Little Pink Slips Part 32

"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.

"A boy? That'll happen when pigs fly," Darlene said, sitting heavily in a chair across from Magnolia. She patted her Lycra-bound tummy.

"No, Georgina here is a little clone of her three big sisters. And based on her kicking, she's an animal just like her mama." Darlene con sidered it high praise when Jock described her as being the sort of publisher who would happily wrestle clients to the ground on Madison Avenue to land the last Cool Whip ad. Darlene tapped out a few messages on her BlackBerry, but soon enough Magnolia felt her stare.

"I hope you're on our side," she said.

"How's that possible?" Magnolia answered, looking up from Us. "I'm sworn to tell the truth."

"Bebe sabotaged the magazine," Darlene said.

"She got as good as she gave," Magnolia said.

"Try selling ads with the pervert twins hogging the headlines and covers that frighten small children," Darlene harrumphed. "I've been a miracle worker." Magnolia noticed Darlene's eyes downs.h.i.+ft to her wrist. "Why are you wearing that red string?" she asked suspiciously.

Magnolia was about to explain the bracelet when she heard a racket at the other end of the room. Wally. He checked in with the receptionist and hobbled over to Magnolia on crutches, his right leg in a blazing orange cast.

"Good G.o.d-what happened?" Magnolia said, rising to kiss his sunburned cheek.

"Schmuck here tried to show off on his last day in Aspen," Wally said, and shrugged as well as a man on crutches could. "From now on, golf, period." He sat on the other end of the love seat. "You ready, kid?

Anything you want to go over?"

Magnolia cleared her throat and tilted her head slightly toward her former publisher. "Darlene," she said, "I'd like you to meet my . . . attorney," she said. "Walter Fleigelman."

As Darlene looked up, Wally a.s.sumed an expression of hangdog sadness. "And former husband," he added, extending his hand to shake Darlene's "Magnolia, you sneak," Darlene said. "How long were you mar ried?"

"We were madly in love for eleven minutes," Magnolia said.

Both of them turned to Wally. With his racc.o.o.n tan, he looked like a masked sidekick-Slalom the Blind Skier perhaps. "Happy to meet you, Walter." Darlene gave him one of her billboard-big publisher's smiles.

"Darlene, I'm sure when we worked together, you remember that I talked about Wally," Magnolia said. "Maybe you don't recall."

But Magnolia was saved from further discussion. The reception ist announced that Darlene's appointment would be starting, and she walked swiftly-considering the bulk she was balancing on stilet tos-into the bowels of Cromwell, Adams, and Case.

Magnolia and Wally sat side by side. " 'I don't recall,' " she repeated. "I've been practicing that line."

"Good girl," Wally said. When he'd rehea.r.s.ed Magnolia for today's deposition, he'd browbeaten her with a careful instruction. "When ever you cannot exactly remember an event or incident that the lawyer deposing you describes, you are allowed to say, 'I don't recall.'

For example, let's say every workday at precisely three o'clock you had the habit of going down to the lobby for a Diet c.o.ke. The lawyer asks 'On June 1, did you get yourself a Diet c.o.ke at three o'clock? Unless you can actually remember the details of buying that can of soda on that specific June 1, you are allowed to say 'I don't recall.' "

"Sweet," Magnolia had replied. "Got it."

"The deposition was supposed to be on for ten, right?" Wally asked.

"So I thought," Magnolia answered.

"Keep us waiting-oldest trick in the book," Wally said. "Don't let it rattle you. Here-look at my pictures." He pulled a digital camera from his briefcase and showed her a good hundred images of Fleigel mans squinting into the sun. Nearly an hour later, she and Wally entered the Cromwell, Adams, and Case conference room.

"Walter, good morning," boomed a tall, broad-shouldered man in gray pinstripes that appeared to be cut from the same cloth as Wally's.

Wally's suit, however, was a 38 short; the other attorney's, 44 long.

"Sky," Wally boomed back. "Let me introduce my client, Miss Magnolia Gold. Magnolia? James Skyler, Esquire."

James Skyler looked like an aristobrat born to scull at Choate and Harvard. He locked eyes with Magnolia. When he smiled, his per fectly straight teeth sported a G.o.d-given gleam that bleaching can never mimic. "Mind if I take off my jacket?" he asked, rhetorically. In s.h.i.+rtsleeves, his shoulders looked as broad as a superhero's, and Mag nolia could see that his waist, encased in fine lizard, was no wider than thirty-two inches. He slowly rolled up each cuff. The golden hair on his arms matched the thatch on his head. Magnolia took in the performance which, she guessed, was for her benefit. If the lawyer had been a woman, by now she'd be playing with her hair and licking her lips. "The attorney is going to try to seduce you," Wally had warned. "Remember, he is not your next boyfriend. Don't fall for his schmaltz."

"Miss Gold, could you give me your full name, please?" James Skyler asked.

"Magnolia Gold." Had she just perjured herself ? She'd never for mally changed her name from Goldfarb. And what about Fleigelman?

Did she have to say that for less than a year she was Magnolia Gold farb Fleigelman?

"Magnolia, charming name. Has it been pa.s.sed down in your family?"

As if-and what did this have to do with Scary's case? Magnolia wondered.

"No," she said. Stay cool, Magnolia, she reminded herself.

Skyler had her resume in front of him. "Could you briefly describe your work history?" he asked.

Magnolia compressed thirteen years into three minutes.

"So, you were effectively demoted when you were switched from Lady's editor in chief to deputy editor of Bebe?"

Magnolia felt Wally's leg. Don't let yourself get p.i.s.sy, the cast seemed to say. "Yes," she answered, evenly.

"Did Bebe Blake make all of the key decisions at the magazine?"

the attorney asked.

Magnolia looked at Wally. "Am I allowed to ask what a 'key deci sion' is?" she said.

"Could you please rephrase the question for my client?" Wally asked.

"Certainly," he said. "Let me be more specific. Who selected the image for this cover?" He held up the premiere issue in all its leopard splendor.

"Bebe did," Magnolia said.

"This one?" "Bebe." He must be trying to rankle her by showing covers she didn't get to choose herself. It wasn't going to work. Magnolia stayed steady while the lawyer ran through every one of the issues and moved on to stacks of proofs and headlines.

"Do you recognize this signature?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Whose is it?"