Little Pink Slips Part 14

"Take your coat?" Magnolia asked, aware that she sounded as for mal as a fusty maiden aunt. At least she hadn't called him sir.

"Here's a better idea," Harry said. "I take off my own coat, you open this little gift, and then we play kiss and make up in your bed room." He placed his coat on the bench and handed her the small blue bag. It felt light in her hand.

They sat down on the bench. His thigh touched hers. She pulled the box out of the bag and slowly unwrapped the white silk bow, care fully placing it on a table. She opened the box and fingered the blue felt bag.

Magnolia pulled out a shiny sterling silver cuff half covered with an ornate golden blossom. She gasped.

"Tiffany calls it their Magnolia bracelet," Harry said.

How many times had she noticed Tiffany's reliable upper-cornerof-page-three Times ads and admired this very bracelet advertised? Every time she saw the photograph-or wandered through the store and casually tried on the real thing, hoping the salespeople hadn't grown to recognize her-she coveted the bracelet, and, twice, she'd almost bought it. But where was that flutter of excitement tonight?

"Thank you, Harry," she said. "You have the most magnificent taste." That much was true.

"Isn't it gorgeous?" Harry said, taking the bracelet out of her hand.

"Here, Cupcake, put it on. It looks so beautiful on your wrist."

She had to agree, as she twisted the silver and gold bracelet to catch the foyer's dim light. But the ad called "Magnolia" a cuff. If she accepted this gift, she'd be shackling herself to a relationship she knew in her gut would never be right. Maybe she was having a Blink moment she'd later regret, but she didn't want this gift, not from Harry. As he took her wrist, she pulled back and stood up. "Really, thank you so much," she said, removing the cuff. "It's a hugely extravagant present. But I don't think so, Harry." Magnolia began to choke up.

He looked at her. A tear fell on the sleeve of her silk pajamas. "I know I've acted like a fool, Magnolia," he said. "But let's just forget about that." He stepped forward.

She raised one palm to block him.

"Let's talk about it," he said. "I'm willing to overlook all that busi ness with Tommy."

"There's nothing to say, Harry. Except that it just doesn't feel right.

Let's not make this more difficult than it needs to be. I've had my sea son's fill of scenes." Magnolia carefully placed the bracelet in the felt bag, the box, and then the bag. "We're finished."

"I'd like to know where I've gone so terribly wrong, Magnolia?"

"Let's see," she said. "Talk about blame the victim-you made me feel like a hooker when my friend's husband came on to me. You wouldn't see reason when I tried to explain. You started carrying on in front of my boss and publisher at Bebe's party and I see how you look at other women. But a lot of it's me. With Bebe at the magazine, I'm stepping around land mines every day-I'm not going to make any man very happy right now."

As she said it, she knew she and Harry were just a miniseries, not a hit that would go into eternal syndication. "Harry, I like you." She decided not to admit that even a week ago, she thought "love" might be a more apt word. "But I'm getting too old to be in relationships that I know won't work."

"I see," he said. "I suppose this is some sort of womanly coming-of age rite." He snickered and picked up his coat from the bench.

Magnolia handed him the bag.

"You know, I thought Englishwomen were batty. But you Ameri cans are nuts."

For several minutes after Harry closed the door behind him, Mag nolia was still standing in the same spot, feeling the special burn fueled by disappointment. She'd like to have a man in her life, prefer ably the man. But at least she was smart enough not to trick herself into staying with the wrong one.

Where was I, she thought. Ah, on the way to the kitchen. But noth ing now seemed less appealing than leftover cake. She returned to her chair, threw another log on the fire, and stared at the flames. Lola brought over her squeaky mouse, which Magnolia threw across the room. The dog scampered off and settled down for a good long chew.

Magnolia reopened her book and read the first page three times. She couldn't remember a word.

The phone rang. Magnolia welcomed the intrusion.

"Gold!" Bebe said. "Could you be any harder to get hold of ? Why didn't you call me back? I said it was important."

"That you did, Bebe," Magnolia said, subdued. "I'm so sorry. Did you want to change a line on the cover again? Can you hang on a minute? My files are in the other room."

"Don't be an a.s.s. It's not the magazine."

"Oh?"

"It's a delivery."

Magnolia was about to mention that it was her birthday and she'd just broken up with Harry-she wasn't in the mood to play messen ger girl-but decided she'd let it pa.s.s. "A delivery? You want me to pick something up?"

"No, just stay put. Gotta go." Bebe clicked off without even thanking her for sticking around on a Sat.u.r.day night. But what difference did it make? She was in for the evening anyway. Maybe a herd of goats would arrive for the weekend and camp out until Bebe moved them to the farm she was buying upstate. Perhaps they'd be good company.

Magnolia settled herself again in her chair and started channel surfing. She could at least manage a movie. As she tried to decide between The Way We Were and Sleepless in Seattle, however, the doorbell rang. Had Harry been standing in her hallway all this time, pleading for a second chance? He had more stamina than she.

Magnolia looked through the peephole. All she could see was an enormous bunch of yellow roses. "Special delivery," said a familiar British accent. Only it wasn't Harry's.

"My good friend Bebe Blake asked me to deliver these to you," the voice said. "If you'll open up. Oh, and from both of us, a very happy birthday."

Was that a Hugh Grant impersonator standing in her hallway?

Chapter 2 1.

Hugh Grant and the Glamazon Girls.

"I looked through the peephole and there he was," Magnolia repeated before an expanding circle of editors and designers crowding her office and overflowing into the hall. She felt as if she were lip-synching a stump speech-she'd already told Abbey and her parents the whole story-but it wasn't half bad to revisit life at the red-hot center of the universe.

" 'Care for a short drive?' " he said. Magnolia tried to get the accent right.

" 'Mind if I change?' " I answered."

" 'Well, shoes might be in order,' " he said, " 'but as far as the rest goes, you look quite swish. I'll be Tracy to your Hepburn.' So there I was, in my jammies-they were fancy, but I was wearing zilch under neath-and off I went. We got in a normal black town car, nothing slimy like a stretch. 'Spot of tea? Champagne? Gatorade?' he said. I fixated on his eye crinkles, the compact body, that voice. Bull's-eye look-alike. Then he handed me a red envelope."

Magnolia took a large gulp of her coffee as Fredericka, Ruthie, Phoebe, Sasha, and the others listened attentively. Cameron, she noticed, walked away when she got to the part about no panties. "It said, 'Yes, it's Hugh. You think I'd send a fake? P.S. You can have him-not my type. Bebe.' "

"Bebe!" Fredericka hooted. "Talk about a power present. Vat ever became of giving a nice scarf ?"

"Now do we have to think she's adorable and kind?" Sasha asked, but Magnolia ignored her-the truth was, much of Bebe was ador able and kind-and continued to report on the drive, which lasted fifty-five minutes, exactly the length of a shrink session, but proved far more therapeutic than any she'd ever experienced.

"We chatted about how much he loved going on Bebe's telly hour,"

Magnolia said. "And he wanted to know if when American women told you what they want in the bedroom-down to the millimeter, in full sentences, practically with charts and graphs-they're being bossy or helpful. Both, I a.s.sured him."

Magnolia decided to edit out the portion when she gave Hugh the Cliffs Notes of her most recent battered romance. " 'Did I do the right thing to break up?' " she'd asked. " 'Did I blow it with Harry? He's such a hothead.' "

" 'Stay away from English public school blokes,' " Hugh cautioned.

" 'Every one's a pack of twitchy nerves. Too much bad mommy/good nanny going on, yours truly included. Find yourself a red-blooded American and don't be fooled by those Ivy League almost-Brits.

They're stunt doubles for the crew who went to Oxford with me.' "

"Oxford?" Magnolia asked. No wonder she'd always liked Hugh Grant. Without a brain, a p.e.n.i.s didn't count for much. "What did you study there?"

"English," he said.

"Me, too," she said, although she left the Big Ten university out of it. For a moment on that birthday-that-trumped-all-others, Magnolia let herself wish that Hugh wasn't a mere cameo in her life, and that her charms might be sufficient to make him look at her like some thing beyond a Make-A-Wish recipient. But then he got out, giving her a quick embrace as he brushed both cheeks with his lips, leaving Magnolia clutching her arms around herself, as much to cover up her nipples as to keep herself warm. The frosty November evening drove her inside, and she immediately started regretting that she'd kvetched to Hugh Grant-Hugh-f.u.c.king-Grant-about her boyfriend prob lems. Idiot!

As she rode up in the elevator, she considered the possibility that she'd hallucinated the whole thing. When she opened the door, how ever, and saw three dozen long-stemmed yellow roses abandoned in her foyer, she smiled and laughed out loud. At least six times that evening and throughout Sunday, Magnolia left effusive messages of thanks for Bebe-but never got through.

Magnolia switched her head back to Monday and the colleagues waiting for her grand finale. "He gave me a kiss on both cheeks and saw me to my door. . . ." Magnolia told the group. "I floated until bedtime."

Magnolia could see her audience deflate. "Meeting adjourned,"

she said in a chipper tone. "I'm only sorry I didn't bring my digital camera to doc.u.ment the whole event."

After her colleagues scattered, Cam returned. "Big birthday, huh?"

he said with a sly smile. Magnolia suddenly felt like a fool that Cam had witnessed any part of her soliloquy.

"Thanks for the card," she said.

"Sorry I didn't have it delivered by Brad Pitt," he said, pushing his wire-rimmed gla.s.ses up on his nose, a gesture which made him look about ten-and adorable, Magnolia couldn't help but notice. "Any emergencies in the last ten minutes I should know about?"

"Nope," Magnolia said, glad they were switching off her private life. "Have to read all these proofs-then I'm meeting Darlene and Bebe at Glamazon." Which, of course, Cam already knew.

"Why do you suppose Darlene wants you there?" he asked. Bebe and Darlene had been doing every ad call together-exactly what Magnolia expected. She'd never loved making sales calls, particularly when Darlene and her clients gossiped like college roommates. Still, not being invited was another reminder of her grand unimportance.

"Because then she can blame me when we don't get the account?"

Magnolia suggested.

At the end of the calendar year, Glamazon-the new prestige cos metic line-had found some extra funds in its budget and invited three magazines to a bake-off for the prize of a few choice ad pages.

Darlene didn't know who the other contenders were, only that the command performance for Bebe was scheduled for two in the afternoon. The plan was for Bebe, Magnolia, and Darlene to converge at Glamazon's headquarters.

"No prep needed," Darlene had said. "Just look sharp and bring your big brain. Meet at one forty-five."

Magnolia rode uptown, and arrived by 1:35. Plopping down on a stiff suede chair in the austere reception room, and unable to bear the thought of pulling out the Bebe she'd stowed in her bag, she looked for something else to read. Five fresh copies of InStyle-and only InStyle-were fanned out on the low limestone table in front of her. The publisher of InStyle obviously had had an appointment this morning and, when the receptionist wasn't looking, chucked what ever magazines had been displayed and left her copies in their place.

Magnolia opened the issue to the Editor's Note, always the first page she read in another magazine, and considered what it would be like to have a position where she'd be paid to go to the couture shows in Paris and Milan, as this editor clearly was.

As she was reading, her head facing down, the publisher of Marie Claire and Susannah s.l.u.tsky, her a.s.sociate publisher, walked past her. Magnolia slunk an inch lower and pulled InStyle close to her face.

"Yes!" Susannah said, high-fiving her boss. "That went well. Who do you suppose our compet.i.tion is besides the InStyle ladies we saw leaving?"

"I'd guess Lucky or Bebe."

"Bebe, what a sorry excuse for a magazine," Susannah said. "Did you catch the looks on the Glamazon women when we did our pageby-page Marie Claire/Bebe comparison?"

"Priceless," she said. "Hey, gotta pee. Leave behind the magazines and I'll meet you downstairs, okay?"

Susannah turned toward the table to swap InStyle for Marie Claire. "Magnolia Gold!" she said, startled. Far fewer than six degrees of separation connected most people in the industry-Magnolia and Susannah had worked together years before at Glamour. "I've been meaning to call you. How's it going?"

"Dandy, Susannah, and you?" Magnolia asked, deciding not to rise and greet her with the customary hug.

"So I gather Bebe's up for this account?" Susannah said.

"Isn't that a copy of it in your hand?" Magnolia asked.

"Oh," Susannah said, as if she were surprised to discover she was holding it. "I was just telling my boss how super the magazine looks."

"Really, Susannah?" Magnolia asked. "Because 'sorry excuse'

sounded like scant praise."

Susannah's jaw opened and shut like a mechanical dog's. She and Magnolia took each other's measure.

"You're too funny!" Susannah said. Without leaving her magazines behind, she racewalked to the elevator door, which opened to dislodge Darlene. The two gave each other big smooches as Susannah ducked inside.

"Susannah s.l.u.tsky, that two-faced b.i.t.c.h," Darlene said, lowering her booming voice. "Can't trust one thing she says. Bebe arrived yet?" Darlene smoothly traded the InStyles for Bebe, and walked over to the Glamazon receptionist with an engaging smile. "We're here for our two o'clock," she said. "Darlene Knudson. Publisher of Bebe." "We'll call you when we're ready, thanks," the receptionist said.

"Water?"

"Sure, great," Darlene said. "You're a sweetie." Darlene accepted the Evian, parked herself, and shot Magnolia a cranky look. "Where's Bebe?" she half-whispered.

Magnolia shrugged. "Haven't heard from her."

"Well, Consuelo is a stickler for punctuality," Darlene said, pulling out her BlackBerry and trying Bebe's number. "She doesn't even have her phone on!" Annoyed, she started making another call.

"Ms. Everett will see you now," the receptionist announced five minutes later.

Darlene and Magnolia walked into Consuelo Everett's office, which matched the reception room beige for beige, as did Consuelo herself, from her shorn, honeyed hair brushed away from her chiseled face, to her vertigo-inducing buff suede boots. Consuelo walked toward the door to embrace Darlene, as did her twenty-five-year-old twin daughters, Consuelo Jr., and Sophia, who trailed behind her like bridesmaids.

"Bebe will be here in ten minutes-she just phoned from her car to say she's on her way," Darlene lied. "You know Magnolia Gold, right?"

Consuelo and her daughters offered gummy smiles and nods of h.e.l.lo.

"Consuelo, you've never looked better!" Darlene said with the enthusiasm usually reserved for someone recovering from major cos metic surgery. "Thank you not just for your support"-Glamazon had eight pages and a potent scent strip in the launch issue-"but for joining us last week at Canyon Ranch. I appreciate how difficult your schedule is, and how hard it is to get away."

"I have you to thank," Consuelo said. "Lost five pounds." She pulled out the waistband of her size 0 cafe au lait leather pants.

"Shall we start with a PowerPoint, then," Darlene said, as she turned on her laptop. "Welcome to Bebe-world," the presentation began, narrated in Bebe's nasal voice. "Bebe is like no other magazine. It's where American women learn to take charge of their lives." The images showed Bebe playing with h.e.l.l, driving her red Porsche along the Pacific Coast Highway, interviewing Russell Crowe. "One of the things I've learned in life is that bravado can take you a long way. In fact, it can take you all the way." The images continued. Bebe skydiv ing, Bebe swinging on a trapeze, Bebe flying a plane.