Girls of new york; frankie baker

MONDAY - The week start and you have to go to work. Today’s shooting day. 

The car stopped in front of the tall bulding for it seemed like a second, the second i needed to step out of it and to hand the taxidriver some bills. 'Thank you' i said, cheerfully, but the car was already far away, lost in the city traffic. With a quick glance at the watch on my wrist, i rushed inside the building, getting some simpathetic greetings from the guards at the entrance and slipping inside the elevator, as fast as i could without killing myself, with the shoes i was wearing. Finally i sighed in relief: i was on time, at least in comparison with my average timing. The doors opened and i walked, quickly to my desk...or what it used to be. It was a completely mess, just like i had left it, covered with old copies of magazines and pieces of paper. I sat on my leather chair, taking out my planner of the bag and placing it with a thud on the wooden table; i glared at my daily commitments: an appointment with marc jacobs at his boutique in the late morning to see his new collection and a meeting with some suppliers just after lunch. I was practically 'free' for a couple of hours. Now i regretted the coffee i didn't have the chance to buy before coming here, the only moment i really had to enjoy it. 

I switched on my laptop, pushing away a column of old copies of vogue and concentrating on the research of new trends. I took my agenda, ready to take notes and sticking post-its on it (the part i preferred of my job) when my mobile rung. 'Frankie' my mom's voice blasted, 'why didn't you come yesterday?' She asked, sounding hurt to death by my misdeed. I sighed, knowing that she now considered me the worst daughter in the world for ditching her usual sunday lunch, without giving some advice before. 'I'm sorry, mum' i tried my best to sound mortified: i wasn't. 'I was busy' i blabbed, 'i was out for work' i added, using the magical word i knew could solve everything. She paused, not fully convinced, 'on sunday?' She asked and i imagined her frowning, 'vogue knows no rest. You know how it is.....' i replied, mentally smirking to myself. Surely i had plenty of work during the week (and occasionally in the weekend) but this wasn't the case. I had spent my whole sunday laying on the sofa in a pijama with a cereal box and a copy of 'lolita'. 

'If that's the case...' She replied, 'are you coming tonight, for dinner?' I sighed, 'your dad misses you' she added, using my soft heart to convince me. 'Sure' i loved my parents a lot but i hated how they could be so over-protective, even though i was already 24 and living on my own. 'Do i need to bring you something, cake maybe?' I asked trying to show some interest. 'Oh no' she sounded so offended that i siriously thought she was going to faint, right there, in our ho,e. 'I'm making the applepie, your favourite' she replied, proudly and i smiled, even though she couldn't see me. 'I'll see you at 7 then. I need to go back to work, now' i lied, looking around at the empty room. It was way too quiet : no stressed stylists, running around in their stilettos, nor a single gorgeous model lowering your self-esteem, swaying her hips in the corridor. 'Bye, sweetheart' she said before i cut off the converstion, placing the mobile back in my bag. i glared around myself, again. Photoshoot day, i remembered, going back to my agenda. I was ready to face tons of new trends, colours and layout..... but not without a huge cup of coffee, i realized, grabbing my bag and running to the closer starbucks.
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