Part 16 (1/2)

”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 s.h.i.+fted 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, flas.h.i.+ng a smile she'd bleached one shade too white.