Стюарт Вудс - Indecent Exposure

Gloria stormed out of the office, swearing, and went to her office.

Hazel got on her computer, found a piece they had pulled from the magazine about a movie star, and copied it into the master. When she had confirmed that the substitution was seamless and that the cover tease on Barrington was gone, she pressed the send key, and it went to the printer. She called Al Finch back.

Finch pressed the button on his cell phone; he was still on speaker. “Hazel?”

“Yes, Al, it’s done. I’ve pulled the piece, inserted one on an actor, and restarted the presses.”

“Did you fire Gloria Parsons?”

“Yes, just as you instructed. She’s down the hall, cleaning out her desk. Can you please tell me what this is all about?”

Charley Fox reached across the table and pulled the phone toward him. “Ms. Schwartz, this is Charles Fox, CEO of Triangle Partnership. Does that ring a bell?”

A moment’s silence, then, “Yes, your company owns the magazine, doesn’t it?”

“You’re very quick, Ms. Schwartz. Now, I want you and Mr. Finch to listen to me very carefully. We are going to remake the magazine, or rather, you are, and before the next issue comes out. I want a completely new graphics look, modern and tasteful, and I want every piece written in that vein. We’re going after a new audience.”

“What sort of audience?” Hazel asked.

“Think Town & Country. ”

Al Finch winced.

“I understand, Mr. Ford.”

“Ms. Schwartz,” Charley said, “if you don’t think you can handle this, you can resign right now.”

“I can handle it, Mr. Fox. Please leave it in my hands.”

“I want to see the new design work daily, as it proceeds. E-mail it to me.” He gave her the address.

“Yes, sir.”

“Mr. Finch will be joining you to help out.”

“Yes, sir, very good.”

Charley broke the connection. “All right, Al, you can finish your soup now.”

“Mr. Fox, I’m so sorry about all this. I had no idea...”

“Of course you didn’t, Al. Now eat your soup, and when you’re finished, grab a cab downtown and supervise the remake of Just Folks .”

“Yes, sir.” Finch began to eat his soup, which was now cold. The waitress brought them lobster salad.

“Al,” Charley said, “I want you to start featuring houses, apartments, and gardens in the magazine, those of well-known people in the arts, business, and professions.”

“Mr. Fox,” Al said, picking at his lobster, “I’m not sure how we’re going to attract such people — at least, at first. We’re not known for that sort of thing.”

“Al, are you acquainted with Faith Mackey?”

“No, but I certainly know who she is.”

“Well, Just Folks is her newest client. She’s going to round up the people featured in the magazine and secure their cooperation.”

“Well, that’s wonderful,” Finch said.

“I thought you’d think so,” Charley replied, then he turned to his own lobster.

Fifteen minutes later, Al Finch was in a cab, headed downtown.

Gloria Parsons slammed her apartment door and flung the box containing the contents of her desk, mostly cosmetics, across the room, scattering them. The phone was ringing, but she was too angry to answer it. Finally, her answering machine picked up.

“Gloria, it’s Hazel. I know you’re angry, but we can do something about this. Call me as soon as you can. If Al Finch is in my office, I’ll say I can’t talk and call you back as soon as I can.”

Gloria sat down and took some deep breaths, then called Hazel.

“This is Hazel.”

“It’s Gloria. What’s going on?”

“I’m glad you called. First of all, the magazine is owned by a company called Triangle Partnership, which bought it from Christian St. Clair’s estate. One of the triangle of partners is Stone Barrington.” Hazel waited for the explosion.

“Holy shit! Why didn’t we know that?”

“I don’t think even Barrington knew it. Certainly, I didn’t. It’s a good thing somebody caught it before it hit the newsstands.”

“You said you know how to fix this.”

“Not exactly fix it, just how to keep you employed.”

“How?”

“First of all, one Charles Fox, the CEO of Triangle, has ordered that we completely redesign the magazine and its contents before the next issue. Al is on the way down here to work on it with me. Fox wants to go after the kind of audience that Town & Country attracts — upscale, older, et cetera, et cetera. Our new publicist is Faith Mackey. Got it?”

“Yeah, I guess. What does it have to do with me?”

“I want you to go on writing for the magazine, but under a new name. I’ve chosen one for you — Laurentia Scott-Peebles, known to her friends as Scotty. She’s English, of a certain age — think tweed skirts and sensible shoes — writes well, of course. You’ll have to invent a voice for her that matches that description. You won’t be on staff — at least, not for a while — but I’ll pay you top-dollar freelance rates. You’ll do a piece a month, and you have to find your first subject and get me a draft in forty-eight hours.”

“What kind of piece?”

“Interiors, apartments, vacation homes, and gardens of people prominent in the arts, business, and the professions, with photographs. When you’ve picked a subject for your first piece, hire whatever photographer you want, and get it done.”

“I’ve got an idea for the first piece.”

“Who?”

“Let me get her signed on, then I’ll tell you.”

“Tell me now, so I can tell Al — it will show him I’m on board with the redesign.”

“All right, the photographer Jamee Fellows. She’s a sort of friend, and we can use her own photographs.”

“A brilliant idea, Gloria! Excuse me — Scotty. I will address you that way from here on until...”

“Until what?”

“Until Stone Barrington dies or becomes senile, whichever happens first.”

“He may die first,” Gloria said. “I’ll call you when I’ve spoken to Jamee.” She hung up. “At least I won’t starve,” she said aloud to herself. She looked up Jamee Fellows’s number and called her.

“Yeah?”

“Jamee, it’s Gloria Parsons.”

“Make it fast, kid, I’m working.”

“We’re completely redoing Just Folks as a very upmarket style publication, very posh indeed, and I want you to be my first subject — a glowing piece on your home and studio, using your own photographs. It will get great publicity — Faith Mackey is handling that.”

“I’m impressed,” Jamee said. “Okay, what do you need?”

“I need to record an interview with you to get some quotes and descriptions. First, e-mail me some photos that I can ask about.”

“Okay.”

“One other thing — I’m working under the name of Laurentia Scott-Peebles, an English writer. Call me Scotty.”

“Explain that to me when I have more time.”

“Okay, let’s get rolling.”

Jamee hung up.

Gloria called Hazel. “Okay, Jamee is on, she’s sending me photos, then I’ll interview her and write the piece.”

As Hazel hung up, Al Finch walked into the office. “Okay, let’s get started,” he said.

“I’ve already got our art director redesigning the magazine. We’ll have the first proofs this afternoon, and I’ve assigned the first cover story — it’s the photographer Jamee Fellows.”

“Wow,” Al said. “That’s fast work, kid. Who’s writing it?”

“A woman named Laurentia Scott-Peebles, everybody calls her Scotty. We’ll be using Jamee’s own photographs. I’ll have a first draft and pictures the day after tomorrow.”