‘Good morning, roomie,’ Jenny sang as she pushed my bedroom door open at 7 a.m. on Tuesday morning.
After Thanksgiving at Erin’s, we’d spent the entire weekend planning her wedding. If Sadie was throwing the wedding of the century, Jenny would have the wedding of the millennium. I was more than a little bit relieved when she decided to stay over at Mason’s on Sunday evening to discuss potential colourways and honeymoon destinations – I needed the night off. Monday had passed in a blur the way all Mondays did – press day was press day was press day – and finally it was Tuesday. Finally, it was time for my meeting with Joe.
‘I’ve got herbal tea for you,’ Jenny said, placing a loaded tray on the edge of my bed. ‘I’ve got avocado on multigrain toast with a poached egg, and I’ve got your prenatal multi-vitamin.’
‘And what have you got for you?’ I asked, sitting myself upright while Jenny presented me with a breakfast tray complete with a single pink rose in a tiny vase.
‘Leftover pizza.’ She rammed half a slice of cardboard- looking pepperoni pizza into her mouth before I could protest. I didn’t want to know how old it was. ‘You need your wholegrains and your protein and your good fats. This is, like, a complete meal here.’
‘Thanks, but I don’t know if I can eat that much first thing in the morning,’ I said. My stomach turned at the sight of the poached egg and I felt myself go green. Ever prepared, Jenny grabbed the little bin from beside my bed and shoved it in front of my face right before I hurled. I dabbed at my mouth with the cloth napkin on the tray and winced. ‘Morning sickness, officially the least fun part of being preggers.’
‘Shit. You’re really, totally pregnant,’ she marvelled in a muffled voice. I looked up to see her holding the bin in one hand, stroking my hair with the other, the remains of the pizza slice held between her teeth. It would take more than a vomiting pregnant woman to come between Jenny Lopez and her appetite.
‘The ten pregnancy tests you made me wee on last week weren’t enough proof for you?’ I asked, lying back down. ‘You actually need to see me puke?’
‘That was mainly for the LOLs.’ She looked into the bin, pulled a sour face, and then set it down on the floor at the side of the bed. ‘I still can’t believe I got you to pee on every single one of them.’
‘I’ve never seen you look happy to see a pregnancy test before,’ I said, pushing the tray away and forcing myself up in bed. ‘Maybe my mum was right, there is a first time for everything.’
She grabbed the napkin from my tray and hurled it at my face. It was nice to be home.
‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re pretty good at being pregnant,’ she said, pushing the bin away from the bed with her foot. ‘Kind of assumed you might freak a little more.’
‘Me too,’ I admitted as she climbed under the covers beside me. ‘Whenever I really stop and think about it, I sort of panic. Because the idea of having a child is mental. But when I’m not throwing up or fighting constant and complete exhaustion, it’s not as bad as I thought it might be. Weird, but not bad.’
‘Then it’s the opposite of planning a wedding,’ Jenny said. ‘Thanks for all your help this weekend, by the way.’
‘You didn’t really give me much choice, did you?’ I replied, shuddering at the memory of Pinterest boards flashing before my eyes.
In three short days, Jenny’s wedding had gone from a small, private affair in Hawaii to the society event of the season. I’d talked her down from booking the Plaza, but we had still spent a good four hours debating whether or not they needed to host welcome cocktails, a rehearsal dinner, and a thank you brunch. A week ago, the only things she needed at her wedding were me, Erin, Mason, and a steady supply of champagne, now we were looking for a venue that could hold 200 people and would allow her to bring live doves in for the ceremony.
‘Are you sure Mason is down for all this?’ I asked. ‘He did seem awfully keen on Maui.’
‘Mason wants whatever I want,’ she replied happily. ‘Maui would be fine, but a wedding should be a celebration of love and I want to celebrate with as many people as possible and in a way that does our relationship justice. We’re not barefoot on the beach people, Angie.’
‘No,’ I said as she waved her ring at me. Again. ‘But I’m not sure you’re St Patrick’s Cathedral ceremony, silver service dinner for two hundred, releasing live doves as you say “I do”, people either.’
‘I am,’ she replied with complete conviction.
‘But is Mason?’ I asked again. ‘It is his wedding too.’
‘You’re so funny,’ she laughed. I wasn’t sure why. ‘Mason wants whatever I want.’
I raised an eyebrow.
‘Mason wants to spend thousands of dollars on a flower wall?’
‘The flower wall was so beautiful,’ Jenny replied, climbing out of bed and picking bits of lint off her leggings. ‘I’ve got to go, I have SpiritSprint in twenty minutes.’
‘You’re very brave,’ I said, reluctantly following her out of bed. I had a big day ahead of me. ‘I don’t think I could show my face back there.’
Tying her hair up into a huge pineapple on top of her head, she rolled her eyes skywards.
‘I’m going to a different location,’ she admitted. ‘We’re kind of banned from the Union Square place.’
‘We are?’ I asked brightly. ‘Oh, good.’
‘I didn’t think you’d be super sad about it.’ She bent over and touched her toes, bouncing lightly up and down. I attempted to do the same and gave up when my back creaked as my fingertips struggled to reach the tops of my feet. ‘Good luck with your meeting today. Let me know how it goes or if you need me to kill someone for you.’
‘It’s nice to know I can depend on you,’ I said, throwing my napkin at her as she left. ‘Love you.’
‘Love you too,’ she shouted from down the hallway. ‘Now get your pukey butt in the shower. You stink and you have to wash your hair. Like, have to. Dry shampoo is not an option.’
You just couldn’t put a price on a friendship like ours.
After setting hourly reminders on my phone, I arrived at the restaurant Joe had chosen for lunch fifteen minutes early. I couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad sign that he’d suggested we meet outside the office. On the one hand, who didn’t love a free meal? But on the other, what if they were removing all trace of me from the building the second I stepped outside?
‘Ms Clark?’
A neat waitress in a white shirt and black tie appeared with a too big smile on her face as I approached her podium in my smart Sandro shift and Jenny’s black-patent Louboutin Mary-Janes.
‘Let me show you to your table, Mr Herman is already here,’ she said, gesturing for me to follow her down the steps and into the brightly lit dining room of Union Square Café.
My pulse fluttered as I tiptoed through the tables. How was he already here? I was so early! Damn that man and his timely nature.
‘Joe,’ I said, accepting a socially acceptable cheek kiss then sitting down. He really was very tall. Too tall. No one needed to be that big unless they were a professional wrestler or part of the circus. I wondered if he had to buy his trousers somewhere special.
‘Thanks for meeting me down here,’ he said, nodding for the waitress to fill up my water glass. ‘It’s the only problem with Spencer: there are no good restaurants in Times Square.’
‘You didn’t fancy Red Lobster?’ I quipped as I accepted a menu.
Joe looked back at me with a blank stare.
‘I’m joking,’ I assured him quickly. ‘I never go there, obviously, it’s terrible. Eurgh, chain restaurants. Who would eat at Red Lobster?’
He didn’t need to know the staff at the one on 7th Avenue knew me by name and always rewarded me with extra biscuits for being such a regular customer.
‘I know this place is a publishing cliché, but I love the chicken salad,’ Joe said, smiling at the waitress.
What kind of a man ordered a salad when he was eating out on expenses?
‘I’ll have the chicken salad as well,’ I said. I copied Joe’s smile but the waitress couldn’t quite manage the same cheery response. ‘Sounds delish.’
He was right, Union Square was a publishing world cliché, a famous restaurant full of good old boys on three-martini lunches, wining and dining each other with everyone eyeing each other across the room. I’d been for dinner once before but never for lunch, and now I understood why. I was fifteen years and one penis out of place.
‘A glass of wine?’ Joe asked, scanning the wine list. ‘The Chenin Blanc always pairs well.’
I looked around the restaurant. Every single person at every single table had a drink in front of them.
‘I actually have to proofread some pages when I get back,’ I told him tapping my temple as I spoke. ‘Better keep a clear head.’
No one told you the first skill you needed to perfect as a new mother was lying through your back teeth, and fast.
‘We’ll stick with water then,’ he replied, handing back the massive ring binder-cum-wine list back to the waitress. It was almost bigger than she was. ‘Shall we get the difficult part of lunch out of the way so we can enjoy our food?’
‘Difficult?’
I crossed my legs under the table and knocked my knee against the hard wood. Joe flinched but ignored the loud bang.
‘Not difficult,’ he replied, shaking out his napkin. ‘I meant to say, let’s get work out of the way before the food comes. I’m not as good with words as you.’
‘Flattery will get you everywhere,’ I laughed nervously before gulping down half my glass of water. I couldn’t tell if it was hot in the restaurant or if it was just me. My deodorant was already working overtime.
‘As you know, we’ve already made changes in the marketing team,’ he said, pulling his iPad out of his leather briefcase and tapping away at the screen. Tablets and smartphones really had ruined the entire concept of lunch. I briefly considered spilling my water on it but the last thing I needed was to give him more reasons to sack me. ‘And the new streamlined teams are already showing some real progress.’
I did know. When he said ‘streamlined’, he meant slashed to pieces. It was horrible, watching everyone stare at their phone as call after call came down from HR and person after person left but did not come back. No wonder the new team was doing so well: they were petrified they would be fired if they didn’t.
‘We’re going to be implementing a similar strategy across the sales teams in the next two weeks,’ Joe said, handing me a spreadsheet.
No good had ever come of a spreadsheet, it was one of life’s absolutes. No one ever kept a spreadsheet that charted happy things like the number of kittens in the Tri-State area or the various talents of the Hemsworth brothers. That needed keeping track of. What if you wanted to know which one was the tallest, which one played guitar, important things like that? There wasn’t always time for Google.
‘What happens after you streamline the sales team?’ I asked weakly.
‘Two things.’ He pushed up his sleeves, clearly ready to get down to business. ‘Firstly, I want to bring a video content specialist in to grow the Gloss website.’
I blinked in surprise. He was giving me more staff? It was literally the last thing I’d expected him to say.
‘Oh. Right, then.’
Underneath the table, my feet throbbed in my borrowed Louboutin pumps. How had they swollen to twice their original size already? And more importantly, why did my baby hate me? It was one thing to make me fat, it was another to make my shoes too small.
‘There is tremendous potential for digital growth at Spencer,’ Joe went on. I remembered what Erin had told me. He had run the digital publishing business at his last company, so this did make some kind of sense. ‘And Gloss could be the right root for that growth. Delia very much believes you are the right person to nurture it.’
The man loved his gardening metaphors.
‘I am quite the nurturer,’ I agreed, silently shushing my unborn baby who had eaten nothing but sour sugary sweets for the first ten weeks of its in utero existence. Hmm. No wonder it was punishing me through foot-swelling torture techniques.
‘The work you’ve done with Gloss has been fantastic,’ Joe said, grabbing at the air as he spoke. ‘It’s a bold brand. It’s fresh, it’s young, it’s in touch with what’s happening in the world. It’s social media, it’s selfies, it’s emojis and LOLs.’
‘Right …’ I kicked Jenny’s shoes off under the table. Gloss might be young and in touch but Joe had just made sure I knew he definitely wasn’t. ‘Thanks. Just to be clear, when we started Gloss, it wasn’t as a brand, it was as a magazine. We created it, just me and Delia in the beginning, we created it for real reasons—’
‘The magazine is great, but the brand has the potential to reach so much further,’ Joe interrupted. ‘A great mag can become an amazing brand, Angela. I want to see Gloss on the phones of every woman aged sixteen to thirty in the world.’
‘That would be amazing,’ I replied, thinking that he really shouldn’t be looking at sixteen-year-olds’ phones, no matter the reason. ‘My team have some great ideas to grow the website going forward—’
Joe held up a finger to cut me off and it was all I could do not to slap it out of the air.
‘Magazine, website, video content, skincare line, make-up line, slogan shirts, tote bags, designer collabs.’
‘Right,’ I said. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘The Gloss brand,’ he said, punching the air and almost taking out the waitress at the same time. ‘Brand extensions, brand growth. Maximizing our content, exploiting the product.’
‘I usually try to stay away from terms like product and exploit,’ I replied carefully. ‘So far, the deal has been that we put out a really good magazine, make some money, and then corporate more or less leaves us alone.’
‘Wasted potential,’ Joe announced. ‘You could be more.’
‘Me?’ I asked. ‘Or Gloss?’
‘Both,’ he replied. ‘Why aren’t you giving your audience all that you could, Angela Clark?’
‘We gave every reader a very nice lip gloss last week,’ I pointed out. ‘And there haven’t been any complaints so far.’
Well, there had been one, but if someone was offended by the sight of a shirtless Ryan Gosling, the problem was with them, not us.
‘To reach the audience, we’ve got to know that audience, we’ve got to be that audience,’ he said, holding up his other hand to silence me. ‘We have to know what women want.’
I pursed my lips and held my tongue, just for a second. Obviously, no one knew exactly what women wanted like he did.
‘I want to bring in someone who knows those women because they are those women.’ He was practically rabid. ‘I want someone raw and fresh and hungry.’
‘You already have those women, they already work at Gloss,’ I reminded him. Where was my bloody salad? The sooner the food arrived, the sooner he could shove it in his gob and stop talking. ‘And trust me, no one is hungrier than I am.’
At least that much was true. I hadn’t eaten all day.
‘Have you heard of evolution?’ Joe asked.
It was a strange question, but I’d got used to those since I started working in the media.
‘Yeah, they actually teach it in schools in the UK,’ I replied. ‘They do here as well, don’t they?’
‘No, I mean Eva-Lution, the YouTuber,’ he said, his smile flickering.
‘Actually, I have,’ I said as he took the iPad back and pulled up Eva’s YouTube channel. Her intro video popped up on autoplay and I automatically smiled back at her cheerful face. ‘I think she’s great. You want us to start doing her kind of thing?’
‘Not quite,’ Joe replied. ‘I want you to do exactly her thing. I’ve had some preliminary conversations with Eva and she’s prepared to put her channel on the backburner for a while and come work with me to develop our online presence.’
The video kept playing at our silent table.
‘At Gloss?’ I asked, eventually finding my voice.
‘At Spencer,’ Joe replied.
‘And you’ve already spoken to her about this?’
‘Clearly.’
‘That’s brilliant, obviously,’ I said, choosing my words carefully. ‘But I’m curious to how that fits in with the rest of the editorial team; we don’t have any digital-specific staff at Gloss.’
I looked around. Surely there should be bread by now? I couldn’t think this fast on an empty stomach and fancy places always had bread.
‘And that’s the second thing I want to talk to you about …’ Joe put away the iPad and leaned backwards in his chair with a very big, ever so slightly smug smile on his face. ‘Angela, you know we think you have a bright future at Spencer Media.’
‘That’s always nice to hear,’ I said, hoping he couldn’t hear the loud rumblings of my disagreeing stomach. ‘Thank you.’
‘As I mentioned when we met before, it’s my job to make sure the women’s brands at Spencer flourish and that likely means some pruning.’
‘You did mention that,’ I agreed, very hot, very hungry, and very, very nervous. Why couldn’t he have ended the conversation with the compliment?
‘Condé Nast has Vogue, Spencer Media has Belle,’ he said, laying his hands on the table. ‘Obviously, we’re not going to close our flagship fashion magazine any time soon.’
‘Well, that makes sense,’ I replied, flapping my arms very, very slightly. Sweat stains were not going to help this situation. ‘Belle’s a great publication, they’ve got a great team.’
‘Glad you agree. Keeping Belle leaves me with a clearer choice,’ Joe said, looking me straight in the eye. ‘In January, we’ll be closing Gloss or The Look.’
I stared across the table and felt my entire body seize up.
‘Spencer will have one weekly women’s lifestyle magazine with a supporting website alongside Belle’s high-end fashion content,’ he explained. ‘The market does not currently support both. Gloss’s brand is young and has a great online presence, but The Look puts out three times as many copies as you do.’
My breath caught in my throat and I couldn’t swallow. My nose began to tickle and I knew what was about to happen. Do not cry, I ordered myself. You will not cry in front of this man. You will wait and go back to the office to cry in the toilets like a normal Spencer employee.
‘That’s not to say we’re definitely going forward with The Look. Their sales are in decline and your online presence is skyrocketing. We’re conducting some market research before we make the decision,’ Joe said. ‘But you really are valued at Spencer, Angela, and I want you to know there is a position for you in the new structure.’
A position, he said. Not ‘you won’t lose your job’. Very big difference.
‘Right now the plan is that Eva will be in control of the editorial voice on the website and we’ll have an editor at the magazine.’
I breathed out slowly, paused for a second and took a slow, deep breath in. Someone’s magazine was going to close. Dozens of people were going to be out of a job. However you looked at this, there was no genuinely good news, only news that made you feel like a terrible person because you keeping your job meant someone else losing theirs. Why hadn’t I just stayed home with Jenny and spent the day researching photo booths and rentable doves?
‘One editor,’ I said, trying not to think about how much this felt like the first annual Spencer Media Hunger Games. ‘At one magazine?’
‘That’s right,’ he agreed as the waitress reappeared with two massive salads. Suddenly I wasn’t very hungry any more. ‘I understand this is a lot to take in. We really want to talk to everyone involved before we make any major decisions.’
‘Other than the decision to close an entire magazine?’ I replied as she placed them down on the table. ‘That decision has been made, hasn’t it?’
Dark stars began to sparkle around my field of vision and a red-hot flush rolled over my entire body. This wasn’t good.
‘Of course, I’m very excited to see the Generation Gloss event first-hand – something like that is really going to raise your profile and the brand’s stock, so to speak. I’d also like you to pull together a presentation detailing your three-year strategy for Gloss,’ he said, picking up his knife and fork and digging in to his lunch while I sat there stunned, ‘taking into account Eva’s involvement with the online component and the potential global expansion.’
He smiled at me as though we were both in on some sort of secret.
‘Oh, OK then,’ I said, secretly wanting to punch him in the throat. ‘And when were you wanting that by?’
‘Next Tuesday,’ he replied. ‘At 9 a.m.’
‘Next Tuesday? Seven days from now?’ I asked. What was happening on Tuesday? Oh shit, I realized, I had my twelve-week scan appointment with Dr Laura but of course, I couldn’t tell him that.
‘Next Tuesday doesn’t give me a lot of time, Joe. We have Generation Gloss this weekend.’
‘Yeah, I can’t wait for the party,’ he said, completely ignoring my concern. ‘Delia says it’s a lot of fun.’
‘Delia says a lot, doesn’t she?’ I frowned.
If the presentation was at nine and my appointment with Dr Laura was at ten thirty, I could probably make it. Still, a 9 a.m. meeting was perfectly timed for me to puke all over him.
‘This is a positive development, Angela,’ Joe insisted, clearly not even slightly bothered by the fact he was about to make dozens of people unemployed. This was just business to him, we were numbers on a spreadsheet. ‘I am very excited for us to work together.’
‘Giddy as a kipper,’ I said under my breath, staring at my food.
‘Think of it as the beginning of a new season,’ he said through a mouthful of salad. ‘I am excited to see what we’re going to bring in with the harvest.’
Sweating, shoeless, and starving, I picked up my fork and forced a piece of chicken into my mouth, leaving my knife on the table. Just in case my brain came up with a better use for it than cutting up lettuce.
‘How was your meeting?’ Cici asked as I sailed back through the office, doggy bag in one hand, Jenny’s shoes in the other.
‘Wasn’t great,’ I replied, looking at all the staff, beavering away in blissful ignorance. ‘Any messages?’
‘Alex called,’ Cici said and my heart almost leapt out of my chest. ‘He said he couldn’t get through to your cell? I said he should call you back but blah blah no reception blah blah, he’ll be home soon but he’ll talk to you before then.’
‘Soon? Did he say exactly when?’ I pulled out my phone to see it was still in airplane mode. Damn me for being so professional during lunch. ‘Did he say which day?’
‘No,’ she replied, pushing her glasses up her nose. Worryingly, I was starting to get used to them. ‘What did you eat for lunch? You look weird, like, more than usual. Are you going to puke again?’
‘I’m fine,’ I insisted even though it was clearly not true. ‘Can you cancel my stuff for this afternoon. I’ve got something I need to work on.’
‘I need to talk to you about the Generation Gloss party,’ she said, following me into my office. ‘I can get both Gigi and Bella if we drop the costumes. They won’t dress up.’
‘Whatever you need to do.’ I swiped around at the papers on my desk, looking for my mouse. Maybe Alex had emailed. ‘Thanks.’
‘My mom knows their mom,’ she shrugged, dropping into a chair. The bottom of her cropped sweater rolled up to reveal an altogether too toned tummy. ‘I’ll figure it out and let you know. Everything went good with Joe?’
I looked up as I fumbled around for a hair tie, yanking my hair back in a ponytail. Could I tell her? Should I tell her?
‘He wants me to pull together a presentation, that’s all,’ I said. There was no point worrying her and I still wasn’t entirely certain I could trust her. ‘For next week.’
‘Gross,’ she replied.
‘Yup,’ I agreed.
‘Did you talk about finding me a new role?’ she asked.
‘Didn’t come up,’ I said. ‘Sorry, I’ll sort it, but I really need to think about this presentation right now.’
‘Famous last words,’ she said, standing to leave as Jenny’s name appeared on the screen of my mobile.
‘Be careful,’ I called as she walked away. ‘That sounds like something I would say.’
‘Super gross,’ Cici muttered, looking disgusted with herself.
‘What’s up?’ I asked, answering the phone.
‘Do you have the number for Annie Leibovitz?’ she asked.
‘No?’ I replied. ‘But I could probably get Cici to find it? Actually, Cici might have it – she probably took her passport photo. You need it for a project?’
‘Did you know she shot Kim and Kanye’s wedding?’ Jenny said. ‘I know it sounds crazy, but I figured I’d call and see how much she charges. The photos are basically the biggest investment you can make in your wedding – they’re the only part of it that lasts forever.’
‘Other than your actual marriage,’ I replied flatly.
‘Oh, yeah, for sure,’ she said. ‘That too.’
‘I can’t talk right now,’ I said, scanning my inbox for an email from Alex. Nothing. Maybe he’d just called for a random chat. Stupid bloody Joe and his stupid bloody lunch. Now I had another reason to dislike him. ‘See you tonight?’
‘I might be late,’ she said, sounding distracted. ‘I’ve got an appointment with a cake designer.’
‘You haven’t even got a wedding date yet,’ I reminded her. ‘Shouldn’t you know when you’re getting married before you start looking at cakes?’
‘You have to book them a year in advance,’ Jenny replied. ‘People plan their weddings around these cakes, Angela. Ivanka Trump used them.’
‘Even more reason for you not to bother,’ I said. ‘Let’s talk about it tonight.’
‘Yeah, sure.’ I could tell she was already thinking about something else. ‘If you could get Cici to shoot me Annie’s details, that would be awesome. And maybe Patrick Demarchelier. So I have a backup.’
‘Bye, Jenny,’ I said, ending the call and sweeping my hands over my face. ‘Blood pressure, Angela, blood pressure.’
It had been the shittiest day in recent memory and it was still only one forty-five in the afternoon. Joe wanted to close my magazine, Jenny wanted Annie Leibovitz to take photos at her wedding, and all I wanted was a quiet sit down and a chat with the man I had married. So why did it feel like I was the one with the most ridiculous request?