Part 14 (2/2)

” '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, pus.h.i.+ng 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.

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