I needed more eye shadow.

  ‘A magazine internship.’

  He nodded. ‘Nice. Funny, though, I thought magazines and newspapers were dying off? Isn’t new technology taking them down and all that?’

  Stunned, I didn’t know how to reply. ‘Oh. I, ah, I …’

  ‘What would I know? I’m sure it’ll be great. I’ll go grab that water,’ the waiter said. ‘Have a great internship, Magazine.’

  He walked off, humming, and I smiled at his little nickname. City people aren’t so bad, I thought. But then I saw the girls stalking into the building across the road. They looked scarily like the people in my daydreams: glamorous, slim, tall and modelesque. I imagined them chattering about their weekend spent on the family yacht or at a hot-people-only dinner party on Saturday night. ‘I only drink water fetched from a spring in Finland and blessed by a nun,’ one perfect-complexioned diner would titter to the other. ‘Did you happen to catch up with Brad, Angelina and the kids over the summer?’ her companion would reply. ‘We tried to, but you know what they’re like, all work, no play. Luckily George was free so he showed us the sights instead.’ I was so deep into my daydream that I almost didn’t notice when my water arrived (sadly, not from a fancy spring in Finland).

  A quick glance at the clock on the cafe wall showed it was time to leave. I stood up and checked my reflection in the window. On a normal day, I had the bad habit of hunching over like Quasimodo reaching for a dropped coin. But today wasn’t a normal day. For a start, I was in heels. Expensive, probably-going-to-snap-my-ankle heels that made me taller than usual. I rolled my shoulders back, straightened my spine and tilted my chin upwards. You can do this, I told myself. You’re the most likely to succeed, remember? You blitzed school, you’re wearing a new dress and you’re destined to be a brilliant journalist. You. Can. Do. This.

  I hoisted my bags over my shoulder, picked up my overnight bag and headed for the door. Milliseconds later, my heels slipped in a puddle of juice, sending me crashing to the floor. Everyone glanced around — my screech probably had something to do with that — but no one came to help, not even the cute waiter. I scrambled to my feet and out the door, cursing Kat and her insistence on heels for my first day in the office.

  It was only at the traffic lights that I realised my dress was now stained with juice.

  ‘No, no, no, this isn’t happening,’ I muttered.

  Rubbing at the wet patch with a saliva-soaked tissue didn’t help. I realised I’d have to walk around all day with my hand placed over the stain. It’s not ideal, but you’ll be okay, promised my surprisingly supportive internal voice. (Surprising, because usually it would’ve suggested I give up right then. I appreciated the shift to a more positive outlook, even if it was just a one-off.)

  I took a minute to soak up the immensity of the building I was about to enter. According to the company website, it held almost sixty magazine offices and more than a thousand employees. And one new intern, I reminded myself.

  I teetered across the sleek marble floor of the foyer. Framed magazine covers lined the walls. Despite my heels, I felt two centimetres tall alongside the statuesque women striding through the doors, swiping their security cards with one hand, balancing a takeaway coffee cup in the other, all the while chatting on their phones. A sturdy guard handed me a security pass and told me to wait to be collected, so I sat down on an uncomfortable black couch. I double-checked my hand-on-stain positioning. So far, so good.

  A thirty-something woman with straight blonde hair came over to greet me. She wore a loose, flowing top, jeans and ballet flats. Yes, flat shoes. I was going to kill Kat for forcing me into a pair of torture devices. The woman beamed at me and extended her hand, and that’s when my plan to hide the mark on my dress fell apart. I reached out to shake her hand, exposing the darkened stain.

  If she noticed it, she pretended not to. ‘Hello, you must be Josephine. I’m Liani, Sash’s deputy editor.’

  ‘Ah, hi. Yes, Josie. Browning. I mean, hi, I’m Browning, Josie Browning.’

  ‘Hi there.’ Liani chuckled, a joyous sound that almost stopped me from feeling like the biggest moron to grace the foyer. Almost.

  ‘Um, just to be clear, I didn’t mean to sound like James Bond then,’ I said.

  ‘Got it.’

  ‘Can I start over? I’m Josie. Thanks so much for having me.’

  ‘Pleasure, Josie.’

  Liani signed me in to the building and took me into a huge mirror-filled lift, chatting about her husband, the weather and her baby boy, Dylan. She reminded me of Mum and I instantly wanted to crawl onto her lap and weep about the juice incident. Luckily, I restrained the urge.

  Liani led me out of the lift and down the hall toward the Sash office. I didn’t know what to expect behind those big glass doors, but I was about to find out.

  3.

  ‘Nice stain.’

  ‘What happened to your dress?’

  My hand-over-stain mission failed again within one minute of being inside Sash headquarters. Liani had stepped into her office to drop off my overnight bag and grab some paperwork, leaving me with two immaculately dressed girls on the couch in reception. As they leaned closer to eyeball the mark, I speculated whether or not the couch had an invisibility button or teleportation capabilities. I’d even have welcomed an alien abduction at that moment. Instead, I unleashed my inner journalist-in-the-making in an attempt to distract them.

  ‘So what are you guys here for? A photo shoot?’

  ‘Internship,’ smirked the taller, slimmer and older-looking of the two. ‘Although I do model occasionally, when I’m not singing or acting. I’m Ava.’

  Ava had long, curled red hair and shaped brows over dark and piercing eyes. Judging by her appearance she was early to mid-twenties, although I couldn’t be sure. She sat up straight, her lithe legs crossed neatly at the ankles. Unlike me, everything about her was groomed. A diamond — and no doubt expensive — engagement ring sparkled on her finger.

  The other girl had short, shaggy blonde hair and green eyes. I spotted a tattoo on her wrist, but her arm was so laden with chunky jewellery it was hard to make out.

  ‘Hey, I’m Steph,’ she said. ‘Internship for me, too.’

  Unlike Ava, who was dolled up in heels and a dress, Steph had her own style, somewhere between grunge and glam. She looked like she’d stepped straight from the pages of a fashion magazine. When Ava asked about her career in the past year, Steph shrugged and said she’d been travelling through Asia, and was keen to buy an around-the-world ticket and head off again. I admired Steph’s confidence. She gave bare-minimum answers to Ava’s nosy questions; nothing more, nothing less. I, on the other hand, blabbered like a fool when Ava fired questions at me.

  ‘What have you been d
oing for the past year, Josephine?’

  ‘Uh, you can call me Josie. Well, what have I been doing? Er, high school mainly. Final year and all that. I’m in uni now.’

  Ava leaned forward. ‘God, how old are you?’

  ‘Seventeen. Almost eighteen. I was young for my year.’

  ‘You can’t even legally drink! I feel ancient.’

  Steph glanced at me. ‘So how’d you go, Josie? Pass alright?’

  ‘Yep, got through it,’ I said.

  Luckily, Ava butted in before I spouted off my results. ‘So you want to be a writer then, a journalist?’

  ‘More than anything.’

  Steph smiled. ‘Seventeen and you already know what you want. My dad would kill for a daughter like you. I’m nineteen and still haven’t got a clue.’

  But Ava wasn’t done with me yet. Next, she pestered me for my five-year career plan.

  I rambled along, quoting my favourite journalists, authors and, pathetically, my high-school English teacher. It was official: I was a brown-nosing tosspot who’d paid way too much attention to her teacher’s classroom soliloquies. Ava soon grew bored, her eyes darting away from mine the moment I opened my mouth, so I finished with a mumbled ‘And that’s my plan,’ even though I didn’t have a plan at all. (Well, other than becoming a world-famous journalist … and maybe falling in love with a smoking-hot prince.)

  With the show-off career questions completed, we faded into silence. Ava pursed her lips, then recrossed her legs. Steph checked her phone, only to recheck it a moment later. I straightened my dress and took a deep breath.

  I gazed around the room, taking in the bright posters covering the walls. The reception desk was stacked with magazines, folders and books. Sash’s office, like a lot of things in the city, smelled like fresh coffee.

  Three girls, three internships. Filly hadn’t mentioned there’d be others here, too. The thought terrified me. How was I supposed to be the gold-star intern with such impressive competition? These girls were older and looked the part. I squashed my certificates further down into my tote, embarrassed I’d brought them.

  Click, click, click, click. Click, click, click, click. For a moment, I thought the nearby clock was broken, but then I realised it was the sound of heels tapping along the hallway behind us. We all turned in unison to see Sash’s famous editor-in-chief, Rae Swanson, standing poised with her hands on her hips.

  She wore a tight, knee-length dress with a cinched-in waist and stiletto heels. Her hair was cut in a straight black bob that fell to her shoulders, skimming them when she moved her head. Her laser-beam eyes traced my silhouette, then she nodded in approval at Steph and Ava.

  ‘You must be the interns,’ she said. ‘Come with me, girls. Let’s begin.’

  She stalked toward her office. The three of us followed, swapping nervous glances. I wondered if, like me, the other two were on the brink of wetting their pants. They didn’t seem like it. Ava’s lips were swollen into a pout, while Steph snuck one last look at her phone as she slid it into her handbag. My hands were slimy with sweat but I refrained from smearing them onto my dress; it had experienced enough stains for one day.

  ‘I can’t believe she’s dealing with us directly,’ hissed Ava. ‘This almost never happens, especially with these types of mags.’

  ‘What usually happens?’ I whispered back. But I didn’t get a chance to find out because we’d arrived.

  Liani stood outside Rae’s office, clutching a stack of magazines and notepads. She was flushed, but still smiling. She mouthed ‘Sorry for the hold-up’ to the three of us and opened the door. I hobbled into the glossy domain of one of Australia’s most feared and admired magazine editors behind Ava and Steph, wondering what fate held in store for me.

  Ava, Steph and I perched on hot-pink poufs in Rae’s office, waiting for her to speak. Her desk was covered with tagged magazines, water bottles, beauty products and stationery. Empty teacups balanced on books and notepads. Vanilla candles burned on the windowsill, sending a luxurious, delicious smell through the room.

  ‘Forget Hollywood,’ Rae began, leaning forward in her office chair. ‘You want glamour? Welcome to magazines. Cocktail parties, launches, freebies like you wouldn’t believe, celebrities and a fashion store at your disposal.’ She noticed my mouth widen in astonishment. ‘Like the sound of that? Well, let’s not forget a supply of beauty products beyond your wildest dreams, photo shoots, television appearances, groundbreaking interviews and contacts that can set you up for life.’

  Rae stood up, strode over to the office wall, which was lined with shiny Sash covers, and slapped a ruler against one of them, causing all three of us to jump.

  ‘Great photo, average coverlines.’ She hit the next one. ‘Gorgeous celebrity, gripping stories.’ And the next. ‘Bestselling issue of the past four years. Impossible to beat.’

  She glanced at us, a crooked smile at the corner of her mouth. ‘But that’s the thing, girls, we have to beat it.’

  We nodded, nervous grins frozen in place.

  ‘This is Sash’s year,’ Rae said. ‘Forget online, forget apps, forget mobile phone magazines, forget Marilyn and their been-there-done-that high-end fashion. My baby is going to be so brilliant, everyone will want her.’

  Ava’s eyes lit up. Steph stifled a small yawn.

  ‘But it won’t be easy,’ Rae continued. ‘There’ll be long hours, challenging work and pushing of boundaries. I want exclusives. Lots of them. The team’s workload will need to double, if not triple, to get this done. And that, lovely new interns, is where you come in. It’s no secret this is an opportunity that thousands of girls would kill for.’

  Better invest in full-body armour for my next trip to the city, I thought. And a guard dog. A four-man bodyguard team wouldn’t hurt either.

  ‘Congratulations on getting this far. Your applications impressed me for different reasons. Who’s Josie?’

  I raised my right hand, too scared to speak.

  ‘Your grades and writing are phenomenal,’ Rae said. ‘Well done.’

  I blushed. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Your lecturer speaks highly of you, although he did let slip that you applied for a newspaper internship first. Is that true?’

  I gulped. ‘Ah, yes. But I’m so happy to be here. It all worked out, you know?’

  Rae cocked her head to one side. ‘I hope so.’

  Good one, Filly, I thought, staring into my lap with embarrassment.

  Rae continued. ‘And who’s Steph?’

  Steph gave a little wave. ‘That’s me.’

  Rae stared at her. ‘Clearly your father’s daughter.’

  ‘So I’ve been told,’ Steph said, but I noticed she averted her eyes from Rae’s.

  ‘Welcome to Sash,’ Rae said. ‘I’ve been intrigued by you ever since he passed on your CV at a publishing conference last year. I only hope his handicap hasn’t improved too much since he and my husband last hit the green. Apparently he stole the show.’

  ‘I bet it hasn’t,’ Steph replied tartly.

  Rae leaned back on her desk, showing off polished toenails, and turned to Ava, who tossed her hair. ‘Your portfolio of work is stunning, Ava, simply gorgeous. But you know that.’

  ‘Thanks, Rae. I look forward to showing you what else I’m capable of,’ Ava said, lapping up Rae’s compliment without hesitation. I was clearly not the only intern with brown-nosing experience.

  ‘What a talented threesome,’ Rae said. ‘Now, there’s something you need to know …’

  Oh no, I thought. In my life, nothing good had ever followed those words. There was the time Mum had said, ‘There’s something you need to know about Uncle Phil — remember him? Big head, smells like old cheese? Well, he got a job as your high school’s lollipop lady. He can help you and your friends cross the street every day. Isn’t that great?’ Or my personal favourite: ‘There’s something you need to know … Whiskers was run over by an ice-cream truck. We buried him in the backyard next to the hydrangeas. The
good news is they’re giving us a ten per cent discount on ice-cream.’ I’d gagged at any mention of ice-cream for three months after that.

  ‘Due to the impressive calibre, I’ve bumped up the stakes,’ Rae continued. ‘As you know, this internship goes for twelve weeks and will take you behind the scenes of the magazine. You’ll spend time with professionals from every department, learning from them and practising their craft. Now there’s an added bonus — specifically, a five thousand dollar bonus.’

  The number rang in my ears.

  ‘At the end of the twelve weeks, two of you will be thanked for your time and will take away an invaluable experience and a reference. The third intern — the best — will take home five thousand dollars to spend however they like; a gift from our most generous advertiser, Lint Hygiene Products.’

  My hand leaped to my mouth in shock.

  ‘And that’s not all,’ added Rae. ‘The winner will also score her own column in the magazine, complete with head shot and by-line. This is the kind of opportunity every writer dreams of. So, any questions?’

  I shook my head, stunned. I was lost in a dream sequence involving me swimming in a pool filled with gold coins, while Mum sipped diamond-filled cocktails and Kat danced in a hula skirt made of hundred-dollar notes.

  ‘Okay. Take these goodie bags from Lint,’ Rae said, passing us each an enormous brown paper bag. ‘I’ll let Liani fill you in on the rules of the internship. Have a good day, do your best and welcome again.’

  She sat down in her office chair and turned on her laptop, signifying the conversation’s end.

  Clutching what seemed like a lifetime’s supply of pads and tampons, we filed out into the hallway, where Liani waited for us. She handed us each a folder.

  ‘So, the rules are inside, read them when you get a chance. Steph, you’re with design today. Ava, as requested in your email, beauty is all yours this week, which leaves Josie with the fashion team.’

  Fashion team? What was I meant to do there? I gazed longingly at the writing department, where five girls sat at computers. One had her head buried in a dictionary, while another was typing as she chatted away on the phone. The second girl hung up, swore and called out to the others for their thoughts on her story. They crowded around to brainstorm ideas.