Part 16 (2/2)
”Zoe,” added the zaftig blonde, extending a hand with a hefty sil ver mesh ring on the middle finger.
”I'm Sasha and if you need anything . . . ” She pointed to herself.
”Forget those two slackers exist.”
Ready aides for Nathaniel Fine were always going to be in supply.
Elite private school; promising applications to Brown, Princeton, Duke, and-for backup-Wisconsin; intact Upper East Side family: dad a senior partner at a major law firm, mom an in-demand interior decorator-Natalie's, to be exact; designer summer camps; good looks; even good manners. If this kid had talent to match the rest of the package, by the time he was twenty-nine he'd be running the art department of GQ and earning in the high six figures.
”Ladies, meet Nathaniel,” Magnolia said.
”Actually, only my mom calls me Nathaniel,” he said.
Magnolia pretended to wince.
”Please call me Polo.”
”For the cologne?” Magnolia asked.
He looked at her as if she were brain damaged. ”For the sport you play in a pool.”
Magnolia marched him into the art department. There were the usual three designers developing layouts, the photo editor and her a.s.so ciate examining images on a huge light box, and an a.s.sistant answering the phone. But everything did not sound as usual. All Magnolia could hear was a Chris Botti CD faintly playing in the background.
She looked into Fredericka's office and understood the hush. There was Bebe hulking over Fredericka as the two of them worked on the upcoming cover. ”Make the words huge,” Bebe said. ”Put them here.”
Her hand touched a spot on the upper-left corner of the computer screen, leaving a visible fingerprint. Fredericka will be Vindexing the minute Bebe blinks, Magnolia thought. Yet the art director offered no reaction except to dutifully move the coverline-”Guns: Why Every Woman Needs One”-exactly where Bebe pointed.
While Magnolia stood outside Fredericka's open office and debated whether she should interrupt to introduce Polo, Bebe glanced in their direction.
”Who have we here?” Bebe asked. If Magnolia wasn't mistaken, Bebe was sucking in her gut. ”I see you've brought me a treat.” Her gaze nailed Polo's reddening face.
”Polo Fine, our art intern,” Magnolia said. ”Bebe Blake. Freder icka von Trapp.” Fredericka walked toward them and extended her hand to Polo- Fredericka was pleased, Magnolia guessed, to briefly escape Bebe's intimate scrutiny.
”How'd you get that name, Polo?” Bebe asked.
”For water polo,” he answered.
”I hope you're going to model your uniform,” she said. He blushed.
”You two, look,” ordered Bebe, still by the computer. ”So? Opinions!”
Magnolia and Polo walked to the screen, which displayed an image from Bebe's I'm-gonna-blow-your-brains-out series.
”Bebe, you know what I think,” Magnolia said, shaking her head.
”Ditch this idea.”
”Ignore her,” Bebe said, as she rested her hand on Polo's arm.
”Magnolia's not a risk taker. You have fresh eyes. Tell Mamma what you think.”
Bebe's hand fell to her side as Polo crossed his arms and stepped back, taking a minute to consider the design. Magnolia watched a surge of Park Avenue confidence kick in.
”It's provocative,” he answered. ”Grabs my attention. Sends a strong message. I like how your eyes in the photo lock with the reader's.”
Magnolia couldn't disagree with his observations. It would be an excellent cover-for, say, Guns & Ammo. Polo couldn't be blamed if no one had taught him ground zero of cover design: know and entice your unique reader, who in this case was a violence-abhorring, middle-of-the-road American mother/wife/church lady who wouldn't want Bebe's emerging cover within a block of her Ethan Allan coffee table.
”You get it, kid,” Bebe said, one hand back on Polo's arm, the other fidgeting with her neckline to lower it ever so slightly. ”We're going to be great friends. Fredericka, see what he can do with the cover.”
Fredericka looked startled. Magnolia knew the art department's other designers always campaigned to get a crack at cover design, but Fredericka trusted no one but herself for that responsibility. A small wrinkle emerged between the art director's eyes as she placed her hands squarely on her narrow hips. ”I mean it, Fredericka,” Bebe said. ”See what he's got.”
Magnolia tried to process the situation. If Polo worked on the cover, Natalie's friends, Polo's parents, would be picturing the result attached to his college applications. h.e.l.lo, Ivy. But if Polo reported back to them that Magnolia Gold had blocked that opportunity, Natalie's friends would be less than understanding and Natalie would be p.i.s.sed. Then again, this version of a cover would never sell. And she might get blamed.
How could she protect herself ? She couldn't.
What the h.e.l.l. Bebe wanted it. Let her have it.
Magnolia decided now would be a good time to get as far away from the art department as possible. As she was leaving, Fredericka was set tling Polo in front of his own giant Mac. ”Veel scan in the cover images and check back vit you in two hours,” Magnolia heard her say in a quiet monotone, followed by a whoop and a ”Hot d.a.m.n” from Bebe.
”Well, he's going to be a welcome diversion around here,” Sasha said as Magnolia stopped by her desk to pick up messages.
”Pants on, Sasha,” Magnolia said. ”He's a baby. Who called?”
”Message from Darlene. 'Glamazon big fat f.u.c.king zero' were her exact words.” Magnolia crumpled the message and dropped it in the trash.
”And some woman asking if you could speak to the”-Sasha checked her notes-”Prairie Press Club. All-expense-paid trip to nowhere. Needs an answer ASAP.”
Magnolia half-heard Sasha as she watched Bebe saunter down the hall, arm in arm with Felicity.
”Said she knew you from high school,” Sasha added.
Magnolia perked up. ”Oh, really?”
”A Misty Knight,” Sasha said. ”And if she's a stripper, she never mentioned it.”
Misty Sandstrum, it has to be. Magnolia pictured a red-and-white cheerleader sweater a size too small to showcase her Miss North Dakota chest and a graduation speech that made Magnolia want to gag. Misty beat her to that glory by one white-blond hair and then put everyone to sleep with thirty-two minutes about rainbows.
”Where's her number?” Magnolia asked, answering Sasha's you can't-be-serious look with her don't-even-think-of-asking glare before she entered her office. She closed the door and dialed.
”Misty?” Magnolia said in her best-girlfriend tone. ”Sure, it's me. . . . Of course, you can still call me Maggie. . . . You married Bucky Knight? He's running the Ford dealers.h.i.+p? Four kids? All named with B? Precious . . . And you . . . ? You're a restaurant reviewer at the Fargo Forum?”
Ten minutes pa.s.sed as Magnolia listened to Misty. Did I ever talk that slowly, she wondered?
”So what's this speaking thing?” Magnolia finally asked. Misty ran down the details. The annual meeting of journalists wanted Magnolia to be the keynote speaker a week from Sat.u.r.day. The pride of the Dakotas, Tom Brokaw, had been the original choice, but he'd bailed.
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