Part 34 (2/2)
”Why did you enter into an agreement to publish a magazine with Ms. Bebe Blake?” a lawyer from Team Bebe said. Jock pondered the question as if he'd been asked to name and spell the capital of Uzbek istan. After a moment, he furrowed his brow and said, ”We thought it was a potentially profitable idea.”
”Could you please define 'we'?”
”Our team of top executives,” he said with a thinly disguised tone of contempt, reeling off a list that included Darlene's name but, Magnolia noted, not her own.
Yesterday, Magnolia had stayed home and tried to focus on her proposal for Voyeur. She'd been advised that she might be called to testify later in the week and had dutifully turned in an overflowing box of notes and files. But knowing the trial was taking place just miles from her home had made her too twitchy to work. That, and the fact that she couldn't stop thinking about Cameron, who she thought might be there. Today she boarded the subway and found the State Supreme Court of New York.
As soon as she sat down, she scanned the courtroom for Cameron.
She couldn't, however, find his face in the crowd.
Several days had pa.s.sed before Cameron returned the phone mes sage Magnolia had left after she read his ma.n.u.script. This gave Mag nolia ample time to impale herself with regret. Could she have misread his book? With Abbey, her reality meter, away on her honey moon, she went into a spin, obsessing day and insomnia-filled night.
Ultimately, she decided she'd got the subtext of the book just fine; there was, in fact, nothing sub about it. The heroine was one Daisy Silver, a magazine editor, albeit taller, slimmer-hipped, and blonder than she. The hero-a shy, wry colleague-yearned for her. The s.e.x was hot, the love scenes graphic but romantic, and the dialogue, steamy and real. There were a few testosterone explosions along the way-a murder, a terrorist act, the requisite car chase-but the end ing was pure Hollywood, and the writing, clear, clever, and poignant.
Maybe it was her a.s.sessment of the writing-or rather her lack of a.s.sessment-that had tripped her up. Maybe she'd been so focused on the plot she hadn't made it evident to Cam that his talent took her breath away. Maybe he was horribly and legitimately disappointed, not to mention furious, on that count. Maybe he now regretted reveal ing his feelings.
As the days pa.s.sed, Magnolia's worry crescendoed to the most painful possibility of all-maybe their one high-as-a-kite kiss had succeeded in terminating his fantasy. When Cameron did finally call, he talked about everything except what had happened between them.
Then he flew to California on a mission he didn't explain.
Magnolia was left with her maybes, including maybe on Cam eron's return she should beg him to retreat to friends.h.i.+p, with its comforts of weightless silence, scrubbed-face honesty, and chaste but unconditional love-if such a state were now possible.
She looked up. Jock was still on the stand.
”How long does it take for most new magazines to turn a profit?”
the lawyer asked him. ”Ballpark figures.”
”A year or two,” Jock said. Above his eye, a blue vein throbbed like a tiny blinker flas.h.i.+ng ”stress.” The lawyer reminded him he'd sworn to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. ”But more often it takes five years, or even longer,” he added.
”So it was unreasonable to expect Bebe to be profitable anytime soon?” he asked. Jock answered with a flurry of figures, but all eyes- even the judge's-had turned to the back of the room. In a tweed suit and a boa, Bebe sashayed to the front of the room. She was treating the courtroom's center aisle as if it were a red carpet, looking from side to side and smiling for invisible paparazzi. Like the Wave, a buzz moved forward as she progressed to her seat.
”Don't mind me,” she said loudly to no one in particular. ”The president is in town. Traffic sucks.” Everyone stared. She shrugged.
”Don't blame me-I didn't vote for him.”
Judge Tannenbaum looked over her gla.s.ses and gave Bebe a stern stare. ”Glad you could join us, Miss Blake,” she said. ”Mr. Mont gomery, please, continue.”
”I have concluded,” he said. One of Cromwell, Adams, and Case's lead attorneys stepped forward to cross-examine.
”Mr. Flanagan,” he said, ”how much money does Scarborough Magazines stand to lose by Bebe Blake abandoning your co-venture?” ”One hundred million dollars,” he said.
Magnolia was familiar with Scary's case. Who wasn't, the way it was being tried in the papers? But where Jock was getting this num ber, she didn't know.
When the court officer declared an adjournment until two, Mag nolia made her way through the crowds to the steps outside court. As she reached the bottom, someone shouted her name, startling her. She stumbled into a large puddle of mud and soaked her best black suede boots. Magnolia looked up in time for a television camera to catch her saying, ”f.u.c.k.”
”How do you think Scary's doing?” a second voice shouted. It was Mike McCourt, approaching with a notebook.
”No comment,” she said. Wally had warned her not to talk to the press while her settlement was dragging on, as it was, like a Wagner ian opera.
”Is it true you're on the short list to start a new magazine for another company?” Mike asked. Who fed this guy his intelligence? Abbey and Cam were the only people she'd told about Voyeur, and neither one would squeak a word. The leak had to be from Fancy.
”No comment,” she said.
”So, I guess that means 'yes'?” Mike asked. Magnolia was consider ing if she should say, ”No comment” once more when Mike craned his neck to her left.
”Mr. Dane?” Mike yelled. ”Mr. Dane, that you?”
Magnolia turned as well, and saw Cameron walking toward her.
”Some book deal I'm hearing rumors about,” Mike said to Cam.
”Hardcover rights, paperback, audio, foreign in fourteen countries, and a possible TV series and film option. What's up?”
”You must have me confused with someone else, buddy,” Cameron said amiably, as he walked toward Magnolia, grabbed her elbow, and steered her out of the throng.
”Cam, is what Mike says true?” Magnolia asked.
He laughed off the question. ”Hungry?”
”When have I ever not been hungry?”
”I'm in the mood for dim sum,” he said. ”Want to join me?” They began walking to Mott Street. ”Did you catch my grand legal performance yesterday?” he asked.
”Really?” Magnolia asked. ”You testified?” There had been no report of it on television, online, or in the press.
”Chapter and verse about how much money Bebe spent on this and that,” Cam said. ”I a.s.sure you, Court TV is not flas.h.i.+ng a contract in my face.”
”I'm praying I won't be called,” she said. ”It would kill me to help any of these barbarians win a dime.”
They reached the restaurant and continued to dissect the trial. But what Magnolia wanted to talk about was them. As Cameron's hand reached for a sparerib, she imagined it under her skirt, above her soggy boot, inching upward.
”Chicken feet?” he said.
In her mind, the hand warmed her as its sensuous journey con tinued.
”Magnolia?”
”Excuse me,” she said. ”What's this about cold feet?”
He looked at her strangely. ”Chicken feet. You don't like these suckers, do you?” The dim sum lady was standing by their table, try ing to tempt them with some sad little body parts that looked like the last remains after a nuclear holocaust.
”I'll pa.s.s,” she said. ”Thanks.”
<script>