Summer Intern by Carrie Karasyov Page B

Confident. But now that I was with Matt, I really wanted to move away from viewing him as a potential loveinterest, which he obviously was not, and try to view him as just a friendly colleague.
    â€œHey, Kira!” he whispered as Alida walked up to the head of the table. “Would you want to come with me to this Hockney lecture at the Whitney tonight? I have an extra ticket—”
    I started to flush with excitement until I remembered Matt.
    â€œOh, thanks, James,” I responded. “I can’t. I have—I’m busy, actually. But thanks, anyway. I love Hockney.” It sounded like a cool event, but Matt was going to take me out to Klimt, a new Austrian restaurant in Tribeca.
    â€œOh. Okay. Another time, then,” he said.
    â€œOkay, people, simmer,” ordered Alida. “So, as some of you know, Genevieve, aside from being editor in chief, also works tirelessly for the Fashion and Design Institute at the Manhattan Museum of Art, and their annual ball—which is the party of the year—is on Friday. Mr. Hughes has generously taken an extra table this year and so we are inviting the interns to attend.”
    â€œProvided that you all work through the cocktail hour checking people in,” added Genevieve. She was a woman of few words, but whatever she tersely said had a strong effect.
    Even though we had to work, there were gasps of delight from all of us. This event was profiled not only in every magazine—Hughes-owned or not—but also on television channels and newspapers around the world. It was attended by Hollywood stars, top fashion designers, and other luminaries who wanted to see and be seen.
    â€œIn addition,” Alida added, “you are each allowed to bring one guest.” Squeals of delight. I hoped Matt would be free.
    The rest of the day was nonstop craziness as I finished my travails for CeCe, helped Richard with his files, and popped by Alida’s office to see if she needed anything. Her intern had left already (at the stroke of five, natch), so she took me up on my offer to be of assistance. I knew Matt wasn’t picking me up at home until eight o’clock, so I had plenty of time.
    â€œSo Kira,” Alida asked as I sorted new threads, Polaroiding them and placing them in fall shoot files while she answered e-mails, “tell me, do you see yourself working in magazines?”
    â€œOh yes,” I gushed. “I love it here. I mean, granted, I’m total Xerox girl, but I feel like I am soaking up so much.”
    â€œAnd what if you were ever an editor…” she looked at me curiously. “What would you do? What would you want to add?”
    â€œMe? ” I was surprised she’d even care what a lowly worker bee like moi would ever think. As much as I thought Alida and I connected, I still felt like a mannequin with hands for snapping Polaroids, not a thinking human.
    â€œWell, I’d do a lot,” I started cautiously as she looked at me. “I would really sharpen the tone of the writing, give it that voice—it used to be snarkier, you know, kind of witty, tight, funny. Um…I’d overhaul some of the graphics, make them bolder, darker, edgier. Maybe experiment with more vintage looks like Warholian silkscreen images, chunky lettering, collages, things that lend energy. You know, that make every page pop. I like toturn the page and have everything be eye-catching and bold,” I finished, thinking maybe I’d ranted too much. I was letting my imaginary corner office eclipse reality.
    â€œInteresting,” she said with a smile. “Good to know.”
    â€œI’m really excited for the big FDI event,” I said, revved up. “I’m bringing this new guy I met recently.”
    â€œOh really ?” Alida asked with Richard-style taunting. “Can’t wait to meet him!”
    â€œI’m actually meeting him for dinner tonight—” I said, checking out the