by T. K. Leigh
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say. “And thank you all for your kind thoughts. But honestly, I’m okay. I have a plan.”
“Of course you do,” Viv quips as several other people snicker or groan, accustomed to my quirks. “Evie Fitzgerald, the girl with a plan.”
I suppose after working here this long, she’s gotten accustomed to my idiosyncrasies, particularly my love for plans and itineraries. I’ve always preferred structure. Whereas Chloe loves waiting until the last minute to get her work done, often sending her final piece to Viv mere seconds before it’s due, I work ahead, not rushing anything. Hell, I have pieces I intend to write for the magazine and blog planned out for the next six months. My planner is a work of art, and my lifeline. Structure keeps me grounded, focused.
“Speaking of which, let’s hear what you have planned for the August issue.”
I blow out a relieved breath, happy to concentrate on work instead of my breakup for a moment. With a smile, I discuss my idea of exploring the world of dating in five major cities across the country. An idea that just came to me, thanks to Chloe. Viv thinks it’s brilliant, since she’s under the impression I’ll be rejoining the ranks of single people.
Once she gives me the go-ahead, she continues going around the room, everyone pitching different story ideas for the next issue. She nixes a few, approves others, or reworks some to make them more compelling. Her ability to know a brilliant idea when she hears one has kept her at the helm of this magazine for over a decade.
When I was a teenager, I scrambled to the shelves for my monthly copy of Blush magazine. I always knew I wanted to work in this industry, so I did what anyone with a dream would do. I studied. Working for Blush was the end goal. One I didn’t think I’d ever achieve. It’s continually been the top women’s magazine in the country, always on the cutting edge. While I didn’t see myself offering dating tips, it’s a stepping stone to being able to write things I really want to, things of interest to all women. Reproductive rights, equality, economic justice… Just to name a few.
Once the meeting ends and we have our assignments for next month’s issue, about half of which will never make it to print, we disperse. I hang back to collect the gifts my irreverent coworkers bestowed on me. As I read one of the cards that went along with a bouquet of roses, Chloe sidles up next to me.
“‘Sorry for your loss. Wishing you moments of peace and comfort as you remember all the good times you had together.’”
She snort-laughs at the ridiculousness of it all.
“Did I just get a sympathy card for a breakup?” I muse as I toss it back onto the pile.
“It appears so.”
This shouldn’t surprise me. Since accepting Viv’s offer to work here, I’ve come to learn many of the employees have a rather dark and cynical sense of humor. When the mouse that roamed the office, evading all the traps the exterminators set out for it, had finally been outsmarted, one of the fashion columnists declared a day of mourning. He even went so far as to plan a memorial for our fallen friend. There’s no such thing as a normal day at Blush magazine.
“How did everyone find out?”
She shrugs as she helps me gather everything. “News travels fast around here. You should know that by now. It’s a miracle you didn’t find out Trevor was breaking up with you before he told you. That happened to Maureen over in beauty.”
Arms full, we head out of the conference room with what we manage to carry.
“At least I get chocolate out of it. Like a parting gift after picking the wrong door on Let’s Make a Deal.” I imitate my best announcer’s voice. “Instead of a beautiful diamond or a lifetime of security, we’ll be sending you home with a box of drugstore chocolates. Better luck next time!” We turn into my cubicle and I deposit the first batch of flowers, cards, and chocolates onto my desk.
“Oh, come on. You got a lot more than just a crappy box of chocolates.”
“You’re right. I got sympathy cards meant for the death of a loved one, flowers, and a few balloons.”
“Don’t forget the sausage.”
I frown. “Sausage?”
“Yeah.” She waggles her brows, making an obscene gesture with her hand. “Mr. Armani’s sausage, on the off-chance I’m wrong and you did sleep with him. Regardless, I’d take that consolation prize any day over some schmuck who didn’t realize what he had.”
“Trevor’s under a great deal of stress.” I repeat the same argument, although my words lack the conviction they had earlier. “He knows what he had.” I avoid what I can only assume to be Chloe’s annoyed stare. “I just need to remind him of that.”
I step out of my cubicle to get the rest of my breakup gifts when I almost run straight into Viv. I inhale a sharp breath, stopping in my tracks.
“Sorry, Viv. I wasn’t looking.”
“That much is clear, Evie. I’d like a word.”
“Of course.” I force a smile, pass Chloe a nervous look, then follow Viv, curious as to her sudden need to speak to me. Normally, all magazine-related problems are addressed at our weekly meetings. Then again, Viv’s known to use her employees’ real-life issues in concocting new, edgy story ideas. I worry she’s about to ask me to do something crazy, like sign up for online dating apps and journal my experience. Or apply to The Bachelor. Or something that would rival the premise of How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days.
Once we’re in her office, she closes the door, putting me even more on edge. “Have a seat, Evie.” Her voice is even as she gestures across the desk.
“Is everything okay?” Tentative, I sit down in the bright orange chair. Her workspace is decorated in a stunning mid-century modern design. Vibrant colors. Sleek lines. Uncluttered shelves. Every time I step into this room, I feel like I’ve just walked onto the set of Mad Men. In fact, Viv bought many of the items here in a prop auction.
“Everything’s great. I wanted to speak with you in private about an…opportunity.”
She opens one of the desk drawers and withdraws a file. Placing a pair of dark-rimmed glasses over her eyes, she scans the papers in the folder.
“Since we hired you, our readership has seen a steady increase. These days, every other magazine similar to ours struggles to capture the market’s attention. But your wit, coupled with your love of social media, has helped us stay modern. Prior to bringing you onboard, our sex and dating column was the least popular. Most people overlooked it as being the same stale advice women have received for decades. But you gave it a fresh coat of paint, so to speak. You write stories real women can relate to, although I’ve yet to be the lucky recipient of a penis picture over the Internet.”
I laugh, recalling my most recent blog post that garnered hundreds of thousands of shares on social media. “That’s all I wanted when I took over the column. To make dating and relationships more relatable. To help people realize relationships don’t have to be as hard as we make them.”
“And you’ve done an incredible job. We all know this industry can be tough, having wide swings from quarter to quarter. But it hasn’t been that way lately, and I think a lot of it has to do with your ingenuity. You bring a fresh perspective to a platform we all feared would soon die.”
She removes her glasses and places them on the desk, pinching her lips together. “As you know, Grace is pregnant and will be leaving at the end of the year. She’s decided not to return to work, which means I’m now looking for a new assistant editor. You interested?”
My eyes fling wide open as I sit in shock. I thought I’d have to work here much longer and gradually move up the ladder. I’d be more than happy if she offered me a transfer to the current events desk, with Margo being promoted to assistant editor. But to consider me for the position? This would be a huge promotion for me, not to mention the exact thing that could show Trevor I can be the serious, professional type. What’s more professional than working as assistant editor at the top women’s magazine in the country? For someone with a degree in English, there’s not much higher
I can go.
“Vivian,” I breathe, shaking my head, covering my mouth with my hand. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’re interested.”
“Of course I am. This is… This is amazing. I promise I won’t let you down.” I make a move to get up, but her voice stops me.
“Well, the job isn’t yours yet.”
I cock my head.
“Grace will be staying through December, but we’d like to start exploring our options now. So we’re prepared. I’m sure you can appreciate that.”
“I can.” My shoulders fall. The likelihood of me getting chosen over people with more experience and seniority is slim to none. “And who are your other options?”
“Judy from celebrity news.”
I nod. That doesn’t come as a shock. She’s been in the magazine industry for nearly twenty years. I’m surprised she wasn’t promoted the last time an assistant editor left.
“Margo from current events.”
Another obvious choice. Another woman who’s made a career out of working in magazines. A woman whose job I’ve coveted for years.
“And you.”
“Okay. So what do you need me to do?”
“Show me you can fulfill the duties of this role — conceptualizing and pitching stories for all sections of the magazine, as well as researching, interviewing, writing and editing the copy. You’ll also oversee all the social media accounts and develop a content calendar for those.”
I place my hands in my lap, wishing I hadn’t gotten as drunk as I did last night. I would have much preferred having this conversation with a clear mind and a full night’s sleep.
“I’m more than ready to take on all those responsibilities. I may not have the experience Judy and Margo do, but I’m a damn hard worker and won’t be satisfied until I’ve perfected my craft. Not to mention the idea of planning content for our social media accounts gets me all sorts of excited.”
“I knew it would. That’s why I’m considering you. Now I need you to prove you’re up for the job.” She grins, sitting back in her chair, tenting her fingers in front of her. “Pitch me a story. Something no other magazine has written about. Something we can blast all over the cover and people will be lining up to grab their copies.”
“Right now?” I fidget with the silky material of my dress, toying with the hem.
“Yes, right now. As my assistant editor, you’ll need to be on your toes. Show me you can pitch something without advance warning. There are times a story doesn’t pan out at the eleventh hour and you’ll have to scramble to put something together, perhaps even a featured story, in little time.”
“Okay.” I look around her office, doing everything to get my creative juices flowing. I’m a writer. This is what I do. I find inspiration in the most obscure places and turn it into a story. Maybe if I weren’t still nursing the mother of all hangovers, I’d be able to come up with an idea, but my brain is still cloudy. Then again, maybe something from last night could be my source of inspiration.
I flash my eyes back to Viv. “August Laurent.”
Intrigued, Viv narrows her gaze on me. “Excuse me?”
“August Laurent,” I repeat. “From what I understand, he’s the most sought-after escort on the East Coast, possibly even the country.”
Her lips turn into a conniving smile. “I’m more than aware of who August Laurent is. I’m also very aware he values his anonymity and privacy. He’s never agreed to an interview. And despite repeated attempts by other reporters to unmask this mystery man, no one’s been successful. What makes you think he’ll allow you to interview him?”
“I don’t know.” My voice wavers, a sinking feeling forming in the pit of my stomach that I’ve just pitched Viv an impossible story. I don’t want her to pick up on that, though. “Isn’t part of being assistant editor seeking out those difficult stories? Imagine having a man dressed in a beautiful suit on the front page, not showing his face, with the headline ‘August Laurent: Unrobed’, or something like that. This guy is like Keyser Söze.”
“Who?”
“Keyser Söze. The mystery man behind all the shit that goes down in The Usual Suspects.”
Viv looks at me with quizzical eyes. Apparently, she’s never seen one of my all-time favorite movies.
I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. All that does is this guy is a legend, but also a ghost. Imagine being the first magazine to get the inside scoop or, better yet…reveal his true identity.”
Viv studies me for another long moment, then says, “Okay, Evie. Run with it. Let’s see what you can do. Treat it as if it will be a feature, because whoever turns in the best article gets the feature story and the job. I’m giving you plenty of time, so I expect nothing less than absolute perfection. Don’t let me down.”
“I won’t, Viv.” I raise myself to my feet. “Thank you again for even considering me.” I head toward the door.
“Oh, and Evie?”
I glance over my shoulder, meeting her eyes.
“Just a reminder. We deal with real facts, not sensationalized falsehoods.” She gives me a knowing look. “Make sure you only write the true story. I won’t accept anything less.”
Chapter Six
My feet can’t carry me as quickly as I need them to as I hurry from Viv’s office. All I do is pray I didn’t just set myself up for failure by pitching Viv an impossible story. How is it everyone seems to know the name August Laurent, yet I’ve been blissfully unaware my entire life? Now I’m even more intrigued.
Out of breath, I round the corner into Chloe’s cubicle, her peachy perfume wafting in the air. Her space is much more cluttered than mine. A celebrity news columnist, she always has various tips she’s received scattered across her desk, hoping to be the first to report on whatever this month’s big story will be, usually a pregnancy or new birth. Our audience loves reading about the children of the rich and famous. I can’t blame them. I like reading about it, too. It normalizes them, apart from them having enough money to hire a nanny to help with midnight feedings, dirty diapers, and meltdowns.
“Evie, are you okay?” Her brow wrinkles in concern when she sees me.
I sit in her spare chair, my eyes zeroed in on her. I grab a notepad sitting on her desk and flip to a blank page, pulling out the pen I perpetually keep in the bun in my hair, readying myself to scratch down every word Chloe says. So many of my colleagues have forgone notepads for the ease of digital recorders. There’s something about putting pen to paper that energizes me, makes me feel like I’m a participant in the story instead of a casual observer.
“I need you to tell me everything you know about August Laurent. Don’t leave out a single thing.” My firm voice relays the seriousness of the situation.
“Reconsidering Nora’s idea from last night?” She winks.
“What? No,” I answer quickly. “I don’t need to pay someone to date me.”
“Then why are you interested in August Laurent?”
I roll my chair closer to hers so no one can overhear, needing her to understand the depth of the hole I just dug for myself. “Because Viv is considering me for the assistant editor position when Grace leaves.”
She releases a shriek of excitement, and I hush her, unsure if I’m supposed to discuss it.
“I’m as surprised as you. I honestly never gave it much thought.”
“But Viv’s giving it to you?”
“Not exactly. She wants to make sure I can handle a wider range of assignments first.”
Chloe arches a brow. “Meaning?”
“Meaning she kind of put me on the spot and asked me to pitch her a story that would sell hundreds of thousands of copies.” I fight a yawn. I don’t know how I’ll make it to five o’clock. All I want is to crawl into bed and sleep all weekend. Then the reminder I don’t really have a bed anymore hits me, depressing me even more. If this is a sign for what awaits me in my thirties, I’d like to return them for a refund. Or maybe just skip straight to forty.
“She’s also considering Judy and Margo. Whoever produces the best story gets the job.”
“So you pitched August Laurent?” Chloe’s voice is a mixture of surprise and superiority, almost like she knew I’d eventually want to know more about this guy. The concept is appealing, particularly from a sex and dating standpoint. What pushes a woman to such extremes that she doesn’t think she has any other option but to hire someone to date her, or give her a “boyfriend experience”, as they referred to it last night? I don’t care how bad things get. I’d never stoop to that level.
“It was the first thing that popped into my head. To be honest, my brain isn’t exactly firing on all cylinders today. I’m lucky I was able to come up with anything at all.”
“You honestly think you’ll get him to agree to this story?”
“Why not?” I shrug, trying not to feel dejected by the constant uncertainty facing me. “Why wouldn’t he want to set the record straight on why he does what he does? I know I would. Unless he really is just a sleaze.”
“He’s remained anonymous for years,” Chloe repeats the same warning Viv offered. “He’s like the Keyser Söze of the escort world. A name you say that forces a certain reaction.”
“See!” I exclaim, slamming my hands on the notepad, causing Chloe to startle. “I told Viv the same thing! But she never saw The Usual Suspects, so the analogy was lost on her.”
“Instead of being some scary spook story you tell your kids so they eat their vegetables, it’s more a threat to your spouse. ‘Take me on vacation or I’ll hire August Laurent to do it.’”
“‘If you don’t go down on me, August Laurent will!’” I offer, getting in on the game.
“‘Let me use a strap-on with you, or I’m calling August Laurent!’”
I laugh, then stop, her words registering with me. “Wait. A strap-on?” My forehead creases.
“Too far?”
“Yeah, a little. Weirdo,” I joke before fixing my expression. “So, tell me what you know.”
