Save Me the Plums - Ruth Reichl Page 0,79
to let my bitterness show, but I was too angry to care. “I really don’t believe this.”
Tom stared at me so coldly that I hardly recognized the nice man I’d once known. “Don’t be naïve; that’s the way it works,” he said. “You should know that. When publishers do well they move on; I had five publishers in fifteen years at the Traveler. You’ll be fine. What you should be concentrating on right now is the website; how are things moving on that front?”
Afraid I might say something I’d regret, I did not answer. “I have to go. The reporter from Adweek is waiting to finish the interview.”
“Don’t say anything about this,” he cautioned as I left. “We haven’t made the announcement, so you have to keep it to yourself. Si just wanted to make sure you were the first to know.”
And he didn’t have the decency to tell me himself! Things had really changed; for the first time since I’d arrived, I did not feel that Condé Nast was on my side. It was a cold, lonely feeling and I stalked down the hall, so upset my hands were shaking. I needed to calm down.
I went into the nearest bathroom and stared into the mirror; a bright red spot burned on either cheek. I turned on the tap and let the water run cold, then kept splashing it on my face, over and over, until the spots were gone.
“Crisis?” Tony looked up as I entered my office. He politely averted his eyes from the damp patches on my shirt.
“Nothing major.” I could feel my smile sitting slightly askew, but he seemed not to notice. “We have to make a few adjustments. It’s the nature of the beast.”
“So”—he took out his pencil—“let’s talk about your publisher. How do you and Giulio get along?”
* * *
—
WHEN THE INTERMINABLE interview finally ended, I stormed down the hall to Giulio’s office.
“Why didn’t you warn me?” I shouted.
He looked guilty and miserable. “They made me promise not to. And until today I wasn’t sure it was going to happen.”
“But how could you let this happen now?”
“Do you really think I had any choice?” He seemed genuinely chagrined. “They said it was my call, but you know it wasn’t.”
“C’mon, be honest, you wanted it.”
He was too decent to lie. “It’s a bigger book. It’s a challenge. But if you move on to something else, I’ll always want to do it with you. You know that. We’re an awesome team.”
“Not anymore.”
“They’re bringing in a really good guy to replace me.” Always a salesman, he began his pitch. “Have they told you about Jeff?”
“What they told me is that they don’t know who’s going to be my next publisher.”
“That’s not true. A friend of mine is coming over from Parenting. I’ve known Jeff a long time; we worked together at GQ and I know you’ll like him. He’ll do a wonderful job.”
“Why don’t they give it to Tom Hartman? He’s been your deputy from the beginning. He knows the clients, and we all love him.”
“They don’t think he’s ready.”
“They didn’t think you were either.” I almost said it.
* * *
—
I GOT BACK to find Robin gnawing on her nails. “Jill Bright wants to talk to you.”
I sighed. “What now?”
The head of Human Resources could sound cheerful on the grimmest occasion. Now she was positively chirpy. “We’ve decided to bring someone in from outside as your new publisher.” She said it as if Christmas had arrived early. “We think you should meet him. When would you like to do that?”
“The sooner the better, I guess.”
“He’ll be there in half an hour.”
Jeff Wellington was a pale version of Giulio: about the same age, nicely dressed but without the striking looks and instant charm. Still, his smile was warm and he said all the right things: He liked what we were doing; the magazine had momentum and he planned to capitalize on that. This was a fantastic opportunity and he was thrilled to be returning to Condé Nast.
“A bit bland,” I told Nick and Michael, “but he seems like a good guy. The magazine’s on solid ground. I hope it will be okay.”
By six the next morning, when the hair and makeup people were fluffing me for another day with Tony, I had worked myself into an even more optimistic frame of mind. Giulio thought a lot of Jeff. I had liked him. Condé Nast had not abandoned Gourmet. It was going to be okay.
Tony and the