Стюарт Вудс - Indecent Exposure

“I want to meet her,” Al said.

“Not possible — she’s reclusive, nobody even knows where she lives. She’ll do the interviewing on the phone.”

“Who the hell is she?”

“A very fine writer who’s been teaching at Harvard and Oxford most of her life. I met her crossing on the Queen Mary 2 last year, and we got on. I couldn’t use her until now, she would never have worked for the old magazine.”

“I can’t wait to see her piece,” Al said.

A young man knocked on Hazel’s door.

“Hello, Art,” Hazel said. “Al, this is Art, our art director. Al Finch, our publisher.”

“That name will be easy to remember,” Al said.

“I’ve got some proofs for you,” Art said, spreading the printouts on her desk.

“I like these,” Hazel said.

“So do I,” Al echoed. “I particularly like the title typeface. Approved.”

“Go, Art,” Hazel said, and he took his proofs and vanished.

“That was easy,” Al said.

“Art is the best.”

“Okay, let’s talk about the rest of the magazine.”

Hazel picked up some notes. “All right, we’ll have a monthly feature on a gallery, along with the pictures they have in stock. They’ll be lining up to get in. I want to hire a wine columnist and a food columnist. We’ll do a sports feature, ones our readers play — tennis, golf, shooting, riding, et cetera. I know a woman who will be very good to edit and write those pieces.”

“Hire her quick.”

“Will do. We’ll also do a series on giving dinner parties, everything from recipes to place settings, wines, and background music.”

“Good,” Al said. “I’ve got Faith Mackey coming here in an hour. I expect she’ll have some ideas, too. She wants us to do a big party at a top restaurant to introduce the new magazine. We’ll say we’ve been working on the redesign for months.”

“I like that,” Hazel said. Al went to take over the conference room, and Hazel put her head on her desk and wept with relief. She had saved her job.

Danny Blaine got the job at W , and he was thrilled. The pay was enough, the people were nice, and he got to choose who he slept with. He took Gloria Parsons to lunch on his first payday, and partially repaid her loan.

“You look happy,” she said, as they sat down.

“What’s not to be happy about?” he said. “I’m a free man, and there’s not even a parole officer to check in with. I still can’t believe it.”

“You know what the first thing is you don’t do?” she asked.

“What’s that?”

“You don’t go back to prison. Choose your friends better.”

“I’m on board with that,” he replied. They both ordered pasta. “You don’t look quite as happy as I do,” he said, scrutinizing her face. “What’s up?”

“Well, I lost my job...” She held up a hand. “Not to worry, I got another one that may end up paying even better. I have to write under another name, though.”

“What other name?”

“Laurentia Scott-Peebles.”

“Sounds teddibly British.”

“It is,” she replied. “You can call me Scotty.”

She explained the debacle of the Stone Barrington piece, and the consequences.

“You mean you were working for him the whole time and didn’t know it?”

“ He didn’t know it. He’s a partner in an investment firm, and the firm bought a bunch of companies, and one of them was Just Folks. ”

“So he fired you.”

“One of his partners did, and he changed the whole magazine, too. Now it’s upscale and stylish, instead of tabloid semi-trash.”

“Isn’t that better?”

“It is if I freelance enough for them. Right now, I’m doing personality pieces, and garden and home stuff. I’m also a medium-rent dinner party advisor, under the name of Penelope Fairleigh, like the hotel uptown. I’m making almost as much as I did after my raise. If I knew anything about horses or shotguns, I’d be making even more.”

“I don’t like what this Barrington guy did to you.”

“Well, neither do I, but I’m not stupid enough to try to do anything about it.”

“I’m stupid enough,” he said.

“No, baby, don’t get involved.”

“I don’t mind being involved, if nobody knows it.”

“He’s bigger than you, sweetie.”

“I’m not going to slug it out with him, I’m sneakier than that. What’s his weak spot?”

“Sex. It’s also his strong point.”

“You sound regretful.”

“Well, I didn’t play it as well as I should have. Al Teppi looked into him and said he’s the kind of guy I should marry and divorce, not somebody to dump.”

“You dumped him?”

“I embarrassed him in print, which is worse, then he dumped me.”

“No chance of putting it back together?”

She shook her head. “He won’t even speak to me. I saw him at a big wedding reception, and he had me thrown out.”

“That was a shitty thing to do.”

“I know. I had to pay somebody two hundred bucks for the details so I could write my piece.”

“Tell you what, let’s both think about a way to get even with him — and not get caught doing it.”

“That’s a nice thought,” she said. They clinked their wineglasses and drank to it.

Stone got back from lunch with a friend, and Joan handed him a large envelope. “This just came from Charley Fox,” she said.

Stone sat down at his desk and shook out the contents. The new Just Folks stared back at him, and he began leafing through it.

Joan buzzed. “Charley Fox on one.”

Stone picked up the phone. “Hey, Charley, thanks for the new Just Folks .”

“Not bad, huh? I watched over its rebirth. I wasn’t sure Al Finch and that editor, Hazel, had it in them.”

“I’ like this piece on Jamee Fellows,” Stone said. “I’ve always liked her work.”

“That’s by their new star writer, an Englishwoman named Laurentia Scott-Peebles.”

“Never heard of her.”

“She’s a retired professor at Oxford, lives reclusively out on Long Island, and, I hear, she’s in her sixties — too old for you.”

“Oh, well.”

“Listen, I should warn you — the new look for the magazine is going to cost us some circulation. Al Finch reckons we’ll lose a million and a half before we come back.”

“I hope he has a decent sales force to push the new look.”

“That, and with Faith Mackey’s help, he’s throwing a big press party next week, to make a splash and get some attention. Faith is beating the bushes to get us some ink, too.”

“Faith knows how to do that.”

“There’s an invitation in the mail. Will we see you there?”

“I’ll be there. See you then.” Stone nearly hung up, then remembered something. “Oh, Charley, I almost forgot. I’m going to need the yacht between Christmas and New Year’s. That okay with you?”

“That’s fine. That week Kaley and I are going skiing with Mike Freeman and his current.”

“Perfect, then I won’t have to clear it with him.”

“Where are you going to be cruising? Surely not in Maine that time of the year.”

“No, I’m headed for sunnier climes, but where is a secret.”

“Why?”

“Some of my guests don’t want to be noticed.”

“That sounds mysterious.”

“I’ll tell you about it when it’s over, and don’t start questioning the captain. He and the crew are sworn to secrecy.”

“I’m guessing a movie star. Or two.”

“You can guess, but I will neither confirm nor deny.”

“At least you can tell me where.”

“No, I can’t. When I’m finally able to explain, you’ll understand perfectly why I couldn’t.”