LIFE OR SO THEY CALL IT.

I never understood why the song "This City" by Sam Fischer always seemed to play on repeat in my head. That evening as I was riding to the sunset it all made sense. The city had broken my heart, the city had loved me then left me alone, it got me chasing stars; making me forget where I belonged. It had been a couple months since I felt like I'm home and maybe going back to the drawing board would help me restructure.

Everyone has the new york dream. Mine involved working in Scarlet magazine. Not only as a writer but occasionally as a model unlike many writers. Don't get me wrong, I love the the thrill of getting a new story and telling everyone's story; but once in a while, I want to be the story! I want to be the centre piece of my art. Little did I know that this guilty pleasure will be the cause of my downfall.

At 24, it was time to leave my parent's house. With a bag full of clothes and naivety I left for the big city ;one with fast cars and revolving doors. The one place where dreams come true and fantasies metamorphosise to reality. I didn't go into it blindly,I knew it wouldn't be a bed of roses, but I was ready for the thorns that came with lying in glory, or so I thought. 

Hello, my name is Gracious, an intern at Scarlet magazine.

My first day at work was nothing I dreamed of . I thought working at scarlet would be camera's, microphones, recordings, wire taps and such exciting paraphernalia. It turned out to be coffee runs and cleaning tables all day long. I was exhausted by the time it was 2pm and I had to go for my seventh coffee run of the day. Don't get me wrong, I am neither lazy nor incompetent, but when wearing six inch red bottom stilettos , there is a limit to the walking and running you can do. I arrived to the board room late and the meeting was late. The lady who had sent me , I later got to know her name as Mellisa was standing at the door with anger written all over her face. 

" You said you can work under pressure and yet you cannot even get coffee orders correctly and on time. You are such a disappointment! Go home." Melissa said

My world crampled . In a hazy state, I walked to the board room, closed the door and slid down on it. I put my hands to my eyes and couldn't control all the tears that were dripping from my face. I was an emotional mess in a mental haze. That was the fourth time Melissa had yelled at me that day. And now she told me to go home!!!!!Was I fired? Did I loose my job even before I got it? How would I explain to everyone who helped me get this internship that I got fired as a writer for making a tea girl mistake? Irony. 

I was sitted in the most elite magazine in the country and I had a chance to write there. She had not taken my press card yet and I doubted if my finger print access had been revocked. So I tried unlocking the door and when I realized I could still access the rooms and the facilities , I was beyond elated. I opened one of the tablets on the board room and started writing the story that took me from grass to grace;"Disappointing first's". For a whole hour I start there, twisting and turning, refilling my coffee and tapping into my intellectual side until I felt I had gotten it right. I sighed in realief as I wrote the final full stop.

" Are you done?" I heard a male voice say behind me

"What?" I said turning in utter shock

" Hi, I am Adam's. You must be the new intern."

" Hi, Yes I am. How long have you been here?"

" Long enough." 

"That's not good enough an answer"

" Let's say, right before you starting drinking any of those coffees"

" What!"

"Yes, so what were you working on?"

" Nothing important."

" That's not good enough an answer"

" A story on disappointing firsts, if you have been here that long you'd probably be knowing my first day was my last too yet it was nothing I dreamt it would be."

" That sounds like an interesting story. Can I read it?"

"No."

"Why?"

"It's raw."

"Raw is good. New perspective" He said while taking it from my hands.

He read it, nodding , smiling , underlining, looking up at me and back to it, staring to space and knocking the table with his pen. I was dying to know what he thought. He was the first person at scarlet to read my work and dumb as it sounds, I wanted his approval, something to make me feel like I am good enough for scarlet. 

" This can work with the photos I took"

"What are you talking about?"

" Oh, while you were on that floor I didn't know what to say, so I took photos hoping I would capture the transition from upset and overwhelmed to in control ."

"That's sadistic"

"One way of seeing it, another way is we got the perfect photos for your story."

" It doesn't matter, it will never get published."

"Says who? I am the chief editor remember"

"You are?"

" Yes I am."

"And who is Melissa?"

"She is also just an editor. Technically I am her boss."

" So I get to keep my job?"

" You were not fired, you were asked to go home. To take a break. I am glad you thought so though, now I have a story. Go home, and avoid those shoes if you are going to be working with Melissa."

I was delighted and I couldn't wait for my story to go public. The next day I walked confidently to the office, I walked to Melissa and apologized for mishaps the previous day. She was non chalant about it and thus I let go afterall my pastor says after you apologize, the burden is no longer yours, it moves to the unforgiving party. I was in a good mood and when everyone in the office seemed to notice me , I became alarmed. The looks they were giving me were not anything like "we are proud of you looks," due to lack of a better term, I would say they were threatening looks. 

Adams called me to his office and locked the door. He asked me if I had seen the digital paper that morning, I told him no because I assumed my article would be in print magazine that came later in the week. He showed me the article and God! It had incredible views! The transition from me on the board room office curled in a corner to me sitted with a coffee mug working on the article was incredible. The first photo was in black and white giving it an artistic raw touch and the other one had colour, from blurry to non blurry. The comments section was blowing up with most young adults with quater life crises and a handful of disappointing firsts telling their story. Reading all that was so overwhelming I found myself crying. 

" I should call you the crying girl in your column."

"What ?"

" The board met today, your article intrigued all of the and they are willing to give you your own column to speak your voice in a way most young adults can relate to . They are a demographic we were trying to reach and we were stuck and like a guardian angel you showed up and saved us ."

I couldn't hide my excitement. It takes years of writing to become good enough for a column. Yet here I was, an intern on her day two of working getting the job . What did I do to deserve such favor?. I got a desk with the other writers and right from the start, I could feel the tense air. It finally made sense all the disapproving looks I got that morning. Talking to them was a waste of time as all I got was silence and occasional one word responses. Another disappointing first.

Over lunch, a writer came over and she was nice to me. She wasn't there all morning so I thought she didn't know but then she bluntly asked me " did you sleep with Adams?". Apparently, someone had seen us leave the office late the day before and when my article went up and I ended up getting a column, a rumour started that I was having an affair with him. I denied the allegations and she seemed to trust me however she warned me to watch out. 

For months I watched out, I avoided Adams at all costs but that is hard when you work in the same building and he edits all your work. Some times, we ended up spending alot of late nights together working on a story or following a lead that we ended up ordering take outs in the office or going for dinner together. There is something about spending time with someone that makes you see them in a different light, and that's exactly what happened. 

One weekend, we were working on a story of appreciating one's feminine nature and embracing femininity. This included appreciating the freckles on your skin, the " stupid meat" and curveless curves on your body while integrating it with jobs women do that are deemed masculine. The models showed up for the jobs but the body models bailed last minute. They did not want to be part of an article titled "perfectly imperfect." I was frustrated considering how hyped the story was. Adams gave me a tight hug, kissed me on the forehead and told me it was going to be alright. That sends spasms of butterflies all over my body. For a minute I lost my cool. I knew there was a build up tension around us for a couple weeks now but I always thought it was just me who felt it. But what was that? Why did he do that?While I was still in my world, I noticed him with his camera focused on me. 

" You always wanted to be a model."

"As a kid."

"Lies, you love modelling for your stories. Even though you always make the photographers blur you, I know it's you."

" How do you know ?"

" I made the first blur photo of you, I can make you out in a frame."

" Your point being?"

"You will model for this."

He said it with so much authority and conviction that before I noticed it, I was on the canvas and he was taking photos of me. He took the freckles on my back, the tattoos to hide a scars on my thighs and a full silhouette photo of me absolutely nude. While he was coming to adjust my position , I gave in to my desires, my need for him, my craving for his touch and my lust for his body on mine. I pulled him in for a long passionate kiss . It was everything I thought it would be and more and before I could control myself and the situation, I could feel him deep inside me making me feel every inch feminine.

The next Monday, the photos were edited and the article was online blooming more than the first time. Only one thing was wrong! A wrong photo had accidentally found its way online. I was toast! He was fucked! How could we not notice it?what will we do now? The rumours in the office found it's basis and the assumption that I had fucked my way up was on everyone's mind. When the human resource manager called us to give us our suspension letters, I knew I didn't have a comeback. Tell me, who would hire a 25 year old model- writer whose name had been turned to slut by almost every author who could lay hands on that story and republish it? That's why I am going home. I need a come back..

By Favor khaoya