Free Farewell, Dorothy Parker by Dorothy Parker Ellen Meister - Farewell Page A

light, where she belongs.”

Chapter 9
    Violet made a point of going into the office at least three days a week. Aside from her weekly meetings, she could have done all her work from home, but she thought it was important to show her face at the magazine more often. And so she usually wrote her reviews on her home computer but did everything else—researching filmographies, responding to publicists, brainstorming headlines, approving edits, and submitting final copy—on premises.
    Violet switched on her computer. As she waited for it to boot up, she carefully poured her coffee from the paper container into her office cup—an oversized purple ceramic mug imprinted with the movie title AMERICAN VIOLET . It had been given to her by a studio publicist with a sense of humor, and it had become something of an office joke; no one would ever mistake her cup for theirs.
    The light on her phone was flashing, indicating that she had voice mail. She picked up the handset and played the messages back. The first voice she heard made her cringe.
    Ms. Epps? This is Barry Beeman from the Algonquin Hotel. Please call me back at your earliest convenience.
    He left his direct-dial number, but Violet hung up before he finished saying it. She knew he was calling to ask about the guest book she had stolen, and she just couldn’t handle the confrontation. Besides, she wasn’t ready to give it back. One day, she would slip it in apadded envelope and have it delivered to the hotel. But not yet. She needed more time with Dorothy Parker.
    Her colleague Travis Ornstein stuck his head in.
    “You’re here,” he said.
    “Morning, Travis.”
    He was the magazine’s other movie critic, so they worked pretty closely together, dividing up the responsibilities every week, covering for each other when something came up, and trading off the lead review slot.
    “I hope you’re in a good mood,” he said, as he lowered himself into the chair opposite her desk. He wore a black shirt and black pants with a purple tie. Violet was pretty sure there was a black jacket on the hanger in his office.
    “Why?” she asked.
    “Andi,” he said, referring to their department’s new editorial assistant—the one their boss had put in charge of proofreading their final copy for this week’s issue. With Buck, the young woman was respectful, even obsequious. With everyone else she had an attitude. It was as if she thought that being the boss’s assistant made her second in command. The kid had a lot to learn.
    Violet found a napkin in her drawer and put it under her coffee. “What did she do?”
    “Red-penciled my copy. Changed every ‘that’ to ‘which,’ expanded the contractions, excised every hint of voice until it read like a term paper.”
    “Are you serious?”
    “As Sean Hannity with acid reflux.” Travis was known for his colorful turns of phrase—both in real life and in reviews. That was the big difference between them. He was the same person on and off the page.
    Violet sipped her coffee. “I thought she was just supposed to eyeball it for typos.”
    “Little shit thinks she’ll make a splash by teaching us wretched critics the rudiments of grammar.”
    “God help us. What did you do?”
    “Nothing yet, but I’m trying to work up an appetite. I plan to eat her for lunch.”
    Violet’s computer screen came to life and she jiggled her mouse, waiting for Windows to finish loading so she could see what damage the young assistant had inflicted on her copy.
    “Did you submit yesterday?” Travis asked.
    “Turned in my piece on
Man Oh Man
.”
    “How was it?”
    “Had its moments.”
    The movie was about a single mom who had such a frustrating day of encountering sexism at every turn that she goes to sleep wishing she were a man. When she wakes up, she is. Violet had decided to open the review with a literary reference: Abby Collins awoke one morning from restless dreams to find she had been transformed into…Steve Carell. Of course,