Little Pink Slips Part 38

"I'm disappointed, you know," she said. "About this weekend."

"Me, too," he said. The dead air hung between them.

"Tell me what I'll miss."

"Dinner on Friday at this tapas place. Sat.u.r.day I thought you might go house-hunting with me. Sunday morning, the Rose Bowl swap meet, and then a drive to Malibu or those Santa Barbara wineries."

"From Sideways?"

"From Sideways."

"Roll back to house-hunting. Does this mean you're going to be there permanently?"

"No, but at least six months . . . It would be a rental-near the beach or in one of those coyote-filled canyons."

Cameron of California was beginning to come into focus and he felt unknown and far, far away. There wasn't much to say after that.

Except good night. She called her dogs. "You guys-bedtime. It's an order." Biggie and Lola leaped up and settled in for a cozy snooze. The same could not be said for Magnolia. She pictured Cam going from project to project as Hollywood's hot, new script doctor. Two years from now, he'd be picking up an Oscar for best screenplay-looking cute in a tuxedo. He'd accept with a wry comment, which would make most people scratch their heads, but she would get it. She'd call to congrat ulate him. His a.s.sistant would take a message. "We'll return," the a.s.sistant would lie.

When the phone rang at two A.M., Magnolia welcomed the inter ruption.

"The thing I want to know is," he said, "after the s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g you've gotten in magazines and the rodeo down at the courthouse, why would you ever want to try to stay in that business and hang around just to get beat up again? What's that thing you always said to me- it's okay to make a mistake but just don't keep making the same mistake?"

Magnolia waited to see if there was more to the tirade. She won dered if he'd been drinking.

"I'm asking as a friend," he added. He sounded sober, too sober.

"Cam, you clearly have all sorts of talents," she said. Even some she only suspected, and would like to experience-in every way- firsthand. "But working in magazines is what I do. I'm a monkey with one trick."

"You don't know that," he said. "You're just terrified. I'll only say this once. Forget about being an editor. Move in with me. We'll dis cover L.A. together. Fresh start. You got to Manhattan from Fargo.

How hard could this town be?"

"You think the movie business is any better than magazines?" Her voice wasn't sleepy anymore. "Film companies give themselves names like Pariah and n.o.body blinks. L.A. is where people eat their young. And speaking of young, by Hollywood standards, I'm not."

"Magnolia, none of that matters. G.o.ddammit, you are one stub born woman." He paused. "Is this why I love you or do I love you in spite of this?"

Chapter 4 4.

The Devil's Work?

"Congratulations." Air kisses. "Perfect choice." Hugs. "Can't wait to see what you'll do." Big smooch. "Success becomes you."

With Michael's patrons genuflecting to Natalie as they arrived and departed in their spiffy best, Magnolia's lunch dragged into its second hour. Finally, cappuccinos and cookies arrived on a small silver tray, and Natalie beamed her attention toward Magnolia. "You must feel vindicated," she said. In her new role as Scary's president and CEO, Natalie had arrived on a crimson tide of a red suit and Christian Louboutin T-strap heels.

"How's that?" Magnolia wondered.

"Pundits are spinning the trial as a retroactive win for Lady." "One pundit in one ultraconservative newspaper with a circulation of 10,000."

"Cookie, you're not hearing what I'm hearing. Your stock is way up on the magazine NASDAQ."

"Well, thanks Natalie," she said. "But the last time I looked I was still unemployed."

"I hear you may be starting a new celebrity magazine," Natalie said.

"Don't believe everything you hear," she said, smiling coyly. A more accurate answer would be "fat chance," since she hadn't mas saged her Voyeur proposal to anywhere near perfection or even given herself a deadline to set up an appointment at Fancy. The editorial director there had probably forgotten they'd ever met.

"We can't have you working for a compet.i.tor now, can we?" Natalie said, nibbling one of Michael's decadent b.u.t.ter cookies. "You know, I'm going to be replacing myself at Dazzle."

Two months before, Magnolia wouldn't have felt the least bit qual ified to lead a magazine that depended not only on being able to dis tinguish Jessica Simpson from Jessica Alba but knowing what, exactly, each was famous for; and, more important, the names of their b.u.t.t doubles. Yet after dedicating herself to nonstop celebrity watching, she'd got it. She'd got it fine.

Magnolia was just about to say she'd be thrilled to discuss Dazzle when Darlene stopped by the table, grunted a h.e.l.lo to her, and swooped down on Natalie. "I hope you got my flowers, Natalie," she said in a voice the whole restaurant could hear. "I am so thrilled for you. I can't think of a better choice for Scarborough, and I know the two of us are going to work together famously and make a ton. A ton!" Were those tears in her eyes or was Darlene just allergic to sin cerity?

"Thank you, sweetie," Natalie said, patting Darlene's st.u.r.dy hand.

"The flowers are gorgeous." She took a sip of cappuccino. "So, we'll be seeing each other today at four?"

Confusion blew over Darlene's face. Magnolia thought she saw a sign on her forehead say, "What the f.u.c.k?" but Darlene recovered.

"Of course," she said. "Later!"

As soon as she had left, Natalie leaned her head close to Magnolia's.

"She's history," she whispered without moving her lips. "I just decided this very minute that we'll have 'the talk' at four, and if I'm lucky I will never see that loudmouth b.i.t.c.h again. She's a walking speaker phone." Natalie picked up her BlackBerry and sent a message to her a.s.sistant instructing her to set up an appointment with Dar lene. "Those manufactured circ numbers . . . and does she think I don't know she's had her nose up everyone's b.u.t.t for a new job?"

Natalie ate another cookie. "I think I am going to like being CEO." "You'll be brilliant," Magnolia said and meant it. But why can't we return to the topic on the table before Darlene appeared? Natalie looked at her watch.

"You were mentioning Dazzle," Magnolia said. She hoped the desperation in her voice didn't come across like ticker tape.

"Oh, right," Natalie said. She pulled out her corporate AmEx card, which was identical to the one Magnolia had to shred when her little pink slip arrived. "Do you think you might be interested?"

"I think I would," she said.

"Being a weekly, you pretty much have to be on call three hundred fifty-two days of the year," Natalie said. You've never done a weekly-that's what she was really saying. Or even worked on a celebrity magazine or been an entertainment editor. Neither had Natalie when she'd talked her way into becoming Dazzle's editor in chief. But Magnolia understood. Natalie wanted her to scrawl, "I will die if you don't hire me" on the white tablecloth in her own blood, then jump on the chair, beat her chest, and declare undying love for Dazzle.

Dazzle led the media parade that revered fame. Op-Ed page critics could make a strong case for why it was the kind of scandal sheet that made teenagers want to grow up to become stars of their own reality TV shows instead of schoolteachers and pediatricians, but hadn't Anne Frank had photographs of celebrities in her hiding place? Working at Dazzle wasn't the devil's work, Magnolia told herself. It was just entertainment-and the most lucrative editor-in-chief job at Scary.

She swallowed hard. "Natalie, I am shocked and flattered. I would be completely honored to lead Dazzle," she said. "Of course, I would have very big shoes to fill . . ."-rats. Unfortunate choice of phrase, Natalie being vain about her size-five, triple-A feet-"but especially during my, uh, hiatus, I've become utterly enamored of the current celebrity culture in the United States. Ask me anything! Brangelina's baby's middle name. Jennifer Lopez's preferred underarm deodorant.

Salma Hayek's electrolysis technician . . ." Natalie was smiling beautifully, thoroughly enjoying the grovel ing. "I think I could be a highly effective, energetic editor in chief of Dazzle," Magnolia continued. "As far as its being a weekly goes, you know how fast I am, Natalie. You know I never stop working for a d.a.m.n second. I am always ahead of schedule. 'a.n.a.l retentive' is my middle name . . ."

"Okay, okay," Natalie said. "You're in."

"I'm in? Great!" Magnolia said. She felt light-headed and thought she needed water. Then the wires in her brain connected. What, exactly, did "in" mean?

"I'd love you to be a candidate," Natalie continued. "Several edi tors on my staff have spoken to me about the job, and Raven, of course. Plus, I've gotten calls from several other strong contenders from the company, as well as from Vanity Fair, People, Us, the Star, InTouch." Natalie stood to leave. "Interest in the job is off the charts."

"Understandable," Magnolia mumbled.

"Anyone who wants to be considered needs to give me their vision for the magazine, in less than thirty pages-including visuals-by Monday at ten."

Chapter 4 5.

Best Picture.

"Amelie is here," the voice said, sounding exhausted but happy. "She wants to meet you."

"Oh, my G.o.d," Magnolia said groggily. "I'll get there as fast as I can." No one expected Amelie for several weeks. "How is she?"

"Beautiful."

Magnolia scrambled into yesterday's clothes, which she'd tossed on the chair when she'd got home past midnight, and grabbed the present hiding in her closet. She stopped on Columbus Avenue at the posh new florist-they were overpriced, but she didn't care-and asked for four dozen tiny white tea roses packed tightly in a square gla.s.s vase.

It was snowing and taxis were scarce. Snowflakes blew sharply in her face as she stood, burdened with her gifts, looking for an empty cab. After fifteen minutes, one found her.

"Mount Sinai Hospital," she said to the driver. The taxi skidded along the icy streets and through the park and, ten minutes later, stopped on Fifth Avenue and 100th Street. A nurse directed Magnolia to the room. She stood in the doorway and watched Daniel sitting on the edge of the bed, stroking Abbey's hair. He bent over and gave his wife a tender caress. "Knock, knock," Magnolia said softly.

"Magnolia," Abbey said sleepily. "Have you seen her yet?"

"You first," Magnolia answered, as she placed the roses on the win dowsill and the bag next to the bed. She hugged Abbey and then Daniel. "How do you both feel?"

"Surprised," Abbey said, "elated, exhausted."

"Tres content," he said.

"A long labor?"

"C-section at three-ten this morning," she said. "We got here at eleven. I thought it was a false alarm until my water broke-it hap pened fast after that." In slow motion, Abbey shifted her position. "I want you to see her."

"She is in the front left corner," Daniel said, "with the long, dark coiffure."

At five pounds, thirteen ounces, Amelie Charlotte Rothschild Cohen looked about as big as a Perdue oven-stuffer. She was sleeping peacefully in a tightly swaddled blanket, a curl escaping from a small pink cap. Already, she had a certain je ne sais quoi.

"Welcome, little angel," Magnolia cooed through the gla.s.s. "I'm your auntie Magnolia and wait till you see the layette I bought you at Barney's. It's at home." Amelie yawned. "Okay, if you don't like it, we can exchange. I'm telling you now-this is a promise-I will be your fairy G.o.dmother. We are going to explore New York together, and I plan to teach you everything I know." Magnolia was fairly sure Amelie opened her eyes and held her gaze. Maybe one day I'll pro duce a friend for you, she thought.

She returned to the room. With Daniel's help, Abbey sat up. "I'm duct-taped together," she said and winced. "I can't believe Nurse Ratched out there expects me to take a walk."

"This is for you," Magnolia said, handing her the large box in the bag. Abbey opened it carefully. Inside was a peach chiffon bed jacket Magnolia had found two months ago on Portobello Road. "There,"

Magnolia said, as she helped Abbey slip it on. "You look like some body's very well-kept mistress, circa 1955."

"Thanks, Mags," Abbey said. "For everything." "Sorry those lessons of ours turned out to be irrelevant," Magnolia said, puffing out a few shallow Lamaze breaths. "We were world-cla.s.s."

"Thank you for being there," Daniel said in his deep voice. "Now I stay in Manhattan for three months. And next week, Marie-France will arrive."

"She takes care of les enfants Rothschild," Abbey said. "Don't you love it?"

"Abbey, I want your life," Magnolia said, though both of them knew it wasn't true.

"I'm so sorry I have to leave this afternoon."

"As I recall, you have a plane to catch."

"Not for five hours, and I'm already packed."

"Which dress are you wearing?"

"The Armani sequins. Definitely not the Dolce & Gabbana. I'm aiming for elegant, not 'I work at Hooters.' "

"I loved you in the Dolce."

"Because you're obsessing about nursing," Magnolia said. "I just hope you aren't one of those mommies who whips out her huge t.i.tties every chance she gets."

"Stop-it hurts when I laugh," Abbey said, holding her stomach.

Wind howled against the windows. "I really think you should get to the airport early," she urged.

"Unfortunately, I believe you're right," Magnolia said, as she stood to leave. "As usual."

It had been almost a year since Magnolia had become editor in chief of Dazzle. Her weeks of drafting and redrafting the Voyeur proposal allowed her to submit-almost overnight-a fully hatched vision of how she could attract new, younger readers to Dazzle and give it an edge.

"Cookie, you nailed it," Natalie had called to say the very day she turned in her pitch, complete with eight sample covers on which Mag nolia had worked with Fredericka, with the understanding that if she got the job, Fredericka would have one, too. "When can you start?"

"Thanks, Natalie," she said. "I'll start as soon as Wally looks over my contract." "Fair enough," Natalie answered.