We were too busy last night watching Nurse Jackie make bad decisions to bother with Kell on Earth. Luckily our very own fictional freelancer Betsey Morgenstern was making some bad decisions of her own and has the scoop.
Higher and Hire
by Betsey Morgenstern
If I learned anything in my time working as one of Kelly Cutrone's interns at People's Revolution PR it is that Cutrone doesn't know how to hire the right people. She may be smart and funny and the life of the god damn party, but she has a penchant for hiring pretty girls who have no idea what they are doing. Her partners Robyn and Emily were talking about hiring some new girls and told Kelly she was not allowed in the room.
"Remember the time you brought in a huge bin of headbands for no reason at all?" Emily said.
"Remember that time you spent the whole interview talking to the girl about L'Eggs stockings and the plastic eggs they come in?" Robyn said.
"Remember the time you asked that girl if she had ever been a part of the Weather Underground?" Emily said.
"Remember the time you told the girl you would give her the job if she would sing a Joan Baez song while hopping on one foot?" Robyn said.
"Remember the time you just started meditating in the middle of the interview for no reason at all?" Emily said.
"Oh, that was the worst," Robyn said.
"Yeah, the worst," Emily said.
Kelly wasn't allowed to do any interviewing, instead Robyn and Emily asked this girl named Mallory a lot of questions about her qualifications and her work at a jewelry PR firm. Apparently she was a friend of that pretty girl who works here whose name I always forget but I once did a bunch of K with in the bathroom at Butter. Emily and Robyn seemed a little sketched out by this girl. Then Kelly walks into the room, even though she promised not to interfere in the interview.
"Are you named after Mallory Keaton? Do you like to wear black? Do you like to swear? You're pretty. Hire this bitch," Kelly screamed and ran out of the office. She was so worried about how mad Robyn and Emily would be that she ran all the way to her L.A. office where she ran around and told people they were spending too much money and arranged a bunch of clothes on a rack and then went to a really weird clothing store that only sold old boom boxes and used headbands from '80s exercise videos. Then she wanted to go home so she found a magic teleportation device that was powered by karaoke and she sang "We Built This City" over and over again and then her Jefferson Starship took off and whisked her back to SoHo.
When she got there, everyone was reading the New York Post. "What are you reading?" she asked.
"The fucking paper," Emily said, flipping her lustrous hair and unleashing the laughter of Satan. "Because that bitch you hired who was named after Family Ties got arrested for stealing $97 million worth of jewelry from her old job."
"She's fired!" Kelly said.
"You can't fire her. She's not even here. And you said to hire her. Kelly, you're never allowed to hire another person again!" Robyn said. "And yeah, looks like she's not going to be working here."
I told them they should have hired me on full time. But, no, they never listen to good old Betsey. I was so pissed they hired someone else I just dialed up my old friend Neel Shah at Page Six and said, "Hey Neel. Guess what, I got a tip on some bitch named Mallory. She stole tons of jewelry. Put that in the paper." And he did! It hasn't been so easy to get someone fired since Big Stephanie fired herself a few weeks ago.
Robyn and Emily went out and hired some girl named Grace Healey instead. She was very nice and pretty and seemed very competent. We were all tasked with clearing out the second floor because Kelly was going to rent it out to a friend of hers because she is destitute. We were cataloging all the Flintstones dresses and gold lamé jumpers and spiked tiaras in the show room and Grace was like, "My back really hurts. No one will care if I go home, will they?"
"No, not at all. It's not like we all have to stay until everyone's work is done and we all lock the door together. What kind of office runs like that?" I said. It was a total lie, because that is how People's Revolution runs. It doesn't just sound like a PR commune, it is one.
Well, Kelly was pissed that the girl left, so she ordered that she come back and work, but when she got there, all the work was done. She just sighed and went back home and called Neel Shah. "Neel, Kelly Cutrone is a major bitchface. I hate her. Can you put that in the paper? Please?! I'll do anything you say," she left on his voicemail. Well, he never got it, because I have been checking his voicemail with this thing called spoofcard I stole from my friend Ali. You wouldn't know her, it's not like she's been in the papers or anything. I deleted the email, because I don't want her to get fired just yet. Maybe in a week or two.
So we were all leaving, except for little Stephanie who stayed behind because that is what she likes to do. She's a worker bee, that Stephanie. And her cute Latin boyfriend Alano was outside waiting for her and leaning on the wall under some scaffolding with his skateboard propped up against the facade.
"Hey," I said.
"Hey," he said. "You seen Stephanie?"
"No. I don't think she's coming out."
"Man, she is always working. What is up with that? Even when we go out on a date her coworkers come."
"That's awful. How could she do that to you?"
"I know, sometimes I really just want to get my revenge on her."
"You should really do that. Know what would be great? If you slept with one of her coworkers!"
"Really? That seems like it would be mean."
"No, not at all. It would just go to show her that you are better than she is and that her job isn't all that should be importnat."
"But where am I going to meet one of her....oh, uh, why are you rubbing my crotch."
"Let's go get some revenge, mister."
"OK, let me call Stephanie first," he whipped out his iPhone while grabbing his board with the other hand. "Hey, Stephanie. It's not working out. I think we're through. OK, I gotta go bang your intern Betty. Bye."
"It's Betsey," I said as we walked down Grand Street.
"What?" he said, slipping his arm around my shoulders as we strutted down the pockmarked sidewalk closer and closer to his Lower East Side apartment.
"Never mind," I said, turning my head to stare up at him. "Never mind."