Lauren Weisberger - Chasing Harry Winston

What a difference a little indulgence made! Adriana made a mental note of this, should she ever doubt the importance of pampering herself (however unlikely that was). Otis was like a new bird. He sang, he chirped, he bopped his head in rhythm to the bossa nova music constantly playing in the apartment. In just one week he’d graduated from aggressive beast banished to the bathroom to sweet-natured playmate who liked curling up on the couch. This morning he had demonstrated just how far he’d come when, finally, he responded correctly to Adriana’s relentless coaching.

“Okay, Otis, now try to focus, querido ,” she cooed as she pulled a hand mirror out from her night table. They walked into the living room and sat together on the floor, where Otis happily pecked a carrot and Adriana coached him on his new vocab words.

“Now, I’m going to show you the mirror, and you’re going to tell me who you see, okay? Remember, you’re a smart, beautiful bird who has nothing to be ashamed of. Are you ready?”

Otis continued to munch.

Adriana moved the mirror in front of his face and held her breath. They were close, she could feel it, but so far Otis hadn’t been able to move beyond screaming “Fatty!” at the sight of his own reflection. She held the mirror very still and waited, willing him to say the right words.

He was clearly entranced with himself-a good sign if there ever was one-as his wing feathers puffed up a bit and his beak parted ever so slightly. He appeared to be pleased with what he saw, although of course there was no way to tell. C’mon , Adriana willed, you can do it! And then, sure enough, with his head cocked and his eyes gleaming, Otis cawed, “Pretty girl!”

Adriana almost fainted with excitement. “Oh, now that’s a good boy!” she said in enthusiastic baby talk. “What a good boy you are! Does the good boy want a treat?”

She’d decided to give Otis a little leeway on his gender confusion-for now, at least. There was time enough for everything, and it was his crushing lack of self-esteem that had had her most worried.

“Grape!” Otis cawed, clearly delighted. “Pretty girl! Grape! Pretty girl! Grape!” He shimmied up and down Adriana’s calf as he called out the words.

“One pesticide-free grape, coming right up for…for who? Who gets the grape? The pretty boy gets the grape!” Adriana hoisted him onto the couch arm and headed toward the kitchen. She was just reaching inside the fridge for the bowl when the phone rang.

“Hello?” Adriana said with a twinge of irritation at the interruption. She wedged the portable between her shoulder and chin while arranging a few grapes on an appetizer plate.

“Adriana?” a breathless female voice asked through the handset.

Callers who refused to identify themselves before demanding to know your name were a pet peeve of Adriana’s, but she willed herself to be polite. “This is she. Who, may I ask, is calling?”

“Adriana, it’s Mackenzie. Hi, sweetheart! Listen, I have some phenomenal news. Are you sitting down?”

Phenomenal news sounds good , Adriana thought with anticipation. Phenomenal news sounded like Elaine had decided to post one (or maybe more!) of her essays on the Marie Claire Web site. Phenomenal news might even mean that Elaine had adored Adriana so much that she planned to feature her as a regular monthly contributor on the site, complete with a splashy link on the home page and (naturally) a tastefully posed headshot of the author herself. Author! Who would’ve ever imagined that she, Adriana de Souza, was about to embark on a career…as an author! And one who would surely garner thousands, if not millions, of hits every day. Girls would be forwarding her column link to all their friends, attaching to it little notes that read, “Check this out” and “so true” and “how funny is this,” while men would stealthily visit the site to gaze adoringly at Adriana’s author photo and perhaps pick up a pointer or two from the enemy camp. It was almost too fabulous to fathom.

“I’m sitting, I’m sitting,” she said, trying to keep the squeal out of her voice.

“Well, I just got out of a meeting with Elaine.” Pause. “She was very impressed with you.”

“She was?”

“Very. I’ve worked here for almost nine years, and I don’t think I’ve seen her this on board with a pitch, ever.”

“Really? So that means she’s going to publish one of the columns on the Web site?” Clearly it was true, but Adriana needed to hear the actual words. She was already thinking ahead to whom she would tell first. The girls? Toby? Her mother?

There was another pause, just long enough to pique Adriana’s anxiety before Mackenzie said, “Um, actually, that’s not what she was thinking.”

Not what she was thinking? But she loved it! Adriana wanted to scream. You said so yourself! How could I have so misjudged the situation? she wondered as she rejoined Otis on the couch and balanced the grape plate between her knees. She stroked his back as he joyfully attacked the fruit. Then she began deconstructing the whole stupid idea. American women were never going to change-hell, they’d been on this empowered-female kick for decades now-so what was the point, anyway? Besides, who needed that kind of exposure? Publicity was one thing, but Web-based exposure, what with all those tacky Web site designs and undesirable lurkers…yuck. It made her skin crawl just thinking of it. It was time to put an end to this silliness once and for all.

“Oh, no? How unfortunate,” her voice oozed with insincerity. “Well, I do appreciate your calling to-”

“Adriana! Just shut up for a second and listen. It’s true that Elaine isn’t interested in the Web site articles, but that’s only because-are you ready for this?-she wants to make you a regularly featured columnist! Can you believe it?”

“A what?”

“A regularly featured columnist.”

“Columnist?” Adriana asked again. Her brain was refusing to process the word.

“Yes! In the print magazine.”

“Which one did she choose?”

“Adriana, I’m not sure you’re understanding me. She chose all of them! I think she wants to start with ‘I Was Just Being Friendly,’ but we’re going to run them all eventually.”

“All of them?”

“One a month. Every month. Depending on reader reaction, which she and I both think will be fantastic, we’re going to make it a regular feature each and every month. We’re going to call it ‘The Brazilian Girl’s Guide to Man Handling.’”

“Ohmigod. Oh. My. God.” Adriana had completely abandoned all attempts at coolness, but she didn’t care.

“I know! It’s phenomenal. Listen, I’ve got to run to a meeting, but I’m going to have my assistant call you to make all the arrangements for your photo shoot. We’re closing the March issue in two weeks, so it’s going to be a rush, but timing-wise it’s nothing we haven’t done before. Sound good?”

“Perfect,” Adriana murmured.

“Oh, and Adriana? Jack called last night to ask me out for this weekend, and-”

This snapped Adriana out of her reverie. “Last night? A Thursday? Who does he think you are? Some loser who just sits around and waits for him to call? You absolutely cannot-”

Mackenzie laughed. “Can you just shut up for a minute? I told him I was completely booked all weekend even though the only thing on my entire schedule is lunch with my mother on Saturday, and”-she paused here and took a breath-“he said he wasn’t hanging up until I gave him a night next week that worked. We’re going out Tuesday. He already made reservations.”

“ Querida ! I’m so proud of you. You’re ready to write the column yourself!” Adriana was genuinely pleased at this development. Not only did it speak volumes to her own skills and advice, but from what little she knew about Mackenzie, it seemed like she was a woman deserving of a solid, adoring man. This was all good news.