Free Little Pink Slips by Sally Koslow Page B

believe you've met Arthur," he said.
    "Mag-knoll-ya, the magazine girl," Bebe asked. "Who's the hottie?"
    Bebe zeroed in on Harry. Arthur disappeared to refresh both Mag
    nolia's drink and his own. Darlene, Charlotte, and Felicity attached
    themselves to Dr. Winnie, who was being led around like a show dog
    by book publishing's glamour girl, Rachel Wright. Wright had made the doc's book, The 30-Day No-Wrinkle Diet, the top of her summer list, along with political screeds from both the right and the left. That
    left Jock holding a double-malt Scotch, waiting for Magnolia to speak.
    "I'd hoped to get to you this week," she began.
    "Right."
    "About Bebe."
    "Change of heart?" Jock asked. He wasn't making it easy.
    "Not exactly," she began.
    "But you'll trust me to make the right decision?" he said.
    Magnolia began to answer, but there was Arthur, back with the
    drinks. "My lovely Magnolia," Arthur said, "you've done up one pretty
    little magazine. Good girl."
       "We made a big change when we brought Magnolia Gold in as editor in chief of Lady, " Jock said. "Our job right now is to support her, to give her both the time and the room to perform."
    Magnolia thanked him, although nothing he'd said or done in the
    last two weeks suggested that his statements were anything but hooey.
    "You are a generous man," Arthur said, "given the numbers you
    showed me,"
       Score one for Bebe: her attorney had seen Lady' s books, although not necessarily the ones with the figures Magnolia had been shown.
    Magnolia downed her second martini.
    "Magnolia, care to join us tomorrow at Winged Foot?" Jock asked.
    "Arthur, Darlene, and I are in hot pursuit of a fourth."
    During her marriage, whenever conversation drifted to putters and
    the back nine, Magnolia's boredom began to simmer. She'd explained
    to her ex, Wally—who'd always wanted her to join him at his parents'
    country club—that if he'd read the editor bylaws, he'd know that it
    was expressly forbidden for her to even learn to play golf. Maybe
    there were some female editors somewhere who loved golf—she just
    didn't know any.
    "I'm going to have to beg off. All I know about golf I can summa
    rize in three words: bad Bermuda shorts."
    "Golf. Did I hear my second-favorite four-letter word?" The ques
    tion was coming from Bebe, still glommed onto Harry.
    "You play?" Jock asked. "My favorite outdoor sport," Bebe said. "I am thinking of planning
    the Bebe Blake Invitational Pro-Am. Already in conversation with
    ESPN. Ford's on board as sponsor."
       "Stupendous marketing opportunity for Lady, " Arthur added. "But we'd have to talk soon. Deal's almost done. I'm sure your readers
    would be interested."
    Felicity wandered over, locking arms with Bebe and Jock. "I am
    having the best time," she said. "Dr. Wong promised me an appoint
    ment for Monday. It's not at all like what people say. You magazine people do know how to party. Bebe, have to steal you away. Here, kitty, kitty, kitty."
    The two of them wandered back into the crowd. Harry pulled
    Magnolia into a corner. "May I rescue you?" he asked.
    Magnolia was already way past her usual two drinks. Even Jock
    was beginning to look attractive, and forty-five years old was her cut
    off. "You may," she said. "We are so finished here."

C h a p t e r 9

    Good, Clean Manhattan Fun

    Magnolia was not hallucinating. That really was Harry James—he of the excellent pecs and other lovely body parts—
    snoring softly in her bed. She threw on a silk kimono and tiptoed into

    the kitchen, careful not to wake him.
    As she began to brew a pot of coffee, extra strong, she attempted to
    reconstruct last night. She remembered trying to get out of Bedford
    while the getting was good. Then her publisher, Darlene—no, it was
    Bebe—stormed in her direction, offering an invitation she felt she could
    not refuse: meeting up at Bebe's suite at the Ritz-Carlton back in Man
    hattan. There were curt words with Natalie, who was probably peeved
    that she, too,