Rating: T

Summary: Marissa Cooper an aspiring journalist fresh out of a break-up and college, lands a job as a junior personal assistant to a powerful editor-in-chief of Posh magazine Kirsten Nichol, who makes and breaks trends with just a snap of her fingers. Stuck in poorly paid yet so-called 'glamorous' job, Marissa's solace comes in a form of a young and quirky fashion editor, Alex Nichol – daughter of her boss.

Tagline: A picturesque, superficial and scandalous world…

Disclaimer: Characters belongs to the creator of The O.C and the network FOX. So don't sue me, savvy? The names of branded goods and designer labels mentioned belong to the various rightful owners. The idea and original characters you don't recognized belonged to me, and so does the fictional created magazine name and publication company. The title Lipstick Jungle belongs to author, Candice Bushnell.

Chapter 1

The plane roared down the runway at a thundering speed before soaring into the sky to an en route to New York City. All the passengers seemed excited and were chatting eagerly amongst themselves. All except Marissa Cooper. It wasn't supposed to end up like that. She had it all planned out. Now, Marissa Cooper sat on the toilet seat of the small and cramped bathroom stall as her roommate, Taylor Townsend passed tissues to her. She wondered how she was going to cope with her now, collapsed life. She was dumped. And in the most high-tech way possible, she was cruelly dumped by text. It wasn't fair.

"Are you okay?" Taylor enquired.

"No, I'm crying because I'm happy," Marissa replied with a hint of bitterness. "I just love spending my weekends seeing how happy couples are over their holiday plans while I sit on a toilet seat, bawling like a baby feeling like my heart was whooshed up in a stampede full of raging mad cows."

Taylor looked at her friend blankly. "Are you being sarcastic?"

Marissa rolled her eyes to the back of her head. "Of course I am. This morning I spent a hefty amount of my money I've saved in my piggy bank to visit Lindsay with the intention of celebrating my longest relationship in years-"

"You mean your only relationship," Taylor cut her off.

Marissa ignored her friend's remark and continued with her rant. "Telling my parents and sister how I couldn't believe we have lasted for six months in a long-distance relationship no less. I even thought of getting a little dog together granted it would probably be costly since you know it has to travel back and forth not to mention how tedious it would be to give it a suitable name. But this morning around 9.08 am, I received a text from Lindsay telling me that it's off," Marissa said shakily before bursting into tears.

"I don't wanna end up like those sad, pathetic old women who makes their cats' lame-ass birthday party," Marissa bawled harder, fresh tears produced in her eyes.

Taylor slinked her skinny arm around Marissa's neck, cooing into her ear, "Oh my poor baby. What an absolute bitch! What an unbelievable coward! She's such a loser she doesn't deserve you baby. Maybe you're better off without her."

"I am," Marissa sniffed. "Aren't I? She doesn't deserve me. Didn't deserve all the love that I've showered her with. I just wish I didn't give her two grand for her to pay her tuition fees since I'm broke without a job myself."

"You what?!" Taylor stared at her lanky friend, wide-eyed.

"I know. I was such a fool."

"I hoped she gets ran over by a truck or dies with a malaria disease or something!" Taylor spat.

"Thanks, Taylor," Marissa smiled weakly, wiping her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. "Thanks for listening to me. I will survive this you know."

"I know. You go girl. And don't you worry, there are more lesbians around the corner."

"I just wish someone would tell me which corner. Still, I'll get back out there with a smile on my face…and fuck that bitch!"

With that the deafening sound of applause came from the cabin. A startled look appeared on Taylor's face.

"What? What's going on?" Marissa shrieked, her hand flying to her mouth.

"Oh…my…god…" Taylor said slowly. "I forgot to switch off my microphone!"

&&&&

Meanwhile at Dean & Deluca an upscale deli, a sophisticated looking blonde clad in her Marc Jacobs skinny-leg jeans and a Balenciaga black military jacket listened disinterestedly to her ditzy, fast-talking personal assistant going on endlessly about the guys she has had intimate relationships with, spilling all the beans about who's good, who's bad in bed. Being a highly tolerant person she was, Alex tried to give Summer her full attention. At times nodding to what Summer has just mentioned.

"And so yes, do avoid D.J Molina the accountant working on the twentieth floor and never ever, ever, ever under any circumstances approach Spencer Bullitt because I know from my own experience how much he suck at giving orgasms. I'm telling you, even my grandfather can fuck better," Summer rambled as Alex squirmed in her seat, shifting uncomfortably. "And he's seventy."

"Oh…and did I tell you how big Matt Ramsey is? Seriously, he's big. Too bad I think he's gay though. So what about Johnny Alex…huh, huh, huh," Summer probed, wriggling her eyebrows.

"Who?"

Summer rolled her eyes. "Johnny. Hello! Your boyfriend."

Once again, Alex shifted in her seat clearly uncomfortable with Summer's question. The blonde mumbled into the napkin avoiding Summer's eye contact, "I don't know…I haven't slept with him yet."

"You haven't what?!" Alex blushed as Summer raised her voice to a higher octave.

"I haven't done it with him."

"One year into a relationship and you guys haven't fucked like bunnies? My god, talk about abstinence."

Leaning forward towards Summer, Alex whispered, "It's just…do keep this a secret, Johnny believes in sex after marriage."

"Seriously? Guys like that still exists in Manhattan?" Summer gave Alex an incredulous look. What came out of her mouth next made Alex wished she hadn't been born. "Alex, you need to get laid."

Alex Nichol flinched at Summer's overly loud voice in the deli where they sat finishing the coffee. Unfortunately for her, Summer's voice possessed a high octave that could carry plainly through a hurricane. And then, there was a sudden hush in the crowded room. Glancing at nearby tables, Alex noted the patrons has stopped talking amongst themselves and are now turned, facing them. For the millionth time since they had first met, Alex wished Summer could get embarrassed – but her flamboyant, extravagant and often conceited friend don't know the meaning of the word.

Alex covered her face with her hands and did her best to ignore the curious onlookers. An urge to slink beneath the table and an urge to kick her companion consumed her mind.

"Why didn't you speak louder Summer?" Alex whispered, sarcasm apparent in her voice. "I don't think the guys in Jersey were able to hear you."

"Oh, I don't know," a handsome looking hipster said as he approached their table. "They're probably heading north as we speak," he paused to leered at Alex's form before continuing, "They would love to hit that."

"Hey!" Summer raised herself from the plush seat. She stared at the brown-haired guy straight in the eye. Before the situation worsened, Alex place a hundred dollar note on the table and grabbed her assistant's arm before dragging her out of the eatery.

"Why did we have to leave? It was about to get interesting," Summer argued as she now strutted down the pathway behind Alex.

Alex spun around stopping Summer in track. "Which is a good reason enough for us to flee from the scene. Your outburst earlier was interesting enough."

"Yeah, whatever," Summer huffed as they started bristling. "Where's the driver?" Summer asked, frustrated as she kept looking at the oncoming vehicles passing them.

Just then, Alex's phone rang. The blonde fished for it in her leather hobo before answering the call.

"Hello?"

"Munchkins, it's me," a male singsong voice came out from her phone.

Alex's face broke in a small grin. "Hey, Sethiepoo…how's my favorite stepbrother doing? How's the editorial piece on trapeze dresses for the September issue going?"

"Everything's a, o, kay…Are you with your midget assistant?" Seth whispered conspiratorially.

"Yes, I am," the blonde answered with a slightly amused smile.

"That pesky little rodent. She follows you everywhere."

"Well, that's her job…" Alex trailed off as her brows furrowed. "Come to think of it…it's kinda disturbing actually. She follows me into the bathroom too."

"Hmm…it's like a package, you buy one-get-one free. But she is pretty handy. Small and compact, you can carry her everywhere like those little Polly Pockets thingies I used to play when I was still a boy."

Alex giggled as Summer stared at her quizzically. Oblivious, that Seth was poking fun at her.

"So what are you calling me for?"

She heard her stepbrother chuckling into her ear. "It's our parents. Apparently my dad just filed for divorce," Seth did a dramatic pause. "Dragon lady drives another Mr. Nicholl away."

Alex stood rooted to the spot as her mind reeled on what Seth has just told her. It wasn't that she was surprised. Truth of the matter was, she has seen it coming for a long time now. Sandy and Kirsten had a big nothing in common. They probably had gotten married for all the superficial things.

Money.

Power.

Status.

And yet, there she was standing with her mouth agape as she stuttered, "The…they're filling for divorce?"

"That's right munchkins. My oh my, I could hardly wait to see the headlines tomorrow. I could see it splashing on Page six, 'Another Mr. Nicholl flees from the dragon lady's wrath' that would be a ball," Seth drawled sarcastically. "Anyway, Jodie was freaking out on me about how she has to minimize the press, saying it was a near impossible job."

On the corner of her eyes, she saw the Mercedes-Benz S-Class sedan barreling down the road before halting in front of her.

"Erm…I'll talk to you later, k?"

"Alright. Bye munchkins."

"Who was that?" Summer questioned as they walked over to the car.

Knowing that it will lead to more Summer rambles, Alex lied, "The laundryman."

"You made friends with a laundryman?" Clearly, she bought Alex's white lie. "Is that like the latest trend? Cos' if it is, I wanna know one too. I don't want to be left behind. I work at Posh for godsakes."

&&&&

"Posh?" Marissa asked.

"Omigod, I can't believe you've never heard of it? It's liked the fashion Bible. I work at a recruitment agency and yet, I know it exists," Theresa Diaz from Keith & Company Recruitment Agency said exasperatedly into Marissa's right ear.

The brunette sighed as she replied, "I don't know…I want to write about the social rights and political issues stuff not fashion journalism. I don't even know that much about fashion."

Which was true. Marissa Cooper grew up in a Poughkeepsie in a neo-hippie household. She would spend her time with her family for a week at an ashram, where she learned the chakra breathing technique during the summer breaks. When she was growing up, Marissa often wore her Grateful Dead tee shirts and even then, stood out as the eccentric girl who always smelled a little nicer than most of people her parents befriended – who would regularly dread their hair, or recycle their bath water and wear patchouli oil.

"Well honey, you don't really have much choice do you? You're still jobless and probably already broke and if you keep this up you could very well say bye bye to a rooftop cos' at the rate you're going, you'll be living on the streets in no time. If I were you, I wouldn't be stupid enough to passed up this interview and wait for another job offer because god knows, it could take ages."

"Well, alright…I'll go for the interview," Marissa mumbled and immediately, Theresa told her all the necessary details for the interview that she has to go the next day.

Marissa hang up the call, and stared at the phone for a few minutes before twisting her body to face the window that overlooks the East River. However, currently the sweeping view of the East River was blocked by a construction crane, a couple of dumpsters, a brick wall of the building next to her multi-winged behemoth in Murray Hill that housed very interesting list of tenants. To her knowledge, there is one member of a disbanded teenage pop group living on the storey above hers, a popular pornstar neighbor next door, one former childhood actress who hadn't been cast in a movie for close to a decade, few hipsters and some college students who didn't want to live in a dorm.

She contemplated on her future that seemed rather bleak at the moment. In college, she has all the aspiration of working for the Vanity Fair someday but right now that seemed rather far-fetched. Just then, the door opened and in comes her flustered looking roommate Taylor Townsend.

"Oh, hey Taylor. How did the meeting go with the Prude?"

The Prude is actually Taylor's supervisor that the girls nicknamed because of her well, prude behavior. Her real name is Phoebe Bishop.

"It was entertaining. Well you know the usual…she called me to meet her and then she told me how disappointed she was with my behavior a couple of days ago…"

"Why didn't you tell Prude about how the whole passengers in the cabin applauded at my little so-called confession?"

"I did. But Prude mentioned about a complain from a male passenger who was clearly displeased when profanities came out from your mouth. I told her it wasn't me who cursed but she wouldn't listened and anyway, she gave me a week suspension on the basis of poor conduct and lack of professionalism," Taylor answered as she padded over to the miniscule bedroom, changing on her comfy night wear that consist of a broad short and a tee shirt with the phrase: Can you tell me again, why I need a boyfriend?

"Bummer. Seven days? There goes the big portion of your allowances. There goes rent money."

"Yeah well, what could I do? Still, instead of spending my time being miserable I'm going to…. Aaahhhh!"

Marissa jumped in her seat when she heard her friend's deafening shriek. Taylor bolted out of her bedroom, her arms flinging wildly all over the air.

"Cockroach! Cockroach! And it fucking flies!"

&&&&

Meanwhile, at the fifty-fourth street in Fifth Avenue, Alex and her sister Hailey Nicholl were getting manicures at the Red Door Spa and Salon. And as usual, since Hailey can't afford to pay her own rent for her loft, the bill was on Alex. Even though their grandfather Caleb Nicholl is the co-owner of Harper-Nicholl Publication, Kirsten Nicholl cut off any financial resources for Hailey's. Since she made it known to her mother that instead of following her footsteps and entering fashion journalism, more specifically Posh magazine, Hailey entered showbiz.

"So you slapped her?" Alex asked incredulously.

"Christ. Who wouldn't? What a fucking bitch she was sniffing all over Kevin. He is my man. You know what she said to me before I smacked her ass off?"

"I'm afraid to ask," Alex droned.

"I told her to step off, and she was like – 'what?' And I was like 'no you don't', and she was like 'huh?' and I was like 'nah uh'. So I set her hair on fire and she tried to retaliate but you know me, I don't take it too kindly if someone messes with me. So, I beat the shit out of her."

"You set her hair on fire?" her sister questioned, wide-eyed.

"Yeah. She's wearing a wig now," Hailey answered with a huge smile before grabbing out Alex's hand and began to smoke her cigarette rapidly with large gestures. "But it's no big. I nearly cut off another girl's tits once, did you know that?"

"Actually, I didn't," the blonde said, lighting another cigarette. Hoping that her sister won't smoke two cigarettes at the same time.

"It's true. It happened a couple of years ago. A bitch wanted the part of Holly Goliath in Breakfast at Fred's and Kenneth Mogul told me I got the part. And of course that bitch was too stupid to understand English so she slept with Kenneth hoping that he will give her the part after that…"

"Hailey, don't you think you're being too aggressive?" Alex cut her sister off.

"Yep. I know," she sighed. "But ever since Norman Gates died, there goes chunks and chunks of movie roles," then Hailey went off topic again, "Everybody loved Norman. I mean everyone. The first time I saw him on set – and it was at a desert in Reno, I knew I'd seen Jesus. And everybody else knew it too." She took her sister's hand. "I've seen Jesus. He was only on Earth for a short period of time, just enough to make four movies that grossed over a hundred million dollars. But even in that short period of time, he touched everyone. He really did, but he knew it was time to go – so he went back to heaven."

Alex wondered how much more of her sister's peculiar behavior she could take. "But, didn't Jesus know suicide is considered to be a sin?" Alex asked softly.

Hailey stared into her eyes. "He didn't commit suicide. His death was a mystery. No one knew how he died…he just died…"

Alex said cautiously, "But surely…autopsy could prove…"

"No, modern medicine is BS. Everyone thought wild animals ate him but no…he wasn't. His body might have been carried off…by special disciples…"

Oh dear, Alex thought. Here we go again. So she decided to change the topic.

"So our mother is getting another divorce. I'm certain Sandy was having an affair…"

"And these special beings…"

"With Rebecca Bloom, that bitch…"

"…They're like angels…sort of…with wings…Probably sent down to Earth to watch him…"

"And don't get me started with the press…"

"…Guide him…"

"They made out our mother like she's an anti-Christ or something."

Hailey leaned towards Alex. "You do believe Norman is Jesus, don't you? Please say you do. Please. Because you're my sister and I don't want to get into an argument with you if you didn't agree with me, after all I still depend on you for rent money."

"I do Hailey, I do," Alex lied.