What I wrote in the train...
Clarice Adams and the Secret Tower
CHAPTER ONE
Clarice corrected the collar of her trench coat, and swung back her flat brown hair. The mild summer breeze felt heavy against her pale skin – thick London smog. She walked toward a tall building, taking fast uneven steps and merged into the foam of fast moving mob. Through the swing door, her warm hands pressed the glass and painted a misty imprint.
“This is it.” She inhaled and let the heavy breath drop to the pitch of her stomach. My “12 weeks summer internship.”
Why she'd gotten it in the first place, was still not clear. Clarice had no interest in working for a corporate conglomerate. She wasn't elegant- like most of the women in the city. Tight knee high dresses. High heels, fresh make-up smudged against their skin. Red lipstick marks on their lattes and oversized expensive bags.
No, Clarice was wearing an old vintage trench coat she'd picked up at a bargain the weekend before in any other market than Camden Market. The shoes, with a three inch heal she'd borrowed from her best friend Mare, and the medi-dress with pleats pressed against her limbs was maybe from 1920 or so. A fashion comeback from her granny's dusty wardrobe. Thinking of her gran momentarily gave Clarice the shivers. So she shifted her thoughts back. Meekly she approached the glossy reception. A woman with a sharp wolf-like smile looked at her.
"How can I help you today?" Her fake high-pitched voice was not the issue. It was the condemned look hidden behind the receptionist's square blue frames that made Clarice feel smaller than what she already felt. Small, she was in the big city of London, and away from home – the dock pond as she liked to call it.
"I'm the new Intern at Dukhan…" In one quick motion the receptionist tossed up a badge and motioned Clarice towards the lifts. Her hand straight and firm like an arrow, and her smile wide revealing her Sharp teeth.
"22nd floor please." Clarice placed her index finger on the badge and slid it against the glossy desk, making a light a scrappy noise. The heavy mob walking in and out of the building squished her into one of the lifts. Her face was inches from touching the cold metal wall. As the lift stopped before reaching the top floor, it off loaded people shuffling the marble floor like tiny ants. She peeled away from the wall and made some room to wiggle and straightened her spine. Clarice felt boneless like a soft toy and shot out pockets of air from her lungs to empty the heaviness in her chest.
"Are you getting out here?"
"Yes." She took a deep breath-"I am thank you," and glanced at the boy staring at her his eyes hard in question.
"My name is Damien..." a thumb and Clarice had landed on her face. The heel of her shoe caught in the elevator rim. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, thank you." She quickly rose to her feet, dusted herself off and realized her left foot was bare against the cold marble. She'd broken off the heel of Mare's shoe. Great! She's going to kill me, now. Clarice tried not to play the record where Mare had said. "Please C, it's my favorite pair. Look well after them okay?" The boy was holding Mare's shoe in his hand. The heel dangling like a dead limb of a body. He cleared his throat.
"Your shoe." He said politely. No. This wasn't a Cinderella moment she thought to herself. It's too cheesy. He's just well-mannered, the English kind of way and of course happens to be incredible cute too. Soft ginger-blond hair and glassy green eyes. "Most of the girls here keep an impressive collection in their bottom drawers. I'm sure no one will notice. They usually get in at half nine. I won't tell anyone." He gave Clarice a mischievous smile, and motioned at the empty desk across the lobby behind the glass door. He then pushed it open and disappeared. She saw him move elegantly, his navy blue suit tailor made to suit his athletic frame and his white shirt left a trial of a lemony scent. Clarice felt warm, and placed her cold hands against her boiling face. She halted to the reception, and repeated the mantra in the lowest possible voice.
“Clarice Adams. New. Intern.” A quick glare into a tiny camera and minutes later Clarice was holding her new work pass.
"All the other 'younglings' will be in the boardroom Sparta, from 10am." Said
the receptionist and pressed back a laugh. 'Younglings' Clarice shrugged. She suddenly felt like an apprentice in master Yoda's class. And this, Dukhan Investments, felt like a new edition of Star Wars. The music rang in her ears momentarily "I'll show you your desk."
"Can I just go to the ladies first please?"
"It's down the corridor to your left." Clarice's heart was racing. She took a quick right swing into the wide open planned office floor, duck into the empty desk, Damien had guided her to and grabbed the first pair of shoes she could see, and scooted off, slow paced without drawing too much attention to herself. Inside the ladies Clarice shoved Mare's shoes into her bag and pressed into the black leather heels. Only trouble was- they were one size too big. 'Dammit!!!'
She tucked in tissues at the back of the shoe to make them fit- 'definitely Cinderella moment. Except I'm not her... Cinderella had it good. She had a new dress and shoes, nothing like Clarice, second hand vintage attire and borrowed now broken shoes. Sigh!
Clarice stared at her reflection in the mirror. Small summer freckles against her marble skin, her brown hair a shade lighter from the sun. She pinched her sallow cheeks. 'Younglings...I'm sixteen thank you very much.' She twisted her nose slightly to the right, and made her way out. She was entering the real world – a cut-throat world.
CHAPTER ONE
Clarice corrected the collar of her trench coat, and swung back her flat brown hair. The mild summer breeze felt heavy against her pale skin – thick London smog. She walked toward a tall building, taking fast uneven steps and merged into the foam of fast moving mob. Through the swing door, her warm hands pressed the glass and painted a misty imprint.
“This is it.” She inhaled and let the heavy breath drop to the pitch of her stomach. My “12 weeks summer internship.”
Why she'd gotten it in the first place, was still not clear. Clarice had no interest in working for a corporate conglomerate. She wasn't elegant- like most of the women in the city. Tight knee high dresses. High heels, fresh make-up smudged against their skin. Red lipstick marks on their lattes and oversized expensive bags.
No, Clarice was wearing an old vintage trench coat she'd picked up at a bargain the weekend before in any other market than Camden Market. The shoes, with a three inch heal she'd borrowed from her best friend Mare, and the medi-dress with pleats pressed against her limbs was maybe from 1920 or so. A fashion comeback from her granny's dusty wardrobe. Thinking of her gran momentarily gave Clarice the shivers. So she shifted her thoughts back. Meekly she approached the glossy reception. A woman with a sharp wolf-like smile looked at her.
"How can I help you today?" Her fake high-pitched voice was not the issue. It was the condemned look hidden behind the receptionist's square blue frames that made Clarice feel smaller than what she already felt. Small, she was in the big city of London, and away from home – the dock pond as she liked to call it.
"I'm the new Intern at Dukhan…" In one quick motion the receptionist tossed up a badge and motioned Clarice towards the lifts. Her hand straight and firm like an arrow, and her smile wide revealing her Sharp teeth.
"22nd floor please." Clarice placed her index finger on the badge and slid it against the glossy desk, making a light a scrappy noise. The heavy mob walking in and out of the building squished her into one of the lifts. Her face was inches from touching the cold metal wall. As the lift stopped before reaching the top floor, it off loaded people shuffling the marble floor like tiny ants. She peeled away from the wall and made some room to wiggle and straightened her spine. Clarice felt boneless like a soft toy and shot out pockets of air from her lungs to empty the heaviness in her chest.
"Are you getting out here?"
"Yes." She took a deep breath-"I am thank you," and glanced at the boy staring at her his eyes hard in question.
"My name is Damien..." a thumb and Clarice had landed on her face. The heel of her shoe caught in the elevator rim. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, thank you." She quickly rose to her feet, dusted herself off and realized her left foot was bare against the cold marble. She'd broken off the heel of Mare's shoe. Great! She's going to kill me, now. Clarice tried not to play the record where Mare had said. "Please C, it's my favorite pair. Look well after them okay?" The boy was holding Mare's shoe in his hand. The heel dangling like a dead limb of a body. He cleared his throat.
"Your shoe." He said politely. No. This wasn't a Cinderella moment she thought to herself. It's too cheesy. He's just well-mannered, the English kind of way and of course happens to be incredible cute too. Soft ginger-blond hair and glassy green eyes. "Most of the girls here keep an impressive collection in their bottom drawers. I'm sure no one will notice. They usually get in at half nine. I won't tell anyone." He gave Clarice a mischievous smile, and motioned at the empty desk across the lobby behind the glass door. He then pushed it open and disappeared. She saw him move elegantly, his navy blue suit tailor made to suit his athletic frame and his white shirt left a trial of a lemony scent. Clarice felt warm, and placed her cold hands against her boiling face. She halted to the reception, and repeated the mantra in the lowest possible voice.
“Clarice Adams. New. Intern.” A quick glare into a tiny camera and minutes later Clarice was holding her new work pass.
"All the other 'younglings' will be in the boardroom Sparta, from 10am." Said
the receptionist and pressed back a laugh. 'Younglings' Clarice shrugged. She suddenly felt like an apprentice in master Yoda's class. And this, Dukhan Investments, felt like a new edition of Star Wars. The music rang in her ears momentarily "I'll show you your desk."
"Can I just go to the ladies first please?"
"It's down the corridor to your left." Clarice's heart was racing. She took a quick right swing into the wide open planned office floor, duck into the empty desk, Damien had guided her to and grabbed the first pair of shoes she could see, and scooted off, slow paced without drawing too much attention to herself. Inside the ladies Clarice shoved Mare's shoes into her bag and pressed into the black leather heels. Only trouble was- they were one size too big. 'Dammit!!!'
She tucked in tissues at the back of the shoe to make them fit- 'definitely Cinderella moment. Except I'm not her... Cinderella had it good. She had a new dress and shoes, nothing like Clarice, second hand vintage attire and borrowed now broken shoes. Sigh!
Clarice stared at her reflection in the mirror. Small summer freckles against her marble skin, her brown hair a shade lighter from the sun. She pinched her sallow cheeks. 'Younglings...I'm sixteen thank you very much.' She twisted her nose slightly to the right, and made her way out. She was entering the real world – a cut-throat world.
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