Little Pink Slips Part 29

The editorial director met her himself in the outer lobby on his high floor. He walked her to his office, which, she was surprised to see, was smaller than her former suite at Lady.

"Magnolia Gold," he said. "At liberty, I understand."

"Free at last," she said.

"Bebe Blake, now there's a train wreck."

Knock Bebe and she'd come off as a whiner; say nothing and she'd bore this guy. Magnolia settled on: "Bebe looks out for herself- you've got to admire her grit."

"But why back her in a magazine?" he said. "What was Jock Flana gan thinking?"

Another land mine. For all Magnolia knew, Jock and her inter viewer played squash together twice a week. Magnolia decided to respond with a laugh-not a guffaw or a giggle, more of an airy chuckle-although when she heard herself she was afraid she had whinnied like a sick pony. d.a.m.n, what would Anna Wintour do? By now he would have mortgaged his co-op to buy her a sable.

"How's Bebe selling?" the editorial director asked.

To say it was selling poorly wouldn't do her a bit of good. "Rather well, actually," Magnolia replied.

"Well, these numbers Darlene Knudson's spewing-are they for real?" he said. "Our publishers here aren't buying them."

"You'd really have to ask Jock or Darlene," Magnolia said, wishing he'd move to another topic.

He read her mind. "So what do you think of our magazines?" he said.

If she critiqued ferociously, he might kick her into the hall, a theme park of archival photographs and voices as muted as the color palette of the decor. Overpraise the magazines, and he'd think she was a suck-up with nothing to bring to his table. Magnolia decided to say only good things, sticking to magazines where she didn't stand a chance of ever becoming editor in chief, and emphasize how much she particularly loved the men's, home design, and food magazines.

"I dig almost all of what you do," she concluded. Did she just said dig in an interview?

"Any you don't dig?" the editorial director asked wryly.

This is where an interview could turn ugly. Why didn't this man stop torturing her and let her know why she was here?

Should she happen to pounce on a magazine that he had decided was flawed and flay it in a manner he found cunning, at this notably mer curial company she might land herself a top job with a clothing allowance, a car and driver, and an interest-free loan for a country house. But which magazine? She could feel the seconds ticking away-or was that her pounding heart? She may as well have been on a TV game show.

"Your teen t.i.tle," she finally said. "You could shake that one up, not be such a clone of the mother ship."

"Oh, really?" he said. "Do you think you're the right generation to lead that magazine?"

Ouch. Why didn't he come out and say it: you, Magnolia Gold, have aged out of the teen books, which were-inexplicably-how the industry referred to magazines. Perhaps this company hadn't heard that sixty was the new forty, and thirty-eight was a mere tot. She'd pretend he hadn't made the remark. "Oh, no, teen books-not my thing at all," Magnolia said, hating herself for being a weenie.

"Magnolia, I like you," he said. "You've done some lively work in a tired category. You have a good eye, an amusing voice, and you don't seem to take yourself too seriously." He made a sound that took Mag nolia a second to realize was a laugh. "We're up to our eyeb.a.l.l.s in divas here. . . ."

Magnolia felt her ego inflate like a beach ball. She was going to thank him, when he continued.

". . . and you have the common touch."

She'd been drop-kicked back to Fargo. Though their readers weren't any more gentrified than anyone else's, at Fancy it was all cla.s.s all the time.

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," Magnolia decided. "I'd like to believe I can see into the soul of a fair number of women."

His half-smile returned. "You know, there's a new project we might talk about," he said. "It's flying a bit under the radar and goes by the code name Voyeur. You've heard about it, I a.s.sume." Magnolia hadn't. "Of course," she said, and smiled in a way she hoped he took as knowing.

"Excellent," he said. He removed a short doc.u.ment from a folder on his big, uncluttered desk. "So if you'll sign this mutual confiden tiality agreement, please."

Magnolia stared at the legal letter. n.o.body said no to this company, but Wally would beat her with a nine iron if she made another foren sic boo-boo. "I'm going to have to show this to my attorney," she said.

"Really?" he said, raising his eyebrows. "None of the other candi dates have."

"Isn't it refreshing that I'm not like any of your other candi dates?" Her remark failed to make him remove the agreement. Mag nolia put down her silver fountain pen and closed her tiny blue leather notebook.

He took her measure. "We could handle this differently, if you wish," he said. "I won't show you our prototype, and you could simply hum a few bars and get back to me on paper."

"I could," Magnolia thought. Only she couldn't, since she hadn't a clue what Voyeur was. For all she knew, he had made up the name and project two minutes before. "But I really need to know a bit more.

What I've heard, it's . . . sketchy."

He walked to his window, which had a commanding view of Times Square. With his back turned to her, he spoke. "Think of the magazines that celebrate Hollywood. Now imagine something entirely original. That's Voyeur. s.e.x, glamour, dirty secrets."

"Aren't you describing Vanity Fair?" Magnolia said, not to mention Dazzle and all the others. Celebrity magazines had been popping out like free b.o.o.b jobs in a San Fernando Valley shopping mall. "Not literary," he said, as if that were obvious. "It would be for next-generation readers-and I use that term lightly-who prefer the celebrity blogs and webzines. I would think your experience with Bebe would allow you some insights." He gave her a sphinxlike glance. "We'll only run with this if we find the right vision," he said.

"It's always about the editor."

"Deadline?" Magnolia asked.

"I'm leaving soon for the Oscars. A few weeks from now is fine."

"I'm on it," Magnolia said.

"By the way," he said, "the red bracelet? Nice touch. Very Ma donna."

Chapter 3 5.

Knickers in a Twist.

Magnolia didn't know whether her firing was an exclamation point at the end of a flickering work life or an ellipsis during a long, rambling pa.s.sage, but one thing she did know was if she was going to breakfast with Natalie, she'd need the holy trinity-good hair, good shoes, and a good bag. One, two, three, blastoff.

As Magnolia pushed open the door to Michael's crowded entry and deposited her coat, someone jostled her from behind. She turned in time to see Jock roaring out the door, his head a black comet careen ing across Fifty-fifth Street. Darlene was the comet's tail, her long Prada coat flying. But before her former publisher could cut and run into the cold morning, she turned to Magnolia and yowled two words: "Whip smart."

Escorted by the maitre d', Magnolia walked to Natalie's usual table, nervously waiting for faces to turn and inspect her. Every diner, how ever, was buried in a paper. Magnolia thought she heard someone say the identical words Darlene had shrieked, but she couldn't hear- the room was rocking as if it were the White House Correspondents dinner and the First Lady had got off a zinger piercing the presi dent's ego. "Fresh orange juice?" the waiter said, barely concealing a giggle.

"Just coffee, please," Magnolia answered.

"Mrs. Simon phoned to say she was running late," he continued, his snicker exploding. He paused until he controlled himself. "May I bring you a newspaper, Miss Gold? Wall Street Journal, the Times-"

"The Post, please," Magnolia said. With today's thorough primping, she hadn't read it. The waiter placed the tabloid in front of her, folded. All she could see was the business end of a whip dangling by a pair of st.u.r.dy, fishnet-clad legs and thigh-high, nosebleed stiletto boots. She unfolded the paper. Before her was a middle-aged matron wearing a diabolical expression, a black leather thong, and a laced bustier that any lingerie saleswoman worth her microfiber would instantly dismiss as several sizes too small. The determined face looked familiar; the cleavage, terrifying; the headline-WHIPSMART.

Holy latex G-string! Felicity Dingle, you snake in the gra.s.s, Mag nolia thought. No wonder your cell phone is always going off. "I Think I Love You," my big foot.

"We're a family newspaper, friends, so turn the page if you'll blush over your morning java and spank us if you think we're naughty," the page-two article began, "but perhaps Bebe Blake isn't keeping Felicity Dingle sufficiently busy whipping things into shape at Bebe, her eponymous magazine. Or maybe her day-job's salary is so stingy, the poor dear needs to moon . . . light. Our exclusive sources inform us that in the evening hours, the high-ranking Bebe editor, aka Mistress Whipsmart, finds career satisfaction by, uh, dominating some of the city's finest, as she had for years among the House of Lords, where she was known pro fessionally as Nasty Nanny and, in later years, Madame Mumsy. In London, she is reputed to have carried the tools of her trade in a large handbag purchased at Her Majesty's favorite leather shop. . . ."

Magnolia read quickly until she got to a quote from Felicity. "Don't get your knickers in a twist," Mistress Whipsmart told Post insiders. "It's not as if I opened a dungeon next to a day-care center. I provide a needed public service, like the National Health. Oh, forgive me. You don't have that here in the States. More's the pity.

"On the subject of humiliation, neither Jock Flanagan, president of Scarborough Magazines-which has a multimillion-dollar stake in Bebe, launched last year to replace the venerable Lady-nor Bebe Blake, the magazine's editor, nor its publisher, Darlene Knudson, could be reached for comment."

As Magnolia read the item for the third time, Natalie tapped her on the shoulder and sat down next to her.

"If you looked any happier, I'd say you had a new boyfriend or a new job," Natalie said. "Which is it?"

"I wish," Magnolia said. "Natalie, I know a lot of people at Scary have a shoe fetish, but this is taking it too far, don't you think?" she added, laughing so hard, coffee almost shot out her nose.

"What are you jabbering about?" Natalie said.

"You didn't see the Post?"

"The Washington Post?" Natalie said. "Of course. Why?" Natalie always waited to read the juiciest morsels in the New York Post after she arrived in the office and her a.s.sistant presented clips to her.

"Have a look," she said, waving the tabloid. Natalie's eyes got as big as the mantilla comb supporting her updo.

"Oh. My. G.o.d," Natalie said. "Elizabeth is going to flip her wig on this one."

"Elizabeth Lester Duvall's joining the Witness Protection Pro gram," Magnolia said. "Who do you think spilled this story?"

"Who cares?" Natalie said. "What's important now is for us to look like it's inconsequential."

"Why does that matter to me, Natalie?" Magnolia said. "Scary gave me the boot."

"Of course," Natalie said. "What am I thinking? But be a pal and stop gloating." The waiter came to take their order. "Excuse me for a minute, Magnolia," Natalie said as she left, presumably to make a call or two to ensure that none of Scary's newest scandal stuck to her. In the ten minutes she was gone, several editors stopped by Magnolia's table to offer breathless variations on the theme of "You look fabu lous! I've been meaning to call-I'll have my a.s.sistant set up coffee or lunch. Okay?"

"So?" Magnolia said, when Natalie returned. "How do you think this one's going to play out? Scary paid for the Polo incident and it went away."

"This one's not coming at a particularly propitious time," Natalie said, in a low voice. She shot Magnolia one of her cryptic looks.

"What is it?" she asked.

Natalie turned to her right, then left. One pleasure of eating at Michael's was that the tables were far enough apart so that people could shake on deals and share names of matrimonial attorneys with out being overheard. Still, Natalie hadn't stayed in the industry for decades by taking chances. "You didn't hear it from me, Cookie, but the circulation numbers for Bebe-well, let's just say Darlene is a very creative accountant," she said even more quietly.

When it served their purposes, the editors in chief at Scary were loyal to the company, but as was true of any dysfunctional family, sib ling rivalry could pop out at any time. If someone else's magazine took a tumble, you could smell the schaudenfreude like blood at a slaughter.

"She's cooking the books?" Magnolia asked.

"Of course I'm not a hundred percent sure, but my friends in circu lation are dropping hints along those lines." Natalie made it her busi ness to stay on excellent terms with that particular back office department, which, on any given day, had the pulse of how each mag azine was selling.

"Bebe's not a rip-roaring success?" Magnolia said, clutching her chest. "I'm shocked. Shocked."

"Like I say, these are speculations, but subscribers are apparently canceling like crazy," Natalie said, looking smug. "The business with Nathaniel Fine and that gun cover . . . Advertisers are cutting loose, too. Darlene's putting out numbers that are pure fiction."

"With Jock's blessing?" Magnolia asked.

"Naturally," Natalie said.

"Does Bebe know?" Magnolia asked.

Now it was Natalie's turn to laugh. "Not if Jock can help it. You know how these contracts work. If Bebe fails to clear certain hurdles, Bebe's allowed to pull out-and if she does that, then Scary will never make back its investment. But-of course-I don't know any of this for a fact. It may be innuendo from some bean counter with an ax to grind because Darlene wouldn't dance with him at the Christmas party."

Magnolia took it all in while Natalie finished the last bite of her egg-white omelet.

"How are you, by the way?" Natalie said. "Cousin Wally coming through?"

"Wally's a prince," Magnolia said absentmindedly while she absorbed the enormity of Natalie's news.

"Glad to hear it," Natalie said. "Now, how's the job hunt?"

Magnolia decided not to report on her Voyeur conversation. Natalie was, after all, the editor in chief of Dazzle-theoretically, a compet.i.tor. "It's nowhere," she complained. "When you're a pub lisher, people a.s.sume if you can sell ads in one magazine, you can sell anything. But as an editor"-Magnolia knew she sounded kvetchy- "there's this idea that you have to be a walking mission statement for your magazine. Anyway, there are zero jobs now. Somebody would have to be a.s.sa.s.sinated to make room for me."

"You have to get out, be seen," Natalie said. "Make a job find you."

"From your mouth to G.o.d's ears," Magnolia said, touching the red bracelet hidden under her sleeve. "What's new with you-besides Mistress Burberry's bombsh.e.l.l?"

"Well, Dazzle couldn't be hotter," Natalie said, as she always did. "Up ten percent on the newsstand and surpa.s.sing last quarter with ads. But it sounds as if Scary's going to be depending on us more than ever to be a cash cow. The pressure . . ." She looked at her watch.

"Gotta run. Can I give you a lift? My car's waiting."

"No, I'm headed uptown," Magnolia said. "I have a meeting, too,"

she said-with Biggie and Lola.

As she walked to the subway, her BlackBerry beeped. Bebe. She hadn't heard from her in months. Magnolia called back on the cell num ber she had given her only after Bebe decided Raven was a she-devil.

"Magnolia, that you?" Bebe said, answering on the first ring. "Can you believe this?" "Did you have any inkling?" Magnolia asked.

"Well, a pair of handcuffs once fell out of her bag, but who doesn't own a pair?" Bebe said. "Now Jock's ordered me to dump poor Felicity.

Just because he took a boondoggle to China, he thinks he's the little emperor. It's my magazine. Mine. I'd like to take one of his sus penders and strangle that preppy a.s.shole. . . ."

Magnolia held the phone away from her ear while Bebe ranted.

"Magnolia, you there?" Bebe shouted. "I asked you a question."

"Excuse me," Magnolia said. "There's a lot of traffic-I couldn't hear you."

"I asked you if you'd come back," Bebe said. "Poor Felicity deserves a long vacation."

"Aren't you forgetting Jock dumped me?" Magnolia said.