was crouched on the
floor, short boyish bleached blonde hair, bright big bug-eyes, and
pink little lips. I noticed she was trying, unsuccessfully, to cram
photo paper into the copy machine.
“ Do you need some help?” I asked.
“You do know that paper doesn’t go in there, right?”
“ Oh yeah, I knew that,” she lied
with a big smile as she stood up, turning completely pink,
obviously embarrassed. “I’m trying to make copies of these photos
by...” she read the memo. “Oliver...Price, no wait— Oliver
Prince.”
“ Olly’s photos?” I took the blue
prints and began sifting through them. Excellent work, as usual.
One photo caught my eye, and I pulled it out of the stack. A
handsome older man embracing an older woman who held his face
tenderly in her hands.
I sometimes forgot what an amazing photographer Olly
was, with his uncanny ability to capture real life moments, evoking
even more emotion from a two-dimensional photograph than even
reality exposed. His photos hinted at someone much deeper than the
lighthearted Olly I knew.
“ I’m Lilly. I’ve seen you in and out
of the office,” she said, and extended her hand for a shake. “I’m
an intern.”
“ How long have you been interning
here?” I asked, surprised. I’d never noticed her before.
“ All summer,” she replied. Woops.
“And I’ll be here for the rest of the fall.” She leaned in close to
me. “You smell really good.”
She was a quirky one, with her wild hair and the way
she was blatantly invading my personal space, something that just
didn’t happen at Fordham Agency. Here, if you got too close to
another body, you ran the risk of getting slapped silly. She kept
touching her hair out of nervousness. Her body was lanky and
awkward, as if she hadn’t grown into it yet. I figured she must
have been about nineteen. Her sporadic, ungraceful movements were
strangely amusing.
“ Thanks. It’s Coco
Chanel.”
She smiled and nodded; she seemed to be taking mental
notes. “Expensive, huh?”
“ Don’t worry about the photos,” I
said, changing the subject. “The photographer is a friend of mine,
and he’s pretty easy-going. I’m sure you can pick up where you left
off tomorrow.” I watched her relax, and I handed her back the
photos. “Nice to meet you,” I said and walked out. I made my way to
the elevator and hit the star for the lobby floor.
As I walked through the big glass and marble lobby, I
could almost taste Lysol on my lips. “Hey, wait up!” I looked back
to see Lilly the intern, her heels clacking on the marble floor,
her knees buckling inward as she jogged along attempting to catch
up with me. She really was awkward, and yet she reminded me of some
tropical bird.
“ I figured we could share a cab or
walk or something,” she said breathlessly, obviously trying to be
my friend.
“ Sure,” I said, though I really
wasn’t thrilled with the idea. I had been looking forward to a few
minutes of mindless meditation.
We walked out and made our way towards Michigan
Avenue. The Magnificent Mile was home to some of the swankiest
shopping in the city, as well as the Art Institute of Chicago,
Millennium Park and many other points of interest. It also served
as a major transportation hub because of all the landmarks located
there. “So, you must love working here at Fordham,” she said. “I go
to DePaul. I’m a design student, and I was really lucky to get this
internship. You must be over the moon with your job, being an agent
and everything.”
“Sure, if you love working with snobby, insecure
people who lack depth, take this industry way too seriously and are
okay with depriving yourself of all real knowledge in life because
your head is so filled with meaningless trivia. If you want nothing
more than to be surrounded by starving beauties, then yes, this is
your heaven.”
“ Oh wow, that was honest,” she
said. “So. . . why do you do it, then?”
“ After college I lived in Italy for
a while and I
floor, short boyish bleached blonde hair, bright big bug-eyes, and
pink little lips. I noticed she was trying, unsuccessfully, to cram
photo paper into the copy machine.
“ Do you need some help?” I asked.
“You do know that paper doesn’t go in there, right?”
“ Oh yeah, I knew that,” she lied
with a big smile as she stood up, turning completely pink,
obviously embarrassed. “I’m trying to make copies of these photos
by...” she read the memo. “Oliver...Price, no wait— Oliver
Prince.”
“ Olly’s photos?” I took the blue
prints and began sifting through them. Excellent work, as usual.
One photo caught my eye, and I pulled it out of the stack. A
handsome older man embracing an older woman who held his face
tenderly in her hands.
I sometimes forgot what an amazing photographer Olly
was, with his uncanny ability to capture real life moments, evoking
even more emotion from a two-dimensional photograph than even
reality exposed. His photos hinted at someone much deeper than the
lighthearted Olly I knew.
“ I’m Lilly. I’ve seen you in and out
of the office,” she said, and extended her hand for a shake. “I’m
an intern.”
“ How long have you been interning
here?” I asked, surprised. I’d never noticed her before.
“ All summer,” she replied. Woops.
“And I’ll be here for the rest of the fall.” She leaned in close to
me. “You smell really good.”
She was a quirky one, with her wild hair and the way
she was blatantly invading my personal space, something that just
didn’t happen at Fordham Agency. Here, if you got too close to
another body, you ran the risk of getting slapped silly. She kept
touching her hair out of nervousness. Her body was lanky and
awkward, as if she hadn’t grown into it yet. I figured she must
have been about nineteen. Her sporadic, ungraceful movements were
strangely amusing.
“ Thanks. It’s Coco
Chanel.”
She smiled and nodded; she seemed to be taking mental
notes. “Expensive, huh?”
“ Don’t worry about the photos,” I
said, changing the subject. “The photographer is a friend of mine,
and he’s pretty easy-going. I’m sure you can pick up where you left
off tomorrow.” I watched her relax, and I handed her back the
photos. “Nice to meet you,” I said and walked out. I made my way to
the elevator and hit the star for the lobby floor.
As I walked through the big glass and marble lobby, I
could almost taste Lysol on my lips. “Hey, wait up!” I looked back
to see Lilly the intern, her heels clacking on the marble floor,
her knees buckling inward as she jogged along attempting to catch
up with me. She really was awkward, and yet she reminded me of some
tropical bird.
“ I figured we could share a cab or
walk or something,” she said breathlessly, obviously trying to be
my friend.
“ Sure,” I said, though I really
wasn’t thrilled with the idea. I had been looking forward to a few
minutes of mindless meditation.
We walked out and made our way towards Michigan
Avenue. The Magnificent Mile was home to some of the swankiest
shopping in the city, as well as the Art Institute of Chicago,
Millennium Park and many other points of interest. It also served
as a major transportation hub because of all the landmarks located
there. “So, you must love working here at Fordham,” she said. “I go
to DePaul. I’m a design student, and I was really lucky to get this
internship. You must be over the moon with your job, being an agent
and everything.”
“Sure, if you love working with snobby, insecure
people who lack depth, take this industry way too seriously and are
okay with depriving yourself of all real knowledge in life because
your head is so filled with meaningless trivia. If you want nothing
more than to be surrounded by starving beauties, then yes, this is
your heaven.”
“ Oh wow, that was honest,” she
said. “So. . . why do you do it, then?”
“ After college I lived in Italy for
a while and I
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