Part 32 (1/2)

”You don't know what you don't know. I was behind the scenes, say ing I wanted you. All along. You know I hate that eye-rolling b.i.t.c.h Raven. Tried to shoot down my ideas like they were enemy Black Hawks. And Jock! Did you know he had a security guard lock me in my office? I was stuck there for ninety minutes. Thought I'd have a stroke.”

”I heard something about that,” Magnolia said. ”But you'd threat ened to kick Raven in the teeth.”

”I believe I identified a different body part,” Bebe said. ”Lower down.” She stopped talking for a minute. ”This is an absurd conversa tion. It's all very simple. I need to pull out before I lose more dough,”

she said after a minute of meditation. ”Like my ma always said, she didn't raise no stupid kids.”

Bebe may have calmed down, but Magnolia hadn't. ”Shall we talk money now?” She asked. ”How about the hundred people who got fired when Bebe closed-what about them? All they got was a month's severance.”

”That's what Scary decided to give them, cheap b.a.s.t.a.r.ds,” she said.

”Though half that money came from me, which Jock neglected to mention. I also wrote checks out of my own pocket for at least a thou sand dollars each to every single person on the masthead.”

”Really? That was incredible,” Magnolia admitted. Cameron had e-mailed her about Bebe's gesture, and in fact, he had received two thousand dollars, as had Fredericka, Phoebe, Ruthie, and Sasha. As the star of her own tragedy, Magnolia had forgotten all about that.

”After Jock ordered all those wimps not to talk to me or Felicity!”

Spittle landed on Magnolia's cheek as Bebe yelled.

”Speaking of Felicity,” Magnolia said. ”What do you think Ms.

Whipsmart cost the magazine and the company?” Magnolia realized that now she was hollering as well. And probably spitting. ”And what about coming on to Nathaniel? How perverted was that?”

”Who?” Bebe looked puzzled.

”Our intern, Polo? How soon we forget.”

”That kid wanted it!” Bebe leaned back in the seat, turned her head to the window, and began to pout. The car stopped at a light on Central Park West about ten blocks from Magnolia's building.

”Driver, I'll get out here, please,” Magnolia decided and motioned to him through the cla.s.s part.i.tion. ”Thanks for the lift.” She put her hand on the door and began to open it.

”Magnolia, I was hoping for some support from you,” Bebe said.

”It wasn't that bad, our working together.” She sighed. ”But it doesn't really matter one way or another-you'll be hearing from my attor ney. He's going to depose you. We've already discussed it.” This seemed to cheer up Bebe, who put a smile back on her face. ”You know what? I'll see you in court.” She laughed. ”I've always wanted to say that. 'I'll see you in court.' ”

As the car sped away, Bebe blew Magnolia kiss after kiss.

Magnolia walked to her apartment. It was just past lunchtime in Aspen and perhaps she could catch Wally; he'd be the kind of guy who'd ski with a cell phone.

He answered on the first ring.

”Fleigelman,” he said.

”Gold,” she said. ”How's the snow?”

”Sixteen inches of powder last night,” he said. ”Drifts up to my tuches. Which is where I spend my time here. It's Whitney who can ski like a movie star. She did a double black diamond with Goldie Hawn.” He nattered on about nine-hundred-dollar-a-night rooms and steaks the size of thighs. ”What can I do for you?” he finally asked. ”If you're wondering when we'll work through your contract, hold your water, doll face.”

”Wally, I'm sure it's nothing, but this morning I got a peculiar let ter.” She speed-read it to him. ”I just wanted to know what this has to do with my case?” ”Absolutely nothing,” he replied. ”Was that letter delivered by a greasy little troll in a bad suit?”

”More or less,” she said.

”Your company is deposing you in their claim against Bebe Blake.”

Wally explained. ”Standard procedure. No big whoop.”

”I have to do it, even though they're trying to stiff me out of my money?” Magnolia asked. ”This seems so unfair. Jeez.”

”I love when you talk all Fargo,” Wally said. ”G.o.d bless America, darling. This is what they call justice.”

”And Bebe's lawyers can ask me, too?”

”Now you're getting ahead of yourself. It's Scary suing Bebe. She's the defendant.”

”Oh, you didn't know? That's right. I forgot. You couldn't have heard. Because n.o.body knows yet. She's going t.i.t for tat. Suing back.”

Wally laughed. ”That Bebe is my kind of broad! So now she's a plaintiff, too?” he said. ”Must be a Law & Order junkie. I'm only sorry she didn't hire me to represent her.”

”Wally, my question?” Magnolia asked.

”Oh, sure, speaking of a.s.ses, I'd expect that both sides will want a piece of that pretty little b.u.t.t of yours.”

Chapter 3 8.

Blue-Blooded.

b.u.t.t-Head vs. the White-Trash Nympho.

”Good morning,” croaked the wrenlike receptionist in a surprisingly low voice. ”May I help you?”

”I'm Magnolia Gold-for a meeting at ten,” Magnolia said. ”My attorney, Walter Fleigelman, will be joining me.”

The woman looked down at her desk. ”According to our schedule, your appointment is for eleven,” she said before she returned to her Mary Higgins Clark mystery.

Magnolia had been sure about ten. ”Could you double-check please?”

The receptionist looked up briefly and shook her head. ”No, no mistake. If you'd like to make yourself comfortable . . .”

To even their score with Bebe Blake, Scarborough Magazines and John Crawford Flanagan Jr., its CEO, had engaged Cromwell, Adams, and Case, one of the whitest, white-shoe law firms in all Manhattan.

Magnolia entered their burnished mahogany offices on the fifty-fifth floor of Rockefeller Center. Magnolia breathed in. Her nose picked up a delicate bouquet of Shalimar wafting from the receptionist, an undernote of Murphy's Oil Soap, and the slight rankness of uphol stery dating from 1972. Ah, WASP incense, she thought; the scent of old money.

After selecting the least worn sofa in the cavernous reception area, Magnolia pulled out her newspapers and a fresh batch of celebrity tabloids. In early press reports of their mutual sniping, Jock and Bebe displayed a certain dignity. ”We couldn't permit Bebe to migrate into a manifesto for its namesake's personal views,” Jock stated in a haughty tone Magnolia knew well. ”I wouldn't abide Jock Flanagan's interference,” Bebe replied with surprising restraint. But as each side began leaking succulent morsels about the other, Jock's suit and Bebe's countersuit began pulsating beyond the business section. Every newspaper and all of the blogs were covering the story. Yesterday Bebe referred to Jock as ”that blue-blooded b.u.t.t-head with the over bite and pruney moneybags wife,” and he called her ”a white-trash nympho with the talent of a Dorito.”

As Magnolia read today's smears-the Daily News reported Jock's wife's affair with his twin brother-she didn't realize she was laugh ing aloud until she heard Darlene. ”You think this is funny?” her for mer publisher asked, crossing her arms atop the mountain of her pregnant belly.

”Darlene,” Magnolia said. ”You're looking well. Finally having a boy?” The two of them hadn't spoken since Darlene's sympathy call after Scary ditched her, when Magnolia matched Darlene's mock sin cerity with her own feigned serenity.