Part 29 (2/2)
”We're a family newspaper, friends, so turn the page if you'll blush over your morning java and spank us if you think we're naughty,” the page-two article began, ”but perhaps Bebe Blake isn't keeping Felicity Dingle sufficiently busy whipping things into shape at Bebe, her eponymous magazine. Or maybe her day-job's salary is so stingy, the poor dear needs to moon . . . light. Our exclusive sources inform us that in the evening hours, the high-ranking Bebe editor, aka Mistress Whipsmart, finds career satisfaction by, uh, dominating some of the city's finest, as she had for years among the House of Lords, where she was known pro fessionally as Nasty Nanny and, in later years, Madame Mumsy. In London, she is reputed to have carried the tools of her trade in a large handbag purchased at Her Majesty's favorite leather shop. . . .”
Magnolia read quickly until she got to a quote from Felicity. ”Don't get your knickers in a twist,” Mistress Whipsmart told Post insiders. ”It's not as if I opened a dungeon next to a day-care center. I provide a needed public service, like the National Health. Oh, forgive me. You don't have that here in the States. More's the pity.
”On the subject of humiliation, neither Jock Flanagan, president of Scarborough Magazines-which has a multimillion-dollar stake in Bebe, launched last year to replace the venerable Lady-nor Bebe Blake, the magazine's editor, nor its publisher, Darlene Knudson, could be reached for comment.”
As Magnolia read the item for the third time, Natalie tapped her on the shoulder and sat down next to her.
”If you looked any happier, I'd say you had a new boyfriend or a new job,” Natalie said. ”Which is it?”
”I wish,” Magnolia said. ”Natalie, I know a lot of people at Scary have a shoe fetish, but this is taking it too far, don't you think?” she added, laughing so hard, coffee almost shot out her nose.
”What are you jabbering about?” Natalie said.
”You didn't see the Post?”
”The Was.h.i.+ngton Post?” Natalie said. ”Of course. Why?” Natalie always waited to read the juiciest morsels in the New York Post after she arrived in the office and her a.s.sistant presented clips to her.
”Have a look,” she said, waving the tabloid. Natalie's eyes got as big as the mantilla comb supporting her updo.
”Oh. My. G.o.d,” Natalie said. ”Elizabeth is going to flip her wig on this one.”
”Elizabeth Lester Duvall's joining the Witness Protection Pro gram,” Magnolia said. ”Who do you think spilled this story?”
”Who cares?” Natalie said. ”What's important now is for us to look like it's inconsequential.”
”Why does that matter to me, Natalie?” Magnolia said. ”Scary gave me the boot.”
”Of course,” Natalie said. ”What am I thinking? But be a pal and stop gloating.” The waiter came to take their order. ”Excuse me for a minute, Magnolia,” Natalie said as she left, presumably to make a call or two to ensure that none of Scary's newest scandal stuck to her. In the ten minutes she was gone, several editors stopped by Magnolia's table to offer breathless variations on the theme of ”You look fabu lous! I've been meaning to call-I'll have my a.s.sistant set up coffee or lunch. Okay?”
”So?” Magnolia said, when Natalie returned. ”How do you think this one's going to play out? Scary paid for the Polo incident and it went away.”
”This one's not coming at a particularly propitious time,” Natalie said, in a low voice. She shot Magnolia one of her cryptic looks.
”What is it?” she asked.
Natalie turned to her right, then left. One pleasure of eating at Michael's was that the tables were far enough apart so that people could shake on deals and share names of matrimonial attorneys with out being overheard. Still, Natalie hadn't stayed in the industry for decades by taking chances. ”You didn't hear it from me, Cookie, but the circulation numbers for Bebe-well, let's just say Darlene is a very creative accountant,” she said even more quietly.
When it served their purposes, the editors in chief at Scary were loyal to the company, but as was true of any dysfunctional family, sib ling rivalry could pop out at any time. If someone else's magazine took a tumble, you could smell the schaudenfreude like blood at a slaughter.
”She's cooking the books?” Magnolia asked.
”Of course I'm not a hundred percent sure, but my friends in circu lation are dropping hints along those lines.” Natalie made it her busi ness to stay on excellent terms with that particular back office department, which, on any given day, had the pulse of how each mag azine was selling.
”Bebe's not a rip-roaring success?” Magnolia said, clutching her chest. ”I'm shocked. Shocked.”
”Like I say, these are speculations, but subscribers are apparently canceling like crazy,” Natalie said, looking smug. ”The business with Nathaniel Fine and that gun cover . . . Advertisers are cutting loose, too. Darlene's putting out numbers that are pure fiction.”
”With Jock's blessing?” Magnolia asked.
”Naturally,” Natalie said.
”Does Bebe know?” Magnolia asked.
Now it was Natalie's turn to laugh. ”Not if Jock can help it. You know how these contracts work. If Bebe fails to clear certain hurdles, Bebe's allowed to pull out-and if she does that, then Scary will never make back its investment. But-of course-I don't know any of this for a fact. It may be innuendo from some bean counter with an ax to grind because Darlene wouldn't dance with him at the Christmas party.”
Magnolia took it all in while Natalie finished the last bite of her egg-white omelet.
”How are you, by the way?” Natalie said. ”Cousin Wally coming through?”
”Wally's a prince,” Magnolia said absentmindedly while she absorbed the enormity of Natalie's news.
”Glad to hear it,” Natalie said. ”Now, how's the job hunt?”
Magnolia decided not to report on her Voyeur conversation. Natalie was, after all, the editor in chief of Dazzle-theoretically, a compet.i.tor. ”It's nowhere,” she complained. ”When you're a pub lisher, people a.s.sume if you can sell ads in one magazine, you can sell anything. But as an editor”-Magnolia knew she sounded kvetchy- ”there's this idea that you have to be a walking mission statement for your magazine. Anyway, there are zero jobs now. Somebody would have to be a.s.sa.s.sinated to make room for me.”
”You have to get out, be seen,” Natalie said. ”Make a job find you.”
”From your mouth to G.o.d's ears,” Magnolia said, touching the red bracelet hidden under her sleeve. ”What's new with you-besides Mistress Burberry's bombsh.e.l.l?”
”Well, Dazzle couldn't be hotter,” Natalie said, as she always did. ”Up ten percent on the newsstand and surpa.s.sing last quarter with ads. But it sounds as if Scary's going to be depending on us more than ever to be a cash cow. The pressure . . .” She looked at her watch.
”Gotta run. Can I give you a lift? My car's waiting.”
”No, I'm headed uptown,” Magnolia said. ”I have a meeting, too,”
she said-with Biggie and Lola.
As she walked to the subway, her BlackBerry beeped. Bebe. She hadn't heard from her in months. Magnolia called back on the cell num ber she had given her only after Bebe decided Raven was a she-devil.
”Magnolia, that you?” Bebe said, answering on the first ring. ”Can you believe this?” ”Did you have any inkling?” Magnolia asked.
”Well, a pair of handcuffs once fell out of her bag, but who doesn't own a pair?” Bebe said. ”Now Jock's ordered me to dump poor Felicity.
Just because he took a boondoggle to China, he thinks he's the little emperor. It's my magazine. Mine. I'd like to take one of his sus penders and strangle that preppy a.s.shole. . . .”
Magnolia held the phone away from her ear while Bebe ranted.
”Magnolia, you there?” Bebe shouted. ”I asked you a question.”
”Excuse me,” Magnolia said. ”There's a lot of traffic-I couldn't hear you.”
”I asked you if you'd come back,” Bebe said. ”Poor Felicity deserves a long vacation.”
”Aren't you forgetting Jock dumped me?” Magnolia said.
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