Part 26 (1/2)

”That anchorwoman the network wanted to replace with the American Idol runner-up-a Walter Fleigelman I read about got her two million bucks. I kept meaning to ask if he's your ex.”

”If he is, he's my guy,” Magnolia said. ”Oops, call waiting. Talk soon.”

”Would this be the best d.a.m.n a.s.s in Manhattan?” the genial caller said. ”The wildly successful magazine lady?” The voice sounded even fuller of bravado than she remembered.

”Not anymore, Wally,” Magnolia said.

”You mean you didn't phone my home because you hoped to start things up again?” he said. ”You're breaking my heart.”

”How are you, Wally?”

”Can't complain,” Wally said. ”When you've got your health, you've got everything.” He'd apparently morphed into his pinochle-playing grandfather. ”Plus, in my case, seven-year-old twins; the wife, who's a looker, by the way . . .”

”That so?” Magnolia said.

”. . . the apartment, Aspen, Southampton, solid practice-knock wood-and still shoot in the seventies. Over Christmas, my third hole in one. Boca's always been my lucky charm.”

”So I recall,” Magnolia said, remembering one of their more three-dimensional fights, which took place on a visit to his parents'

condo there, and featured a redheaded tennis pro.

”Yes, Mrs. Fleigelman. Like I said, Can't complain.”

”Well, I can,” Magnolia said. ”My company's trying to pretend I don't have a contract. They eliminated my job and want to cut me loose with virtually no severance. I'm completely nuts. Don't know what I'll do for money. Sell my eggs?”

”Does this mean there's no Mr. Gold to pay your bills?”

”You know Daddy has never given me a dime.”

”I'm thinking husband, Magnolia,” Wally said, chuckling.

”Oh, one of those,” she said. ”Tried that. Didn't take.”

”I can't believe you're still single, gorgeous girl like you. You're what now, thirty-six?”

”Give or take.”

”Should have stayed with me, kid,” Wally said and laughed again.

At this rate she and Wally would be kibitzing all morning. ”Wally, I hate to hit you with this, but I was wondering if you'd take my case?” Magnolia said. ”Please.”

”So Maggie needs Wally, after all,” he said. ”Let's see. I have a load of depositions in Was.h.i.+ngton tomorrow, then off to Seattle Monday.

May be there for a few weeks.”

”If you don't have the time, I understand,” she said.

”For you, I'll make time,” he said. ”Can you be in my office at three?”

Except for the cigar and a slightly higher forehead, Wally hadn't changed much. He was still broad-shouldered, bespeckled, and loud.

”How do I look?” he said, patting his head. ”I'm one of those schmucks where Propecia did zip. The minute I turned forty, my dad's face started staring back at me in the mirror.”

”You look like you,” she said, kissing him on the cheek ”Not a day older and oozing charm.” She noticed that he still wasn't stingy with the aftershave, although along with a better wardrobe he'd upgraded to a more subtle scent than Old Spice. His suit was light gray wool; the s.h.i.+rt, red-striped with a white collar, French cuffs, and discreet gold cuff links; the shoes, soft, well-polished black leather oxfords; and the tie, subtle silk twill.

”You look like someone I was married to once, only prettier,” Wally said, hanging up Magnolia's coat and motioning for her to sit at the couch in the corner of his office, where the wraparound windows looked north over the park and west toward the Hudson. On the gla.s.s table in front of the couch were a stack of legal pads and a foun tain pen.

”Nice outfit, by the way,” he said. ”My wife would approve.”

For their meeting Magnolia pulled out her Chanel bag, a black Dolce & Gabbana skirt-Wally had always complimented her legs, whose calves, she thought, were a little too muscular, but were just like his mother's-and a pale pink V-neck sweater that revealed a peek of cleavage. She hoped her choices balanced needy female with worth-every-d.a.m.n-dime executive.

”Thanks, Wally,” she said. ”Love to see pictures of your kids.”

He walked to his desk and returned, carrying a photograph of two toothless tykes with long bangs and chin-length, dark brown hair.

”Harper and Morgan.” Magnolia didn't want to ask if they were boys, girls, or one of each.

”Adorable,” she said.

”Take after their mommy,” he said.

”You were always eager to be a dad,” Magnolia said.

”Didn't that have something to do with our splitting up?”

That, the tennis pro, and an almost complete lack of shared inter ests, but who's keeping score? ”We were just too young to be married,”

Magnolia said. ”At least I was.”

”So, tell Wally everything,” he said. ”You have a contract they don't want to honor?”

”The company's claiming it's for a job that no longer exists,” Magnolia said, and retold her story of Lady turning overnight into Bebe, of being demoted to deputy editor of Bebe, then being switched to corporate editor of nothing.

”With all these different jobs, were you paid the same?”

”Yes, I was,” she said, placing her contract on the table.

”And how much was that?”

She handed him pay stubs from each job.

Wally whistled. ”Not bad,” he said. ”That's what you get for put ting in commas? Wish my wife pulled in dough like this-I wouldn't be busting my b.a.l.l.s.” As Magnolia scrolled through her brain for a response, he continued. ”Just kidding-I love that Whitney's home with the kids. She's always b.i.t.c.hing about how all those committees she's on are as much trouble as a job, though. You tell me.”

”I wouldn't know,” answered Magnolia, truthfully.

”So, anything more?” Wally asked.