By DJ Black
I was a sensible normal girl from a sensible normal home living in the sensible normal north. So everyone was surprised that after a year at college studying textiles I decided to move to London for an unpaid internship at a fashion house.
Darer Franks was one of the hottest up-and-coming designers on the scene and to even get an interview with her convinced me I was the next best thing since sliced bread. It didn’t matter that I had been told the turnover rate for new talent was dizzying or that the work would be routine in the extreme, think gofer and coffee-maker, but she chose me and in my mind I had it made.
Darer at something over 30 was beautiful and sharp with impeccable brown-black hair and a sharp masculine business suit that never looked more feminine on anyone. Until we met I had thought I was at least presentable and cool in my M&S grey trouser suit and stylish bob. But afterwards I felt awkward and frumpy with indecisive hair that was neither blonde nor light brown and I looked altogether far too… sensible. Nevertheless I was in.
My name is Kathy Palmer and this is my story.
The day I arrived at the office was all shouting and people running about. Not including me there were seven women, but that day I could have sworn there 20 or 30 at least.
This noisy chaos bustled in an open plan office with desks to one side and the middle and hangers and drawing boards along one wall. Darer had a power desk in one corner from where she could watch everything and in the opposite corner by the door was a small area with sofas and big padded chairs like a kind of waiting room. Not knowing what to do I just stood in this area holding my bag in front of me like a shield and tried to catch someone’s eyes.
“You a buyer?” a girl stopped and asked.
“N-no I…” I spluttered but she had already lost interest and hurried on.
Then another older redheaded woman saw me and said angrily, “At last, see Angela and get the samples out to…”
I put up a hesitant hand and squeaked, “I’m Kathy Palmer the new intern.”
The angry redhead looked angrier and shook her head in denial and then for a moment her face relaxed and she almost smiled, “Right, sorry, wait there.” Then she too was gone.
I watched this circus for an age, wondering if I should help or see someone. Then an older woman, the only one of these women who looked over 40 walked over and said, “Go get some coffee and do try to not to be long.”
I was about to protest but she handed me a £5 note and a piece of paper with orders scrawled on it. “Where do I…?” But then she too was gone.
It seemed a lot of money for just coffee and the scrawling on the paper were in hieroglyphics, but leaving my bag and heading out to the street I immediately found a coffee shop. Thankfully the girl was calmer and friendlier than my future colleagues and she had no trouble reading the order.
On my return the redhead actually smiled and said thanks, suggesting I put the coffees on the counter in the kitchen, all except Darer’s and to take hers to her. “The black no sugar,” she said and started to rush off. “I am Rachel by the way, sorry we are so busy.”
“Is it always like this?” I asked.
“No,” she shook her head, “Only most of the time.”
Darer was calm and at least she remembered me. “You made it then,” she said and looked me up and down as if that itself was an achievement. “This is a great day to start and a bad one,” she told me. “Try and stay out of the way, but gather up some of this paper and boxes, you can stack it at the top of the stairwell, other than that just fetch coffee when Janet asks you. Okay you can go,” she said wafting me away with her fingers, “We will talk later,” adding, “Or not.”
The rest of the day found me bustling around this ants nest until it suddenly stopped and in a minute flat almost everyone but Janet, Rachel and Darer was gone.
“We will talk tomorrow… Kathy,” Darer finally said, barely looking at me, “You can go.”
*
During the next few weeks there many days like that but all in all it was a round of chatty phone calls and little group conversations about fabric matching and suppliers. My days were filled with coffee runs and taking out the rubbish. But I got a good handle on the business and got to know the girls, almost all of whom were a good few years older than me.
Occasionally Darer would talk to me about fashion trends and ask what I thought, albeit very occasionally, but I think in this way she got to know what I was learning and how useful I might be. Then one day Rachel started up a casual conversation and asked me how I was getting on with Darer.
“She barely notices me most of the time and when we do talk I am sure I sound like a total idiot about fashion,” I told her.
“She is extremely focussed and I bet she notices you more than you think,” Rachel said with a wistful smile and seemed to appraise me over the top of her coffee cup. “Have you messed up yet?” she put in matter-of-factly.
“I am sure I have, Janet certainly thinks so,” I laughed derisively.
“But Darer… you and her haven’t had… words?” Rachel was shaking her head quizzically.
I was puzzled, knowing she was getting at something and shook my head.
Rachel shrugged, “Oh right, don’t take it too much to heart if… well if you and her have a little talk now and then.”
“I don’t think she is going to talk to me especially,” I replied, “What do you mean?”
“Oh nothing, maybe I… well I was once her intern and then assistant… when I first started here. Take no notice,” Rachel shrugged again and changed the subject.
I didn’t think any more about this conversation until much later.
Then a few days or perhaps a week later I was working late helping Darer with some last minute jobs when I dropped a stack of fabric on the floor.
“Careful you stupid girl,” she raged, the most emotional I have ever seen her, “How any idea how expensive that cloth is?”
I blustered and apologised and stooped to gather up the pile and making it drag across the floor some more in the process.
“Leave it,” she hissed and ushered me away to pick it up herself, “I ought to spank you soundly and send you home to your mother,” she added.
These were more innocent times of course and the threat was as to a child in my mind and in the same vein as my mother saying, ‘you are not too old my girl,’ even though I patently was. Nevertheless, I was embarrassed.
“I’m sorry,” I blushed, but she told me to finish my other tasks and go home.
*
Maybe a week after that I was kept behind again to complete a mailing. A boring task where I put tailored letters into stamp addressed envelopes ready for posting to clients. I had done a handful just before the close of day and Janet had taken the first batch for posting. I had just finished and hoped to meet some of the girls for a drink when I realised I had a stray envelope left over and no letter to be inserted.
“Is this right?” I asked Darer, I was confused and knew I had probably messed something up.
Darer looked over and then spied a letter on the floor. “Purple Pooch?” she said reading the heading.
“The envelope says to Barret and Sons,” I countered.
The normally calm Darer actually looked flustered and began grabbing at letters and opening them. “These are all wrong,” she said in a horrified voice.
The letters had been in one systematic pile next to another systematic pile of envelopes, an easy job to match up… unless someone carelessly drops one on the floor breaking the sequence.
“Find the Barret letter,” Darer snapped and then together we shuffled each envelope until we had searched them all.
“It’s not here,” I said. I felt sick. “Janet took a handful to the post box when she left,” I told her.
There was a crushing silence while Darer stood with her hand on her head. “Fuck,” she said at last and stamped her foot in frustration. “You stupid girl,” she gasped. Then she gave me a look that could have left me dead on the floor and said in a deathly calm voice. “Go and get the master list. Check how many we have here and how many Janet took. Then photocopy the page or pages on the master list that have the contact information of the letters sent, crossing out the addresses for letters we still have and bring the list to me.”
I scurried around like maniac for… I don’t know how long… until I had a list of 17 and run it over to Darer. Darer scanned the list and winced a couple of times, but in the end she sighed with a hint of relief. “I can fix this,” she muttered to herself. Then she looked at me like a predatory schoolteacher. “Do you want to work here, no really, stop and think about your answer?” she asked.
“I am so sorry… I…” in that moment I thought I had lost my job and nearly vomited on the spot.
Darer stood up and removed her jacket and beckoned me over. “You stupid girl, I am going to take your pants and trousers down and give you the spanking of your life on your completely bare bottom,” she said in a calm certain voice.
I had no idea what to say and wondered if she were joking, but as my mouth struggled silently to answer she grabbed my arm and tumbled me face down across her lap. Then unbuttoning the trousers at the hip and drawing down the zip she soon had my trousers down to my feet. I felt a tug at the waistband of my underwear and they quickly followed the trousers down my legs to my ankles. I just gasped in surprise and squirmed.
“This could take a while,” Darer growled and slapped me once with her open hand so that I felt the sting.
I might have said ouch, but it is hard to remember as the spanking lit up my bare bottom for about five minutes until I was kicking a yelling with a fire in my seat.
“You stupid, stupid girl,” she raged, “How difficult is it to match the headings to the addresses as you put them in?”
I babbled apologies and kicked my legs, but all to no avail.
She scolded and spanked me for another five minutes until my breathing was ragged and I started crying.
“I don’t know if we’re done, but I have no more time to waste on you,” she sighed and let me drop to all fours on the floor.
I knelt sobbing before her grabbing at my bottom in a futile attempt to rub away the pain.
“Go and stand in that corner,” she said sharply, pointing at the lounge area directly opposite from her desk, “Put your hands on your head and do not move,” she snarled.
As I scurried across the room to obey I began pulling up my things. They got no further than my knees when she yelled, “Leave your panties and trousers round your ankles.”
I dropped the clothing at once and stumbled.
“After you get there stupid girl,” she told me angrily.
It is so embarrassing imagining oneself to be a grown woman and then being sent to the corner like a child. It was shameful enough that Darer could see my very red bare bum from where she sat, but the office cleaners could arrive at any minute and I knew I would die. Literally and that was a stone cold fact.
As I pressed my nose to seam at the corner of the room and put my hands on my head I heard Darer phoning the first client to explain. What followed was a lot of crawling banter and old girl network jokes at my expense. At one point I swear I heard Darer tell someone that ‘the bloody girl won’t be sitting down for a month.’
Floors don’t open up pits to hell under one’s feet, there is no need. I was in hell already.
Eventually Darer told me to pull my pants up and come over to her. “I suppose mistakes happen,” she said with a sigh. “Assuming you want to come in again tomorrow…” she paused as if wanting me to answer.
I nodded, more relieved than anything just then.
“You can stay behind and open all letters, salvage what you can and we will do them again tomorrow,” she said wearily.
“Yes of course,” I agreed with a sniff, but I was very, very red at both ends.
*
The next day in the office I half expected everyone to be looking at me and sniggering. It had to be obvious that I had been spanked like a little girl and even if it wasn’t surely Darer had told everyone what a stupid girl I was and how she put me in my place. I remember thinking she had already been bragging about to someone on the phone
I told no one about my encounter with Darer and the next day she was her usual self. I remembered then my conversation with Rachel and almost asked her about it. But that was far too embarrassing so I let it drop. I am sure these day’s people with no stake or knowledge of the situation would be screaming at me to get a lawyer and destroy Darer and my own career with it, but these were different times and fashion changes.
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