Part 8 (2/2)

Should we go over your agenda?”

They both knew the daily ritual was pointless. Without discussing it, Sasha had canceled the meetings she'd engineered weeks in advance, her normal drill in order to accommodate editors' frantic travel and shoot schedules. Except for an 11:45 dental appointment, Magnolia's calendar stood empty.

Downtime at work had never existed before, and Magnolia didn't like it one bit. Yet at the magazine it would be impolitic to charge ahead-a.s.signing features, approving photographs, interviewing applicants for unfilled positions-as if Bebe weren't down the hall, at least theoretically. The painters were still at it in Magnolia's old office, and Bebe was nowhere in sight. Magnolia freshened her lip stick and wandered over to the office next door. She stood for a full minute before Cameron became aware of her, took out his iPod ear phones, and smiled.

”And so it begins,” he said.

”Have you done magazine 101 with our Queen B, explaining that we actually have deadlines?”

”Planning a sneak attack for noon,” Cameron said. ”If she shows.”

With Bebe apparently not realizing she needed to be the orchestra leader, Lady's symphony had ceased. The staff hadn't reached complete cacophony-all her colleagues were still at their desks, nervously awaiting orders, whispering into phones, and das.h.i.+ng off e-mails they tried to conceal should anyone approach their computer screens. But it was already July. In weeks the October issue, com pressed to a few computer disks, would be due at the printer. The deadline could be stretched only a little-and at great expense.

October wasn't the only problem. November needed to get well under way, along with issues after that. To save money, smart editors always photographed in season. This very minute they should be planning next summer's food stories to be shot now, at a nearby beach, instead of spending $17,000 to fly a crew to the Caribbean in the high season next February.

Editors were dodging calls from photographers' reps eager to con firm dates. Writers, needing rea.s.surance from motherly a.s.signing editors, whimpered for contracts. Freelancers were threatening to defect to other jobs.

”I hate that you have to be the bada.s.s, Cam,” Magnolia said. ”But with it coming from you, maybe Bebe will listen.”

Felicity's voice rang out down the hall. ”Yoo-hoo, Magnolia.

Cameron. Is this beyond exciting?”

Both Magnolia and Cam would have chosen a different word.

Felicity had a cat carrier in her hands. In it was h.e.l.l, wearing the smirk of a serial killer. Magnolia backed away as the feline stuck out a clawed paw.

”We're moving in!” Felicity trilled. ”Jock told us to camp out in the conference room until the paint dries. Don't you just love that perfect rouge?”

”Felicity, just the woman I was hoping to see,” Cameron said, a little too heartily, Magnolia thought. ”If you wouldn't mind putting the tomcat down for a minute, I was wondering if I could steal you to go over some dates?”

”I'll leave you two,” Magnolia said, backing out of the office and pondering where she could, with a modic.u.m of dignity, pounce next.

She entered the art department, walked beyond the three designers, past the photo editor's desk and her a.s.sistant's cubicle, and into Fredericka's elegantly spare taupe office. Fredericka, her tanned arms loaded with silver bracelets, hovered over her light box.

”Magnolia!” she moaned. ”Vat am I going to tell Fabrizio about his October cover?” Fredericka had shots of Sarah Jessica Parker spread out, tenderly looking at each one as if it were an in utero image of her unborn child. Just a few weeks earlier, Fabrizio daVinci had finally agreed to work for Lady-the result of Fredericka's considerable persuasive abilities and magnums of Cristal sent to his cavernous down town studio.

”Fredericka, his rep probably has ten offers for those pictures,”

Magnolia said. ”First, remind him that Scary still holds a six-month embargo on the images.” Maybe this whole Bebe nonsense will disappear and we can restore Lady, Magnolia thought fleetingly and-she realized-stupidly. But Scary did own the pictures, and she'd be d.a.m.ned if another magazine would benefit from her misery. ”Then promise him the premiere Bebe cover.”

Fredericka blanched, her skin almost matching her platinum hair.

Apparently she hadn't yet fully absorbed that she and her photo editor would be responsible-issue after issue-for turning Bebe Blake into a cover temptress. She looked at Magnolia like a racc.o.o.n in a trap.

”But Fabrizio vould never, never agree to shoot Bebe,” she said.

”You know he only likes gorgeous vomen.”

Fredericka was right. And Magnolia realized no good could come from hanging around her office. Even if the dentist told her he'd need to pull a front tooth, she'd rather be in his chair than here. She returned to her office, packed her Tod's tote with the latest Vogue, and left for his office, arriving forty minutes early.

Two hours later, her face looking like a stroke victim's, Magnolia heard her cell phone ring. Sub-Zero, she hoped. While sit ting in the dentist's chair, she'd happily relived every stroke and thrust of both Sat.u.r.day and Sunday nights. At one point, in her dental stupor, she worried that she might be doing a pretty fair ”yes! yes! yes!” from When Harry Met Sally. But it wasn't Harry.

”I've been calling and calling,” Sasha said. ”How quickly can you get back here?”

”Fifteen minutes,” Magnolia answered, overly optimistic. She'd already been standing for ten minutes on 57th Street, searching for a taxi.

”They're gathering,” Sasha said. ”Drop quiz. Cameron's looking for you. Surprise staff meeting.”

A half hour later Magnolia bolted off the elevator onto her floor.

She listened for the raucous laughter that usually erupted during a meeting, the rising voices of editors interrupting one another with ideas that trumped the next person's. An amped-up, compet.i.tive staff meeting was better than a basketball game at Madison Square Gar den, and sometimes just as sweaty.

She heard nothing.

When she entered the conference room, however, the gang was there, stony and mute. Bebe presided at the end of the table in Mag nolia's usual spot. For her first day of work she wore a silvery satin bomber jacket embroidered with dragons, and coordinating pants.

With the ceiling spotlight s.h.i.+ning on her you, had to squint.

”Sam here told me it was high time that we, uh, convened,”

Bebe said, looking at Cam. ”I was just telling the girls-oh, 'scuse me, Sam-about my idea for the first cover: posing in a tub full of bubbles.”

Bebe's gaze caught Magnolia's lopsided mouth. ”What the h.e.l.l happened to you, Mags? Wild nooner?”

The staff turned to Magnolia, who ignored Bebe's comment.

”Bubbles. What, exactly, would you be trying to convey in that image?” Magnolia asked Bebe in a level tone.

”That I'm all about fun,” she answered, staring at Magnolia as if that weren't as obvious as the fact that they both had b.o.o.bs. ”Life's a hoot. Join in. Party on.”

”I'm not sure most women want to hop in a tub with another woman, Bebe,” Magnolia said.

”Holy Jesus and Mary, my women aren't that literal,” Bebe answered.

”Felicity, what do you think?” ”Your crowd would follow you anywhere, Beebsy,” she said.

”Who are 'your women'?” Magnolia asked. ”We need to establish that.”

”Every woman. That's who watches my show. Nuns, truck drivers, inmates, old biddies, teenagers. Here, the cover would look like this.”

She sketched herself next to words marching down the right, instead of the left. Bebe's rendering looked reversed. Perhaps it would sell well to the dyslexic-or in Tel Aviv.

”Bebe, maybe we should brainstorm about the cover later in a separate meeting,” Magnolia said. ”Fredericka has some drop-dead ideas-Ruthie, too.” She turned to her lieutenants. Fredericka flashed her whiter-than-white teeth, but Magnolia noted she had chewed her fingernails to the quick. Ruthie, not usually a poster girl for perfect posture, appeared starched.

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