Save Me the Plums - Ruth Reichl Page 0,39

still life for the September produce issue, and its quiet beauty had performed well on the newsstand, but for October we needed something bolder. “Do you have any ideas for the restaurant issue?” I asked. “Last year’s cover was a disaster.”

That was putting it mildly. Laurie had dubbed Felicity’s effort “Hitler youth at dinner,” and the public obviously concurred: The issue racked up the worst newsstand sales figures in Gourmet’s history. “This year we need sales to be really strong.”

“I do have an idea.” I couldn’t read the expression on Diana’s face, but it looked a lot like mischief. “I want to find a really handsome chef and get him to hold a giant fish. The bigger the better.”

“We could ask Rocco DiSpirito,” I mused. “He’s handsome and talented—and kind of vain about the weight he’s just lost. Do you think he’d do it?”

Diana stared at me. “Are you crazy? There’s not a chef in America who wouldn’t jump at this chance.”

She was right about Rocco. Casting the fish, however, proved more difficult. It couldn’t be any old cold-blooded creature with fins; this one required an impeccable pedigree. It had to be beautiful. It also had to be unendangered, unimported, and sustainable. Not to mention very, very large.

Diana finally found her fish, a sleek creature nearly six feet long. Elegant as a model, the tilefish had lovely pale skin, clear eyes, and an extremely sassy tail.

But Diana fretted over the pose; how should Rocco hold his piscine friend? In the end she had him dance with the fish, making it look more like his partner than something he planned to put on your plate. The image was romantic. It made you look. Then it made you laugh. And then it made you look again.

“I wonder what Truman will say?” As Diana handed me the neatly framed photograph, I detected a strange note in her voice.

When I handed Truman the picture, he took one look and dropped it so quickly it was as if it had burned his fingers. I looked down at the chef with the fish as Truman began backing away. “No, no, no,” he moaned. He had turned slightly green. “Every magazine editor knows you can’t put a dead fish on the cover.”

Every art director must know it too.

“It’s the first rule of magazines. Dead fish are a curse. The issue will never sell.”

“But it’s such a beautiful fish.”

“You can’t put a dead fish on the cover!” As he stubbornly repeated the phrase, I began to understand what Diana was up to: She was testing my mettle.

“I’ll make you a bet.” Diana had given me new confidence, and I was not about to let her down. I looked into Truman’s unhappy face. “One hundred dollars says this cover sells more than last year.”

He returned my stare. He looked down at the cover. “Last year, you might remember, was a newsstand disaster.”

“The year before, then.”

He looked at the cover one more time, studying it with great care. “You’re on,” he said at last.

That left Si. To my distress, I had to be out of town when it was time to present the upcoming issue to the bigwigs in the building. That meant Laurie had the unenviable task of introducing the boss to the fish. “You have to call me,” I said, “the minute the meeting’s over. I want to know exactly what happens.”

“Si was dozing,” she reported, “but when I showed them the cover he sat bolt upright and said, ‘You can’t put a fish on the cover.’ ”

“And what did you say?”

“I said, ‘Ruth likes it.’ And I just kept repeating that. Over and over. They all hated the cover, but nobody demanded that we change it.

“I kept invoking your name,” she continued, “and I thought we were home free.” I wondered if I would have had the strength to withstand that kind of pressure. “I turned to leave, and just as I reached the door Si said, ‘Come with me.’ ”

“Oh, no!” Such a thing had never happened to me.

“He led me into Truman’s office,” she continued, “and threw the cover on the desk. Truman looked up and Si said exactly five words. ‘Have you considered this carefully?’ ”

“What did Truman say?”

“ ‘Yes.’ ”

“That’s all?”

“That was it. It was really fascinating, like they have this unspoken means of communication.”

“Then what happened?”

“Si picked up the cover, handed it to me, and nodded once.”

“Oh, God.” I was horrified. I had not realized I was putting Truman on the line. “This issue better