Midnights In Paris | Jenlisa

The Devil Works Hard But Karma Works Harder

A dull pain ticked the back of her eyeballs. With each stroke punctual like a pendulum, Jennie rubbed her eyelids in a slow, circular way in an attempt to alleviate the pain.

"Mademoiselle"

It wasn't Chaeyoung voice calling her. At her place, a young assistant stood next to the door. The blue suit he wore looked a little small on him and it was clear, from his unbuttoned jacket, that he was sweating underneath it. His longish, dirty blonde hair had been combed and gelled back.

Taking a painkiller now would be useless, Jennie thought, it was too late. Her nerves had already went to flames, igniting the steady throbbing she was so accustomed to. What she would give to make it magically go away...

"Miss Kim?"

The switch of language didn't go unnoticed by the brunette, who slowly brought her head upright. Even so, she kept her eyes closed and let her silence speak for her. It was nothing her staff wasn't used to.

"The production needs your okay for this morning's shoot"

The boy, standing by the door, said in an English with a heavy French accent. So heavy that for the slightest second, she had wanted to scold him and go all Jennie Kim on him. Maybe saying something along the lines of "fous-moi la paix ", which literally translated to " leave me the hell alone". But she retained herself from doing so.

Instead, a small grunt escaped her throat, letting the boy know she had understood. Grabbing her jacket, she made her way to the elevator where he was already waiting for her. His thick finger pressed the button for the underground floor, where they held all of their shoots.
If Jennie wasn't wrong, he entered the company about two months ago, making him less than a newbie. To her, he was fresh meat. Maybe if it had been any other day, she would have enjoyed seeing his fingers tremble as he hoped to not push the wrong button or the sweat dripping from his forehead. Maybe even tease him in her perfect french for implying the creative director of the most important french fashion magazine didn't know the language. But not today, she decided. Her head hurt too much.

The doors opened and the sound of the stilettos hitting the laminated concrete echoed through the room. For the slightest fraction of a second, everything ( and everyone ) went silent before they swiftly went back to their station, willing to show how good they were doing their job. The deafening sound of hairdryers and the clicks of the camera felt like holes being drilled directly into Jennie' skull.

"Get me Jean" she said to the boy who had stood by her side like a dog to its owner. He rapidly nodded his head and bowed at her. She decided not to comment on that, too.

While she waited for his return, her eyes, covered by a thick pair of sunglasses, went to the ceiling. She followed the metallic pipes that ran across the whole room, from the elevator to the photographic set.

She had never liked the industrial design that had been chosen for the production area, she thought it was predictable and ironically, a little too "the Devil wears Prada" for her own taste. But she knew she couldn't change it before discussing it with Ji-yong. And those, were not conversations she was eager to have.

Finally appearing from the inside of an improvised fitting room, Jean took each step with the same strut of a peacock.

"Jennie, love" he said before kissing the black haired girl on both cheeks "I was waiting for you"

That was a custom she still had not gotten used to. Even after  living in Europe for two years, she would still catch herself flinching when the person she was greeting pulled her in for a second kiss. She found it quite dramatic, to be honest, and also a quite strong culture shock after having lived in Seoul for almost ten years.