Little Pink Slips Part 12

"Abbey, you have nothing to thank me for," Magnolia said, relief breaking through like sweat. "I hope you guys work things out-if that's what you want."

"I don't know what I want," she admitted, "but we're having din ner tonight. He was sweet yesterday but seemed kind of strung out.

I think he's got a lot on his mind."

Could she ask Abbey if Tommy had made calls during his visit?

Magnolia could not.

As Magnolia entered the lobby of her office building, she stopped at the newsstand to pick up some magazines. That's when she saw him, pretending to read The Wall Street Journal. Magnolia wondered what story he'd fed the security guards to skulk past the front desk, but then a handsome Englishman in a long, black cashmere coat isn't ripe for profiling. To get to her office, Magnolia would need to pa.s.s him, and she was too late to duck out and return later. May as well swallow the big pill, she thought, even if I gag.

She walked over to Harry. "I can explain," she said.

"Fine," he said. "Go ahead."

She looked around the crowded lobby. "Magnolia, I'm back!" she heard someone say. "I'll stop by your office later." It was Phoebe, returned from a brief maternity leave and already fitting into her jeans, as if she'd produced a Barbie, not a nine-pound baby. Magnolia noticed that motherhood hadn't prevented her beauty editor from finding time to color her hair the perfect caramel, or that Harry wasn't too upset to give Phoebe an approving glance.

"Obviously, this isn't a good place to talk," Magnolia said to Harry.

"You want to come up to my office?"

The scowl on his face said no.

"There's a Starbucks across the street." She had no business arriv ing late to the 9:30 production meeting. Cameron wouldn't be happy having to deal with Felicity solo. But she followed Harry across the street. They stared at each other over their coffees.

"Let's cut to the chase," Harry said. "You've really disappointed me. I couldn't sleep all night and I doubt I can work today until you explain yourself. The last thing I need in my life is a woman I can't trust-I've had a string of those."

Magnolia's mind flashed to their last long, luxurious day together over the weekend. It began at MoMA, the Barney's of museums, where she always found the art lovers-with their fine fabrics and well-cobbled shoes-as inspirational as the paintings. After a late afternoon stroll through a few galleries in Chelsea, they walked in the soft rain to Harry's, where he cooked a perfect dinner-grilled tuna, risotto cakes, and snap peas. For dessert, he made creme brulee. Not only did he own the cute ceramic dishes, he burned the sugar with his own blowtorch.

"You're going to be Torch from now on," Magnolia had said. "Sub Zero no more."

"Then you're Mistress Torch," he had said. But she wasn't feeling like Mistress Torch right now. More like Mistress Tortured.

"You've got to believe me when I tell you the man you saw was my friend's husband, Tommy O'Toole." Magnolia said, fatigue draining her voice. "He dropped in, s.h.i.tfaced. There's never been anything between us and never will be."

"The thing is, I wasn't seeing a whole lot of resistance going on there," Harry said. "Close friends? And the look on your face . . ."

Harry gulped the last of his coffee. His face was red and his knuckles, white.

"The look on my face?" Magnolia asked. "What do you think my face is saying now?"

"You're angry," he said.

"You got that right," she said, "but I'm feeling disappointed, too.

Didn't these past two months teach you to trust me? Can't you just cool off and realize that what you thought you saw wasn't what you thought you saw?" She put her hand on his. He didn't pull away.

Harry gave her an inscrutable look. But at least he said, "I'll try."

He got up from the table, leaned over, and gave her a kiss, more of politeness than pa.s.sion, but a kiss. "I'll think about it," he said as he got up to leave.

Magnolia watched him walk away. Should she ask whether he still planned to come to the Bebe launch party? She decided she could live in suspense.

Chapter 1 9.

Not Great, Not Grateful.

The Mandarin Oriental was in a glitzy tower that in any other city would rightly be called a vertical mall. Bebe stood in one of its ladies' rooms and twirled, showing off her new dress, which Magnolia recognized from Harper's Bazaar. "Magnolia, opinion!" she said. Magnolia remembered the "price available upon request" cap tion, magazinespeak for "Don't even think about it." In the photo, the ruffled pouf skirt and balloon sleeves made the model's waist even waspier. But Bebe had no waist. She looked like a bundt cake.

"Magnolia?" Bebe repeated, and struggled to undo the tiny b.u.t.tons the designer had clearly intended to stay fastened up to the wearer's neck. Apparently satisfied with her deep cleavage now on display, Bebe smiled in a way Magnolia had never seen before. My G.o.d, she thought. That smile isn't the least demonic. She's not slicing and dic ing a soul in sight. If I'm reading her right-Bebe was now shifting from side to side-Bebe Blake is anxious about her launch party and she's insecure about the way she looks. The woman is human!

But she stayed that way only for a second.

"I look fabulous," Bebe declared. "Felicity, have I ever looked bet ter?" She turned to Felicity, who was perched on the ledge of a marble sink. She was trying to attach a brooch to her suit, whose skirt and jacket had rhinestones the size of thumbtacks circling the cuffs and hem like neon bulbs announcing a Times Square attraction.

"Beebsy, you are ravishing, and Magnolia-" Felicity said, talking to Magnolia's reflection in the mirror while she applied coral lipstick, "-you look sweet."

Weeks before, Magnolia entrusted herself to Ruthie and Elizabeth for tonight's styling. "Not too showy," Elizabeth insisted. 'Cause it wasn't Magnolia's show. For the occasion, Elizabeth was wearing a simple gray suit that matched her hair. For Magnolia, Ruthie had come up with an homage to Twiggy-a short, black mink pullover; tight, cropped pants; and black kitten heels. A shame the getup had to be returned the following day, because Magnolia thought she looked quite the minx. A perspiring minx, however. There didn't seem to be air-conditioning on at the hotel. It was October but unusually hot.

"Thanks, Felicity," Magnolia said. She was saved from returning the compliment by Elizabeth's charging into the bathroom with Darlene, whose look for the party recalled Pocahontas. She wore a rust-colored, shearling-lined coat. On her feet were snakeskin sandals whose heavy soles made Darlene appear to be walking with snowshoes.

"Darlene's finished with hair and makeup and they're ready for you two, Bebe and Felicity," Elizabeth barked. "Magnolia, come back in forty-five minutes."

Magnolia walked to the lobby outside the ballroom. On an ebony grand piano, red roses spelled out the Bebe logo in an arrangement that might well have been sent by Staten Island's leading crime fam ily. She peeked inside the ballroom. A caterer's a.s.sistant was construct ing a tower of glazed doughnuts. "One, two three, testing," blasted through the empty room, as the sound crew checked the mikes, while in the back of the room a DJ who called himself Slow Mo-he ruled Williamsburg-was setting up equipment.

"Smile, Foxy," Slow Mo shouted, taking off his earphones. "Life can't be that bad."

Magnolia shot him a grin. "What's this party for?" Slow Mo asked. He was in his late twenties, had wavy auburn hair, a closely trimmed beard, and a high-voltage smile.

"Just a bunch of magazine people pigging out on free food," Mag nolia shouted back.

"No dancing?" Mo said. "You're breaking my heart, Foxy."

Magnolia considered continuing the volley. She'd dated younger, a run of T-shirt designers, aspiring filmmakers, and so many law stu dents she could pa.s.s Contracts. But now? She was in a mature relation ship. Or was she? Her life was messy enough, she decided, with no Mo.

She waved him good-bye, exited the ballroom, and walked down the winding stairway to the blissfully cool lounge on the thirty-fifth floor.

Magnolia settled herself in a b.u.t.tery leather armchair and took in the Central Park view. Location, location-that was the point of this hotel. Autumn leaves clung to the trees in a medley more opulent than anything the Mandarin Oriental's decorators had imagined. I should be happy to be here, she thought, as she began to sip her martini. Grateful. I could still be writing obits for the Fargo Forum, spending my days on the phone to funeral directors.

She was feeling her drink's first tingle of relaxation when she over heard familiar voices. Magnolia turned. Across the room, Jock and Darlene had their heads close and appeared to be making a toast.

"Magnolia" was all she could pick up of their conversation. There was no way to leave without pa.s.sing them. She paid her tab, and walked toward the lounge's entrance, hoping Jock and Darlene were too involved to notice her.

"Ms. Gold," Jock called out. "Magnolia. We were just saying how this night would never be happening without you."

Right, Magnolia thought. And I am Jackie Ona.s.sis's love child.

"You look fabulous, Mags," Darlene said. "Love the fur."

More fabulous than I looked twenty-five minutes ago when you saw me and didn't say a word, Magnolia wondered? "You flatterers,"

Magnolia said. "Thanks, guys, but you'll have to excuse me."

"No time for a c.o.c.ktail?" Jock asked.

"Hair," Magnolia tugged a few locks. "And makeup. Elizabeth will kill me if I blow it off." She bolted to the elevator and rode to the ground floor. Breathing heavily, Magnolia walked outside and ducked into Pink, the shirt shop, simply because it was nearly empty.

"May I help you?" said a salesgirl.

If only you could, Magnolia thought. If she were being honest- which in regard to her mental health Magnolia often viewed as an overrated policy-she had to admit that until tonight she hadn't real ized how depleted she'd become by the last few weeks. Bebe! Let her jump out a window. With Jock. And forget grateful. In her heart, Magnolia knew what she really wanted was to be great. All-on-her own, sweat-equity, toast-of-the-town, Englishman-optional great.

She walked out of the store. Dusk was falling. Soon klieg lights would be shooting a loop of comets into the Manhattan sky, and a thousand of Bebe's nearest and dearest would descend from limos and walk the red carpet past flashing cameras into the hotel.

Magnolia rode back up to thirty-six. Elizabeth was pacing.

"Magnolia," Elizabeth said briskly, her face flushed and her silver crew cut as motionless as ever, "Alessandro and Akiko are waiting. You don't want to grace that stage all mousy and shiny."

Elizabeth directed Magnolia to the hair and makeup station, where Akiko was powdering Bebe's face with a big, pink poof. Alessandro looked on, horrified, while Felicity bombed her hair with spray. Bebe and Felicity left the room, and twenty minutes later, Magnolia had been buffed to a gloss.

She walked into the ballroom, which was filling rapidly each time the elevators opened. Waiters circulated with dark red drinks, heavy on the pomegranate juice, which they were forced to call Bebepoli tans. There hadn't been a major magazine launch party for at least two years, and tonight's invitation, which arrived in a red leather, leopard lined box, turned out to be as coveted as a ticket to next week's Yan kee-Red Sox series. Bebe, Felicity, and Elizabeth had spent weeks planning the party, including a forty-eight-hour standoff until Bebe abandoned the idea of a stripper pole. Only when Magnolia saw the list of the final invitees two weeks before, did she get a chance to open her mouth. "You forgot to invite the staff," Magnolia pointed out.

"The whole staff ?" Bebe hooted. "I don't even know most of them."

"Bebe, they made the magazine," Magnolia pointed out. "And it's just forty people."

"Forty people! What do they all do, forty people?"

"Now that I think of it, closer to seventy-five with sales and mar keting," Magnolia added. "It's only fair." She heard herself whine ever so slightly. "You're inviting your whole staff for The Bebe Show." She decided not to bring up the fact that Bebe's maid, driver, herbalist, veterinarian, cook, tarot card reader, and broker also made the cut.

"Okay, no squabbles." Elizabeth said. "We'll squeeze in the staff.

But no dates."

"Fair enough," Magnolia agreed.

"Except Magnolia's hottie," Bebe said. "We need guy candy."

Tonight, as she began to roam the room, Magnolia realized that on that count Bebe had been correct-available heteros.e.xual males were in seriously short supply. It was a sad day when Mike McCourt from the Post was one of the hotties. He was walking toward her now. "What do you think of the new issue?" As Mike took a gulp of his drink, a drizzle of red slid down the lapel of his tan corduroy jacket. "Is Bebe going to march toward world domination?"

"What do you think?" Magnolia responded, kissing him on the cheek. "Oh, that's right. You won't see the magazine until you leave." Bebe's premiere issue would be handed out with tonight's goody bags. "You're not sounding over the moon," Mike said. "Shall I take your tone as a critique?"

"Critique-wise . . ." Magnolia cleared her throat. Elizabeth had re hea.r.s.ed her, knowing she'd be questioned again and again at the party. "I think we've done a superb job of defining Bebe's unique perspective."

"Magnolia, you're talking to me," Mike said. "En ingles."

"It's . . . interesting." Magnolia gave Mike a little smile.

"What does Miss Understatement think is 'interesting' about it?"

"You'll see," Magnolia said. "I'd love to schmooze, Mike, but I think I see Darlene," she added as the crowd thickened. Darlene would be one of the last people she'd want to hang out with tonight, but she didn't trust herself to play at pro level this evening, and she'd be d.a.m.ned if Mike would corner her into a quote she'd regret. She found Fredericka instead.

"I rode up vith Paris Hilton!" Fredericka said. "And isn't that Rosie O'Donnell? Are she and Bebe bosom buddies?"

"Maybe Rosie's her hair and wardrobe consultant."

"This is the oddest crowd," Fredericka said. "That's Bruce Villis, talking to Samuel L. Jackson, no? And that little person? Danny DeVito in drag?"

"Dr. Ruth."

"I think I'll introduce myself to Lindsay Lohan," Fredericka said, and walked off.

Magnolia took stock of her conversational options. The WWD reporter circled Bebe, who was draped over Jock. Two major players from Lancome had caught up with Felicity. Some car magnates flown in from Detroit eyeballed the girls from the art department. Natalie Simon was chatting with Charlotte Stone. Magnolia made the round with each group. An hour later, hoa.r.s.e from shrieking over Slow Mo's earsplitting sound, she gravitated toward a group from her staff as if it were running a halfway house.

"To our queen in exile," said Cameron, lifting a gla.s.s. "Long may she reign."

"Here, here," the others said, clinking. "To Magnolia!" Cam got grabbed by one of the publicists. This left Magnolia with the women.

"There's a serious dearth of straight men here," Ruthie observed.

"Except that one over there talking to Phoebe. It's not fair. Why does our staff's only wife and mommy attract the best-looking guy?"

Magnolia swiveled to see Phoebe. In tonight's four-inch heels the beauty director, who was almost six feet tall barefoot, loomed not just above most of the other women but a good number of the men. This included the object of Ruthie's praise, who Magnolia couldn't see in the crowd. She extricated herself and walked toward Phoebe, who smiled and waved.

"You look super!" Phoebe shouted over heads as Magnolia ap proached. "Terrific party. I just saw Kelly Ripa. And isn't that Barbara Walters? She's my nana's age, but she looks amazing. Don't you think?" She directed her question to the person who was hovering near her, whose back was still toward Magnolia.

Magnolia got to within eight feet of Phoebe and froze.

"I'd love for you to meet my boss, Magnolia Gold," she said to her admirer, motioning Magnolia to move closer.

"Actually, Magnolia and I are acquainted," the man said, leaning closer to Phoebe than was necessary. "Rather intimately."

"Ah, okay," Phoebe mumbled, and looked from the man to Magno lia. "I'm going to grab another Bebepolitan. Lovely to meet you, Harry." Phoebe glided away on her elegant stork legs.

"See you later, luv," he said. "Saucy girl, your Phoebe," he said to Magnolia.

"Glad you could make it," Magnolia asked. She suddenly felt so hot she wanted to rip off her mink top and stomp on it.

"Did you really think I'd miss this little drinks party?" Harry said.

"Seasonal highlight and all."

"So you're still not over last night?" she said.