Free Fairy Tale Interrupted by Rosemarie Terenzio Page A

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    He pulled up a chair and took out the magazine so he could show me the pages. The cover was stunning. Matt had come up with the concept after finding an Alberto Vargasillustration of a pinup girl in a tight Revolutionary War–style jacket and no pants. John had pulled a favor to get the edgy fashion photographer Herb Ritts, instead of a typical portrait photographer, to shoot the most sought-after supermodel in the country dressed as George Washington—an image that symbolized American success on steroids. It paid off; I had never seen a magazine cover like it and was sure no one else had, either.

    “It’s awesome. Congratulations,” I said. Before I walked out of his office, I turned and added, “By the way, you aren’t signing any of these. Because if you sign one, you’ll have to sign thousands.”

    John just laughed and said, “You’re right. New company policy.”

    When I returned to my desk, there was a message from Carolyn Bessette, the woman John had been dating for several months. I immediately called her back.

    “Hi, honey, what’s going on over there?” she asked. The two of us had quickly developed a friendly rapport in the time I had been working for John. We talked almost every day, first brief conversations when she called for John, then longer gossip sessions when she called for me.

    “Did John apologize?” Carolyn asked.

    “Yeah, he did. How did you know?”

    “He came home last night a nervous wreck and told me the whole story,” she said. “I said to him that I couldn’t believe he showed all those other losers the magazine first and left you sitting outside like the redheaded stepchild. I told him, ‘Oh no. You need to go in and apologize to her in the morning. That was really gross.’”

    Carolyn came to my defense by making John feel like shitabout what he’d done, which was so typical of her. She always protected me, although at our initial meeting I never would have guessed that would be the case.

    When she first walked into the offices of Random Ventures about a month after its formation, she was exactly the kind of girl I imagined would date someone like John—and she intimidated the hell out of me. Wearing a Calvin Klein pencil skirt, a white T-shirt, stiletto heels, and blue nail polish, she looked like a model, effortlessly perfect in an unstudied yet elegant outfit.

    Carolyn and John had dated briefly in 1993 and reunited in 1994, a few months after his mom passed away. When John introduced us, I felt like I’d gained ten pounds and shrunk three inches. But after he left her in the reception area to deal with something in Michael’s office, I could tell Carolyn was different from the typical gorgeous girls you see around Manhattan. Women who have attitude always stand in a pose, like they’re trying to be sexy and intimidating, even if they’re in line at the supermarket. Carolyn’s easy posture said it all: standing with her legs crossed, she held her small, black patent-leather Prada purse behind her back with one hand, while absentmindedly twisting a lock of hair with the other. She wasn’t trying too hard. In fact, she wasn’t trying at all.

    The phone kept ringing as Carolyn and I tried to make small talk. Finally she said, “Does it ring like this all the time?”

    I nodded.

    “You poor thing.”

    I smiled, pressing a button on the phone. “Random Ventures,” I said as I answered another call.

    “Hi, is this John Kennedy’s office?” a woman asked.

    “May I ask who’s calling?” I said.

    “Where are you located?” the caller asked.

    “Is there something I can help you with?”

    “Does he come into the office every day?”

    The caller was trying to get way too much information. I wanted to end the conversation without being rude, and I had to think fast. It didn’t help having Carolyn about two feet away. “John Kennedy?” I said. “Oh, I’ve never even met him. I wish he came here every day, miss. But this is an