Save Me the Plums - Ruth Reichl Page 0,70

editor of Condé Nast Traveler was a nice man, a smart man, but he had none of Truman’s odd, inscrutable brilliance. This did not make me feel safe.

Diana had worked with Tom, and in her blunt fashion she was frank in her dislike. “The Traveler was so much fun when Harry Evans”—the magazine’s founding editor—“was there.” She’d said it more than once. “But all the joy went out of the job when Tom took over.” Her face always grew cloudy as she recalled the experience, and she used words like “sober,” “sensible,” “dependable.” I thought he sounded very much like Chuck.

I didn’t know Tom well, but he lived in my building, and in my first week at Condé Nast he’d invited me to lunch at the Four Seasons and tried to initiate me into the mysteries of the world I’d entered.

“Si will leave you alone.” He took an earnest sip of his sparkling water. Unlike many of his peers, Tom did not seem to consider lunch at the company’s most glamorous canteen an opportunity to get sloshed. “He doesn’t like to interfere. But I enjoy his company, and I make sure to ask him to lunch every couple of months. He’s very smart about the business, and you can learn a lot from him. If you take my advice you’ll spend as much time as you can with Si.”

I remembered how disappointed I’d been. I’d been looking for advice on attracting great writers, but he’d wanted to talk about business. It was a far cry from any counsel Truman ever offered, and it did not bode well for the future. Farewell the fights, I thought; Tom would never stand behind Chuck’s desk mocking him. And he certainly wouldn’t make me bets about my covers.

Deeply depressed, I sent Truman a note to say how sad I was to see him go. His reply came bouncing back. Was I free for lunch? This was a surprise. Truman treasured restaurants and was an ardent cook who loved talking about recipes. Once he even gave me an unusual tool for chopping vegetables. “I love my alligator,” he’d said, dropping it on my desk. But in the six years we worked together, we’d shared nothing more substantial than tea.

It was a raw January day, and I pulled my coat around me, shivering slightly as we walked west on 43rd Street. “You must be the only person in the company who has the courage to quit,” I said as we crossed Eighth Avenue.

“Probably. But a quote from Joseph Campbell kept going through my head. Do you know his work?”

“The comparative-mythology guy? I’ve read The Hero with a Thousand Faces, but it was a long time ago. I don’t remember much.”

“You should read Myths to Live By. The idea that’s been resonating with me is his notion that we must be willing to get rid of the life we’ve planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us. I’m curious about what the future might hold.”

“You don’t have a plan? You’re just going to wing it and see what happens?”

He turned his head, offering me his snaggletoothed smile. “At the moment I do have a plan. I want to stop at the tennis club and buy my girlfriend some lessons. Do you mind?”

Condé Nast people didn’t perform minor tasks for themselves. They routinely sent minions. As I trailed Truman into the club, I thought how pleasantly prosaic this was. He would have no trouble adjusting to the real world.

Lunch was lovely, but nothing of consequence was said, and as it ended I took a deep breath. “Can I ask you something?” This was probably my last chance to get his advice.

He looked amused. “About Si?”

What else did we talk about at Condé Nast? “I know I should try to spend more time with him. A lot of editors do. But he makes me so uncomfortable that every time he asks me to lunch, I come up with an excuse.”

Truman studied me frankly. “I think you’re missing out,” he said at last. “He has an interesting mind and he’s knowledgeable on a great many subjects. But with Si things aren’t personal; I don’t think he operates out of friendship or loyalty. I can’t tell you the number of times he’s returned from lunch with someone who’s supposedly in favor saying, ‘You know, we really ought to fire her.’ So if you want my advice, here it is. Don’t try to second-guess him. And