Little Pink Slips Part 16

"I wasn't worrying exactly," Magnolia said. "At least not about that."

There was a long pause. "Oh, are you ruminating about that Post silliness?" Elizabeth asked. "Jock shopping your job?"

For a second Magnolia couldn't follow Elizabeth. Then she remembered the Post, which Bebe's performance had pushed out of her psyche for eight full hours.

"Well?" Magnolia asked.

"Well, silly goose, don't," Elizabeth answered. "n.o.body believes the Post.

Elizabeth had promised that after the weekend the Bebe coverage would evaporate. She was partly right. The next bounce came in the weekly celebrity magazines, which featured the stars inside their issues. They invited readers to take online polls declaring their loyalty to either Sharon or Bebe, who did her best to keep the controversy alive, appearing on Larry King herself. In a slower news week-without a Midwestern ice storm of biblical proportions (Magnolia noted that Fargo was once again the coldest spot in the nation)-she might have made the cover of Time or Newsweek. But by Thursday the ruckus had almost been forgotten. Except by the NRA.

"Magnolia, we've gotten the most fantabulous opportunity," Felic ity trilled as she walked into Magnolia's office. "Beebsy could have the cover of their magazine."

Magnolia looked up from her proof. "What does Elizabeth have to say about it?"

"What's this got to do with Elizabeth?" Felicity asked, looking gen uinely confused.

"A lot," Magnolia answered. "Everyone at Scary runs requests like this past Elizabeth." Who will say no. Did you not hear me? No.

"Magnolia, dear," Felicity said, her voice dripping with condescen sion, "Bebe Blake is not 'everyone.' "

No argument there, Magnolia silently agreed.

"I'll call her at the photo shoot and see how she feels about it,"

Felicity said.

"The photo shoot?" Magnolia asked. "What shoot?"

"Oh, didn't Sasha tell you the cover shoot got moved up a day?"

Felicity asked, all innocence.

"Sasha's at a press conference," Magnolia said. "Why didn't you mention anything to me about the schedule change?"

"The photographer Fredericka booked was called to Paris for a funeral, so I lined up the woman who did Bebe's publicity stills. She's entirely capable. Magnolia, don't you think that Bebe can handle a photo shoot by herself ?" Felicity asked as she walked away. It was just as well that Magnolia didn't get a chance to answer.

She walked into the art department. "Fredericka, what do you know about a rescheduled photo shoot?" she asked.

"Vich one?" Fredericka asked, looking up from the screen of her giant Mac, on which she was designing a food story. The triple-decker burger looked like it had escaped from the Sci Fi Channel.

"Cover," Magnolia said.

"Vat cover?" Fredericka asked, looking perplexed.

"Something about Philippe being called to Paris for a funeral." "But I just had lunch vit Philippe and ve nailed down all the details," she said. "I'll call him. There's some miscommunication here." Magnolia stood by while Fredericka got him on the line.

"Bonjour, Philippe," Fredericka said cheerfully, but her face quickly contorted. "Could you speak a little more slowly, please? Vat happened? Canceled? You just found out? f.u.c.k. Pardon my French.

Never mind, it's just an expression. Of course, I know nothing about it! Mon Dieu. I totally agree. Yes, of course ve'll pay. I am so, so sorry. Yes, I already told you ve'll pay. I agree about protecting your reputa tion, Philippe. Listen, Philippe, I have to go. I'll call ven I get to the bottom of this."

Fredericka took to a minute to absorb the news. "Felicity canceled him, just like that."

They both knew it was too late to book another photographer, and that after this incident, it would never be easy to book one. Word would get around. Magnolia explained to Fredericka about the rene gade photo shoot. "Check into it," she said.

Fredericka did. There had been a photo shoot: Bebe did it without hair and makeup, in the studio of a photographer no one had heard of, who promised the photos in two days. Fredericka explained to the photographer that she was the art director and asked that the photos be sent to her directly.

"Someone named Felicity gave me instructions to send them to her," the photographer said, sounding more worried than arrogant. So Fredericka and Magnolia waited. And waited. Two days turned into a week. When the photos finally arrived, it was Bebe who presented them, calling Magnolia and Fredericka into her office, where she and Felicity had the shots-far fewer then usual-laid out on a light box behind her desk.

"It's time for Bebe to make a statement," Bebe said. "The Decem ber cover was just too sappy." Granted, Bebe in an ap.r.o.n making cook ies was a stretch-on that point Magnolia and Bebe concurred. "I need to be true to myself. And this," she said, radiating satisfaction, "is me. Have a look."

In every shot Bebe's index finger c.o.c.ked straight ahead at the reader as if it were a gun. Her small eyes, devoid of makeup, shone with menace. She looked like a woman who'd fled the double-wide to take out her whoring, no-good, check-bouncing slob of a husband, Billy Bob.

"This is what I call taking a stand," Bebe said.

Chapter 2 2.

The Intimidation Card.

"Nathaniel Fine, is it?" Magnolia looked across her cluttered desk at the young man sitting soldier-straight in front of her.

"Yes." He hesitated and cleared his throat.

Magnolia hoped he wasn't thinking of adding "ma'am." She was feeling old enough already, which, for someone whom The New York Times just five years ago called a wunderkind, was an unfamiliar sensation.

"So, you'll be interning with us?" Magnolia said. Natalie had asked Magnolia if Bebe would take him. His parents were her friends, and the Dazzle art department already had four interns.

"Yes, Miss Gold."

"Magnolia," she corrected him. "Call me Magnolia."

He didn't. In fact, he said nothing at all as he shifted in his chair, uncrossing a long pair of legs. Magnolia got a glimpse of his powerful arms and chest. He was almost a man, although from moment to moment you could still see the Bar Mitzvah boy, an effect enhanced by a navy blue blazer a quarter inch too short in the sleeves.

"Natalie tells me you play water polo," she said, stretching for a topic to put him at ease. Magnolia didn't typically mind exercising the intimidation card-which in her world was required as often as AmEx-but she didn't want to spook a child, even one who looked twenty-three. Or maybe he looked eighteen, which he actually was; one sign of getting older, she recognized, was no longer being able to reliably pinpoint the exact age of a younger person. Magnolia won dered whether Nathaniel knew yet that he was handsome; he looked like the secret son of George Clooney. "All I remember about the sport is that guys wear swim caps with earm.u.f.f gizmos."

Her remark harvested a small smile, which spread across Nathaniel's face as he offered Magnolia details of the sport's finer points. "It's one of the hardest games to play," he concluded proudly, "'cause you can't touch the bottom of the pool-you always have to swim or tread water."

"Treading water-that skill will come in handy with our little games here," Magnolia said, hoping he might laugh. He did not.

"Okay, then." She stood. "Our art director, Fredericka von Trapp, has found all sorts of work for you to do. Scanning photos, making color Xeroxes, logging photos-if we lose one, $3,000 gone, whoosh. You might, if you're very lucky, even get the chance to design a page-if you're not busy bringing in pizza for the whole department."

"I know I'm the bottom of the food chain," he said, standing as well. Magnolia estimated his height at five foot eleven. "But someday I want to run an art department. I appreciate this opportunity, Miss Gold." He caught himself. "Magnolia."

As she ushered him out the door, she noticed a.s.sistants to both Phoebe and Ruthie idling by Sasha's desk.

"I'm Jordan," the brunette said, flashing a smile she'd bleached one shade too white.

"Zoe," added the zaftig blonde, extending a hand with a hefty sil ver mesh ring on the middle finger.

"I'm Sasha and if you need anything . . . " She pointed to herself.

"Forget those two slackers exist."

Ready aides for Nathaniel Fine were always going to be in supply.

Elite private school; promising applications to Brown, Princeton, Duke, and-for backup-Wisconsin; intact Upper East Side family: dad a senior partner at a major law firm, mom an in-demand interior decorator-Natalie's, to be exact; designer summer camps; good looks; even good manners. If this kid had talent to match the rest of the package, by the time he was twenty-nine he'd be running the art department of GQ and earning in the high six figures.

"Ladies, meet Nathaniel," Magnolia said.

"Actually, only my mom calls me Nathaniel," he said.

Magnolia pretended to wince.

"Please call me Polo."

"For the cologne?" Magnolia asked.

He looked at her as if she were brain damaged. "For the sport you play in a pool."

Magnolia marched him into the art department. There were the usual three designers developing layouts, the photo editor and her a.s.so ciate examining images on a huge light box, and an a.s.sistant answering the phone. But everything did not sound as usual. All Magnolia could hear was a Chris Botti CD faintly playing in the background.

She looked into Fredericka's office and understood the hush. There was Bebe hulking over Fredericka as the two of them worked on the upcoming cover. "Make the words huge," Bebe said. "Put them here."

Her hand touched a spot on the upper-left corner of the computer screen, leaving a visible fingerprint. Fredericka will be Vindexing the minute Bebe blinks, Magnolia thought. Yet the art director offered no reaction except to dutifully move the coverline-"Guns: Why Every Woman Needs One"-exactly where Bebe pointed.

While Magnolia stood outside Fredericka's open office and debated whether she should interrupt to introduce Polo, Bebe glanced in their direction.

"Who have we here?" Bebe asked. If Magnolia wasn't mistaken, Bebe was sucking in her gut. "I see you've brought me a treat." Her gaze nailed Polo's reddening face.

"Polo Fine, our art intern," Magnolia said. "Bebe Blake. Freder icka von Trapp." Fredericka walked toward them and extended her hand to Polo- Fredericka was pleased, Magnolia guessed, to briefly escape Bebe's intimate scrutiny.

"How'd you get that name, Polo?" Bebe asked.

"For water polo," he answered.

"I hope you're going to model your uniform," she said. He blushed.

"You two, look," ordered Bebe, still by the computer. "So? Opinions!"

Magnolia and Polo walked to the screen, which displayed an image from Bebe's I'm-gonna-blow-your-brains-out series.

"Bebe, you know what I think," Magnolia said, shaking her head.

"Ditch this idea."

"Ignore her," Bebe said, as she rested her hand on Polo's arm.

"Magnolia's not a risk taker. You have fresh eyes. Tell Mamma what you think."

Bebe's hand fell to her side as Polo crossed his arms and stepped back, taking a minute to consider the design. Magnolia watched a surge of Park Avenue confidence kick in.

"It's provocative," he answered. "Grabs my attention. Sends a strong message. I like how your eyes in the photo lock with the reader's."

Magnolia couldn't disagree with his observations. It would be an excellent cover-for, say, Guns & Ammo. Polo couldn't be blamed if no one had taught him ground zero of cover design: know and entice your unique reader, who in this case was a violence-abhorring, middle-of-the-road American mother/wife/church lady who wouldn't want Bebe's emerging cover within a block of her Ethan Allan coffee table.

"You get it, kid," Bebe said, one hand back on Polo's arm, the other fidgeting with her neckline to lower it ever so slightly. "We're going to be great friends. Fredericka, see what he can do with the cover."

Fredericka looked startled. Magnolia knew the art department's other designers always campaigned to get a crack at cover design, but Fredericka trusted no one but herself for that responsibility. A small wrinkle emerged between the art director's eyes as she placed her hands squarely on her narrow hips. "I mean it, Fredericka," Bebe said. "See what he's got."

Magnolia tried to process the situation. If Polo worked on the cover, Natalie's friends, Polo's parents, would be picturing the result attached to his college applications. h.e.l.lo, Ivy. But if Polo reported back to them that Magnolia Gold had blocked that opportunity, Natalie's friends would be less than understanding and Natalie would be p.i.s.sed. Then again, this version of a cover would never sell. And she might get blamed.

How could she protect herself ? She couldn't.

What the h.e.l.l. Bebe wanted it. Let her have it.

Magnolia decided now would be a good time to get as far away from the art department as possible. As she was leaving, Fredericka was set tling Polo in front of his own giant Mac. "Veel scan in the cover images and check back vit you in two hours," Magnolia heard her say in a quiet monotone, followed by a whoop and a "Hot d.a.m.n" from Bebe.

"Well, he's going to be a welcome diversion around here," Sasha said as Magnolia stopped by her desk to pick up messages.

"Pants on, Sasha," Magnolia said. "He's a baby. Who called?"

"Message from Darlene. 'Glamazon big fat f.u.c.king zero' were her exact words." Magnolia crumpled the message and dropped it in the trash.

"And some woman asking if you could speak to the"-Sasha checked her notes-"Prairie Press Club. All-expense-paid trip to nowhere. Needs an answer ASAP."

Magnolia half-heard Sasha as she watched Bebe saunter down the hall, arm in arm with Felicity.

"Said she knew you from high school," Sasha added.

Magnolia perked up. "Oh, really?"

"A Misty Knight," Sasha said. "And if she's a stripper, she never mentioned it."

Misty Sandstrum, it has to be. Magnolia pictured a red-and-white cheerleader sweater a size too small to showcase her Miss North Dakota chest and a graduation speech that made Magnolia want to gag. Misty beat her to that glory by one white-blond hair and then put everyone to sleep with thirty-two minutes about rainbows.

"Where's her number?" Magnolia asked, answering Sasha's you can't-be-serious look with her don't-even-think-of-asking glare before she entered her office. She closed the door and dialed.

"Misty?" Magnolia said in her best-girlfriend tone. "Sure, it's me. . . . Of course, you can still call me Maggie. . . . You married Bucky Knight? He's running the Ford dealership? Four kids? All named with B? Precious . . . And you . . . ? You're a restaurant reviewer at the Fargo Forum?"

Ten minutes pa.s.sed as Magnolia listened to Misty. Did I ever talk that slowly, she wondered?

"So what's this speaking thing?" Magnolia finally asked. Misty ran down the details. The annual meeting of journalists wanted Magnolia to be the keynote speaker a week from Sat.u.r.day. The pride of the Dakotas, Tom Brokaw, had been the original choice, but he'd bailed.