Part 30 (1/2)
”But these are extraordinary circ.u.mstances,” Bebe said. ”d.a.m.n.
Hang on. Another call.”
The pause gave Magnolia a chance to savor the moment. Even if she hadn't been fired by Scary and wasn't disputing her sever ance, this wouldn't be the burning building she'd pick to run back into.
”It's my agent,” Bebe said. ”Good Morning America and Today are fighting over me for tomorrow morning, and tonight I'm doing Larry King and Letterman. No time to fly to L.A. for Leno. Rats.” She clicked off.
Magnolia dialed another number.
”Cameron,” she said, leaving a message. ”Want to come over tonight for Larry King and Letterman? Bring Abbey. Bring the world. I'm celebrating.”
”Where's Abbey?” Magnolia asked Cameron as he walked through her door. He kissed her on the cheek, hung his overcoat in the closet, and in a few giant steps made himself at home in front of her television.
”Wouldn't know,” he said, flipping channels till he found Larry King Live. ”Abbey and I had the let's-be-friends talk.”
”Sorry to hear that,” Magnolia said. And surprised, since Abbey hadn't returned her last two calls.
”Don't be. Some Frenchman she met's in town. Frankly, I'm relieved. I'd been rehearsing the same speech for weeks. She's sweet, Abbey. I didn't know how to put it to her.”
Magnolia fixed Cam with a long, quizzical stare, searching for a sign that Abbey's rejection had wounded his heart or at least stung his pride. She had an impulse to push up the gla.s.ses that had slipped down his nose, but the Continental Divide of boss-employee relations wouldn't close, despite the fact that they hadn't worked together for months.
”What?” he said. ”Really, it's over. Finito. Abbey's great, but there was zero chemistry. Not enough meat on her bones. And not only do I not know a radiant cut from a rat's a.s.s, I don't want to know.”
In truth, everything about the way Cam's lanky, blue-jean-clad legs stretched in front of him looked relaxed as a breeze. Magnolia shrugged and walked into her kitchen.
”There she is,” he shouted as she pulled two beers out of her refrigerator to accompany the chips she'd put on a tray. ”White bel uga sighting! Gold, get in here.”
So now she was Gold. Magnolia bolted to the TV. For her appearance, Bebe had chosen a bustier, form-fitting jeans, and go-go boots, all in Clorox white.
”I guess this is her idea of a virginal look,” Magnolia said. ”Drive home the old 'If you think I'm a dominatrix, think again' message.”
Bebe leaned toward Larry King, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s pouring over her bodice, and beamed a smile that stopped short of her eyes.
”Bebe, when you started your magazine, did you ever think it would be this hard?” Larry asked her.
In the second that Bebe hesitated, Magnolia could sense this wasn't the question she had expected. ”Hard, Larry?” she said. ”We're start ing this out by talking about who's hard?” She let loose her boisterous cackle.
Larry smiled slightly. ”Seriously, every year almost a thousand magazines launch,” he said. ”Naked Dachshunds and yours were just two last year. Anyone who can start a fire, it seems, can start a maga zine, and usually all that happens is they burn a lot of money. Most new magazines fail.”
Larry did like to hear himself talk.
”How much money has Bebe burned?” he finally asked. ”He's a meanie tonight,” Magnolia said.
”Just jerking her chain,” Cameron said.
”Larry, honey, n.o.body said putting out a good magazine is gonna be cheap,” Bebe countered, her smile vanished. ”I'm not about cheap. Bebe will cost what it costs. It's my magazine.”
”Sort of,” Magnolia said, imagining Jock's blood pressure soaring as he watched the interchange. He was probably pulling up his copy of their partners.h.i.+p agreement this very instant and exercising every four-letter word he knew. Magnolia turned to Cameron. ”You're the managing editor-how over-the-top are her costs?”
Cameron rolled his eyes and waved his hand above his head but shushed Magnolia so he could fixate on Bebe, who'd moved to a vigor ous defense of Felicity's right to whip anyone she felt like in the pri vacy of a boudoir.
”You and I can agree on that, Bebe,” Larry said, ”but will your readers? They're a conservative crowd. Won't they feel Miss Dingle is an abomination?”
As the censors bleeped out Bebe's response, Larry turned straight to the camera. ”On that subject, I wonder what tonight's other guest has to say? Dr. Laura Schlessinger, are you standing by in Los Ange les?” The camera panned back to Bebe in time to catch the fury con torting her face. Had she been unaware that a virtue-hawk was the other guest? Bebe dipped into her decollete, fished out her mike, and-making a clatter-stood.
”Bebe,” Larry said. ”Where you headed, girl?”
”Outta here, my friend,” Bebe snapped. ”It's been a pleasure, but I know a setup when I see it.”
”C'mon, Bebe,” Larry said. ”Let's calm down.”
”Let's not,” she said.
”Bebe, you're a talk show host yourself-you know this is just . . . television,” Larry said, shaking his head. But Bebe had already stomped off.
Cameron and Magnolia stared at the screen. ”Did we just see what we just saw?” she asked.
”Career annihilation in the making?” Cameron said. ”Thought our Bebe was a cooler cuc.u.mber.”
”Jock must actually be getting to her,” Magnolia said. ”Can't wait to see how she's going to handle Letterman.”
Cameron looked at his watch. ”Wish I could stay but,” he said, ”gotta write.”
”How's that book coming?” Magnolia asked. As far as she knew, Cameron had been writing the same book for the full four years she had known him. Although maybe he already had a best seller or two under a pseudonym. Maybe even a series. That's how little he men tioned this side of his literary life.
”On the home stretch. My agent e-mails me every day to make sure I don't have a minute's fun.”
”What's the book about?” Magnolia asked coyly, as she had many times before. Cameron just laughed and gave her an amused look.
”Can you at least tell me what kind of novel it is? Mystery?
Thriller?”
”None of the above,” he said.
”You're writing chick lit! G.o.d knows you could, working at a women's magazine. No, I've got it. You're doing male chick lit. Yes!
d.i.c.k lit!”
”Pardon me, Ms. Gold,” Cameron said in an imperious tone, ”but even if all gentlemen do is reflect on their tiny p.e.n.i.ses and ample love handles, what we write are called books. Got that? Literature. Even if the t.i.tle is The Unibrow Diaries.”
”The Devil Wears Tighty Whiteys?”
”He always does,” he said. With that, he gave her an unexpectedly huge hug, grabbed his jacket, and left.
Magnolia walked back to her TV. Since her one and only current job prospect was Voyeur over at Fancy, she'd decided she needed to steep herself in pop culture and had been TiVo-ing every celebrity program, cable and network. The chuga-chuga-chuga of celebrity's gossip train was roaring through her brain. She might know diddly squat about what river flows from the Allegheny and the Mononga hela, or take a day to recall the name of the newest Supreme Court justice, but she'd developed an encyclopedic knowledge of whose cel lulite was the most cottage cheesy, which bride in a Vera w.a.n.g gown was a lipstick lesbian, and what name of which star was caught in flagrante delicto with his personal chef. Ask her anything, and Mag nolia could lob back the answer faster than you could spit the word ”spin.” She wasn't proud of this ability, but she knew it might eventu ally pay her way.