Part 35 (1/2)

”The desserts, please,” Cam said. A few Chinese words flew across the room like insects. Sesame rice dumplings, mango pudding, and sticky buns in lotus leaves appeared on a cart beside their small table, which was nestled underneath a window. As Cam leaned forward to check them out, his thigh brushed hers. He poured the last drops of green tea into their cups and raised one. It looked fragile and small in his hand.

”You've been on my mind,” he said.

Finally, Magnolia thought. She took a deep breath. ”You've been on my mind, too,” she admitted.

”I originally called my book The Shy Guy, but the editor changed it,” he said. ”Deal point.” He laughed a musical ba.s.s that Magnolia realized had been an essential background noise in her life for several years. ”Shoot me. I'm talking like some L.A. studio exec.” He s.h.i.+fted to an imperious voice. ”'h.e.l.lo, my name is Trevor, and I demand that my pathetically underpaid a.s.sistant roll my calls the minute people who've tried to reach me walk out of their offices.' ”

”Please, don't start walking around, wearing a headset,” she said.

”Promise,” he said. As Magnolia waited for Cameron to pick up his original train of thought, they heard a bang on the window.

”Get your b.u.t.ts out here,” Bebe mouthed through the gla.s.s.

Cam and Magnolia looked at each other. ”The queen beckons,” he said. Cam paid the bill, and they gathered their coats and umbrellas and met her outside.

”I haven't been to Chinatown in years,” Bebe said gaily, her arms filled with large, flimsy plastic sacks. For a woman who, according to every paper and newsmagazine, was worried about a twenty-million dollar investment going south, her spirits were remarkably intact.

”Here, have a bag,” she said, handing Magnolia a Gucci knockoff fas.h.i.+oned of industrial-strength vinyl. She c.o.c.ked her head, sized up Cam, and fished out a pimp-worthy faux gold Rolex Oyster, which she attached to his wrist. ”For the gentleman,” she said.

”Thanks, Bebe,” he said. They all began walking back to the court house. ”How do you think the trial's going?”

”Are you kidding?” Bebe snorted. ”Fabulous! That judge loathes Jock. Can't you see the venom in her eyes?”

”You think?” Cameron said.

”What's your esteemed opinion, Magnolia?” Bebe asked.

”Honest, Bebe, I can't even see the judge's eyes,” she said, ”with the gla.s.ses and all.”

Bebe stopped and scowled at Magnolia. ”Why am I asking you any way? I'm not supposed to even talk to either one of you.” She ducked into yet another handbag stall. ”Later!” she yelled.

Magnolia and Cam reached the courthouse. She returned to her seat, and Cameron joined her. Darlene was now on the stand, explaining her role as Bebe's publisher. ”I was in charge of the magazine's business department,” she said. ”Ad sales and marketing.” Magnolia was tuning out Darlene, concentrating only on Cam's closeness-until a doc.u.ment flashed on an overhead screen.

”Is this your pay stub?” the lawyer asked.

”Yes, it is,” Darlene said, swelled with both pregnancy and pride.

Magnolia had always suspected Darlene made a lot more money than she did, but with the evidence bigger than life, she sat there, her shoulders hunched, and slumped.

”Could you cringe more quietly?” Cameron whispered. ”I can hear your teeth grinding.”

”What galls me is she still has a job,” Magnolia whispered. Dar lene had been moved to Scary's business development unit, and insiders expected her to soon replace the current publisher of Dazzle. Darlene's paycheck made way for wearying charts of ad revenues, which Darlene interpreted for the lawyer in anesthetizing detail.

”Want to duck out?” Magnolia whispered to Cameron. ”Catch a movie at the Angelika?”

”Let's wait a few minutes,” he said. ”It looks like Bebe's attorney's going to cross-examine.” Arthur Montgomery stepped forward.

”Is this your signature?” he asked Darlene.

”Yes, it is,” she said. On the screen was a statement from the auditing bureau which tracks magazines' circulations. ”I see that Bebe sold 480,500 copies per issue during its year of publication. Is that true?”

Anyone in the courtroom who wasn't blind could see that.

”Yes,” Darlene said.

”So, can you explain these figures for me, please?” On the screen, to the right of the statement, a second doc.u.ment appeared, but this one stated that Bebe had sold, on average, only 278,935 copies per issue. Darlene's eyes darted to Jock, the screen, and then to her attorneys.

One of them sprung up from his chair and waved his hand like the smartest kid in the cla.s.s. ”I object,” he said. ”Your honor, I object.”

The judge peered down at him. ”Would counsel approach the bench, please,” she said. All Magnolia could make of the conversa tion-which lasted for a few minutes-were aggressive hand ges tures on the attorney's part. ”Counsel may continue,” Judge Tannenbaum said to Bebe's lawyer.

”May I remind you, Mrs. Knudson, that you are under oath,”

Arthur Montgomery said. ”Which of these two statements is cor rect?”

Darlene mumbled softly.

”Could you speak up for everyone to hear, please?” the judge directed.

Darlene returned to her normal speaking voice. ”The one on the right,” she blared.

”Now let me understand,” Arthur Montgomery said very slowly. ”I am reading from the joint-venture agreement.” He quoted a jumble of legalese. Magnolia leaned forward in her chair and listened care fully, which wasn't hard, because the courtroom had become silent as a cave.

She turned to Cameron. ”Are we hearing what I think we're hear ing?” she said, getting close enough to smell the clean sweetness of his skin. ”It sounds like Bebe was allowed to walk away from the mag azine if it sold fewer than 350,000 copies per issue.”

”That's exactly what it says,” Cameron whispered back. His breath in her ear made her tingle.

”And could you explain this?” the attorney asked. On the screen an e-mail appeared to Darlene from Jock, who directed her to ”manage the financials.”

Cameron and Magnolia looked at each other and just as she was saying, ”Scary goosed the numbers,” he noted, ”They've been caught red-handed cooking the books.” As everyone reached the same con clusion, the courtroom came alive like an Italian soccer game. Felicity dropped her knitting needles, stood up, and high-fived Bebe, who whooped, ”Hot d.a.m.n. I knew it. Hot, f.u.c.kin' d.a.m.n!”

”Order in the court,” the judge said. ”Order in the court.” Magno lia got to hear the crash of a gavel after all. ”Court will convene tomorrow at ten,” Judge Tannenbaum said, finally, in disgust.

As they left Supreme Court, Magnolia and Cam stopped and lis tened to Jock giving an ad hoc press conference. ”It's common indus try practice to estimate the sales of a magazine before final numbers are in, and occasionally the two figures differ,” he said to a growing audience of reporters. ”Scarborough Magazines didn't do anything that every other magazine company doesn't do all the time.”

As the statement leaped out of Jock's mouth, Magnolia knew it was destined to become the caption for tomorrow's picture in the Post- perhaps even the epitaph on his professional tombstone. So much for damage control. Elizabeth would probably return to her office and fax her resume to every other publisher in the country.

”Don't you just love magazines?” Cam said to Magnolia.

”I do,” she said. ”In any other industry, if the president of a com pany stood up and said, 'I cheat. We all cheat. We're an entire industry of liars and cheaters,' he'd be found with two broken legs, groaning and bleeding, in a New Jersey garbage dump.”

Magnolia and Cam watched Bebe walk past Jock. She didn't say a word but gave him her most high-voltage smile as she swirled her boa, which almost tickled his face.

”Smile all you want, Bebe,” Jock snarled at her. ”It's never over till the fat lady sings.”

Chapter 4 1.