Beautiful People | wlw

Thirty-eight: Hollywood Ending

It was a warm, bright winter morning in Los Angeles, and it was Vera's turn to buy the coffee.

When she'd said she was willing to put in her time doing coffee runs, she hadn't known how prophetic it would be. After four months at this job, she knew her colleagues' orders by heart.

The bell above the door chimed as she shouldered through it. Bypassing the queue of grumpy commuters, she grabbed the tray of steaming drinks from the app order stand. With no time to chat today, she waved at the barista before scurrying out to her car. The small red hatchback coughed when she turned the key, but it only had one or two rust stains, and it was all hers - she'd bought it a month ago, after finally accepting that life in LA was better with a car. Her mother's little red luck charm dangled from the rearview mirror. Before she hit the gas, she touched a finger to the handmade trinket. Just in case. Then she peeled out of her curbside parking spot.

As she inched along through traffic on a trip that was actually quick by LA standards, her phone vibrated regularly. She asked her virtual assistant to read out the newest posts from the group chat causing most of the ruckus. A space where brand-new designers and brand creative directors alike shared inspiration and came together over new projects, she'd been invited to the chat by one of the designers she worked with at her internship. It was a benefit she hadn't expected, but one she loved because it was letting her build meaningful connections in the industry.

Caught up on the group chat, she switched to the radio instead of checking her remaining notifications. Social media had taken a back seat to her other work these days. Now she posted only for strategic promotional purposes. Weirdly, her fans seemed to like this – maybe they felt it added mystery or something. Regardless, she was as popular as ever and with far less effort and stress.

Traffic at last released its hold on her and she parked outside a low, gleaming white building tucked behind a row of gently swaying palm trees. She hopped out, juggling coffee tray and her overloaded tote bag, and strode into the lobby.

There she found Ahmed, one of the design assistants she worked with, trying to herd two clothing racks. He was halfway into the elevator with the first when the door slid shut on him. He let out a muffled yell, trapped between yards of tulle and sequins and the hesitating door. It opened a fraction of an inch, then immediately turned around and started to close again.

Vera leaped the last three steps and jammed her foot in front of it before it could wallop Ahmed on the back again.

"Thanks, Vera," he said with relief, extracting himself from between clothing and door.

"Why are you trying to handle two clothing racks alone?" Vera shook her head and propped the door with her hip so he could maneuver the rack inside.

"I offered," he said between grunts of effort. "The boss wanted to get up there and find the magazine people to sort some things out. And the new intern is late." He grabbed the second rack and squeezed it in, too.

"New intern?" Vera thumbed the button for the third floor, frowning.

"Yeah, she's starting today. You hadn't heard?"

She hadn't. Sipping her coffee, she tried not to let it show how much the idea of a new intern worried her. Vera was the intern. She had only been here four months. Were they replacing her? She'd thought she was doing well.

Sure, there had been that time a month in, when she'd made a disastrous error during the creation of a custom gown. They'd had to special order more of a very delicate fabric at great expense, delaying the delivery of the gown by over two weeks. In the stress of her mistake, she'd almost quit, sure they were about to fire her. But she didn't. Even though she had been hideously embarrassed, she'd gritted her teeth and made her apologies. When the new fabric came in she'd worked hard to fix things. They hadn't fired her.