City of Angels (H.S.)

Chapter One

"You're delusional," Kay laughed from her perch on the sofa arm. She squinted her honey-brown eyes at my ever-growing rack of first day outfit options and shook her head again.

"I'm telling you, Pen," she sang the last word, falling back on my cream-colored couch. "This isn't going to be like The Devil Wears Prada."

I pulled a pale blue a-line skirt from the front of the rack and held it up to my waist. "I know it's not going to be like that," I lied, shooting my older sister a duh look as I pawed through the clothes she had brought over for me to examine. "I just want to look okay. When I was in the office for my interview, everyone had something amazing on. They looked so cool!" 

Kay laughed at me again and tossed one of the matching throw pillows at my head. "Don't be a dweeb then, Penny! I hooked you up with this job, so if you embarrass me, I'll kill you!" 

My sister was right, and I would be forever grateful for her seemingly-endless LA connections. Thanks to her five years at one of the most respected public relations firms in the city, I'd manage to snag a fall editorial internship at Rolling Stone. I first subscribed to the magazine when I was 13, amazed by the controversial covers, in-depth interviews and snappy reviews. Now, years later, I followed my older sister out to Los Angeles from our family home in Arizona, determined to land my dream job. I had just begun my junior year at the University of Southern California when Kay called to inform me I had an interview.

The interview had been the easy part, I thought dramatically.  Deciding what to wear on my first offical day will break me. 

I fished my cell phone out of my robe pocket and jabbed at the screen for the time. Fuck. "Kay, I have to be there in two hours!" It would take me at least an hour to get ready and an hour to fight my way through traffic from my crummy West Hollywood apartment to the magazine's office downtown. "Help me," I whined. 

"Okay, look," she said, jumping up from the couch. "You can't wear leather and sleeveless." She snatched the blouse I held up to my thin torso. "You'll look skanky." 

I was starting to get frustrated with the entire ordeal. Never in my life had getting dressed taken longer than 20 minutes.

 "Go get ready and I'll pull together an outfit for you," my big sister said with a sympathetic smile. I felt a wave of relief wash over me as I bounded into my small bedroom. 

I stared in the mirror, suddenly nervous about my appearance. I ran a tangle teaser brush through my long brunette hair that hung down to the middle of my back in easy, beachy waves. In high school, I was eternally jealous of my sister's naturally blonde, stick-straight hair, a look 16-year-old me tried to copy with highlight and a flat iron. Now, at 21, I was thankful for the low-maintenance mane I considered my best feature.

Minutes later, I had successfully worked a bit of tinted moisturizer into my fair skin, dusted a bit of peach blush across my cheekbones for emphasis and added some mascara to line my light brown eyes. I enjoyed the process of getting ready and glamming up, I supposed, but that wasn't my focus most days. I was more content to pour over my favorite articles, meet my friends at dive bars to discover bands and explore my new city. My older sister had always been the glamorous one, a title I was more than willing to let her have.

I found Kay in the living room holding up a bunch of clothing in a tah-dah! fashion. She virtually threw the clothes at me, and made a shooing motion with her hands. I slipped the thin, plain white t-shirt over my head and tucked it into the structured leather skirt my sister had selected for me. I topped the shirt with a boxy, expensive-looking, three-quarter sleeved blazer I know my sister loved and a chunky crystal necklace from J. Crew. Kay looked at me with excitement.