Because She Can

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Because She Can Page 24

by Bridie Clark


  Phil hadn’t lost his flair for the dramatic, that was for sure. Finally, though, I’d agreed to stop by. And looking around the crowded room, I found it strangely comforting to know that these people had done their time at Grant Books and lived to tell about it. They seemed well-adjusted now, but like me, they knew what it was like to be in the trenches with four buddies, take a quick break to go to the latrine, and return to find everything destroyed and their friends all gone. These people knew what it was like to work in a professional war zone, dodging the bullets flying out of Vivian’s office, negotiating the hostile territory that encompassed Lulu and Graham. They’d been forced to carry out orders that they now shuddered to remember.

  “Welcome to life on the outside, Claire,” said a pretty woman in a sundress, “and congrats on getting out!”

  “I’m Marvin,” said the man on my left. “I used to be the art director at Grant Books, until one afternoon Vivian called me a ‘fucking impotent she-man’ in front of the entire staff. I just settled the lawsuit and bought an apartment on the Upper West Side with my girlfriend.”

  “I found out I was fired when my card key was deactivated,” piped up a mousy brunette. “Someone from HR shipped some of my personal belongings home. All because I’d disagreed with Vivian’s point of view during an editorial meeting.”

  “Oh, she loves doing that,” her neighbor commented, “The unexpected card key thing? It’s one of her favorite power plays.”

  An older man cleared his throat. “I was one of the few people who came to work for Vivian who had more than a decade of publishing experience. I’d worked at Random House for over six years, and Penguin before that. I lasted ten days at Grant Books. I’ve never seen anything like it, before or since.”

  “So how’d things go down, Claire?” asked Phil. “Was she livid that you’d quit?”

  “I’m not sure, actually. David, my former assistant, quit the next day, and I haven’t spoken to anyone else at the company. I really needed to clear my head.”

  “Well, you’re lucky that she hasn’t spun the reason for your departure in the gossip columns,” muttered Mike Hudson, a young guy I recognized as a former marketing director at the imprint. “She told everyone I was addicted to crack and stealing from the marketing budget to feed my habit. Or something like that. The story itself didn’t make any sense, and not a shred of it was true—but that didn’t stop her.”

  Phil went into the kitchen and reappeared with a tray full of champagne flutes. “Well, I propose a toast!” he said cheerfully, passing the glasses around. “To Vivian finally getting what’s been coming to her!”

  “What do you mean?” I asked when he got to me with the tray.

  “Didn’t you read the Daily News this morning? Hang on, Linda bought ten copies, there must be one in here—ah, here you go.” He pulled a paper out of a basket next to the couch. “Take a look.”

  AND THEN THERE WERE THREE

  Publishing powerhouse Vivian Grant has now officially split her business from former parent company Mather-Hollinger, transplanting her new Grant Enterprises into a 20,000 sq. foot loft space in Tribeca and plastering her name on the side of the building, Trump-style. As reported last week, Grant hoped the independence would give her “more time to conquer the film and television worlds”—we hear you, Viv, the pesky thing about being a book publisher is that books take up so much of your day—but so far, the move has only spurred her former staff to reclaim their independence. Word is that all but two staff members walked out yesterday after a particularly epic Grant tantrum.

  Who were the two loyal suckers—er, souls—who stuck by her side? One insider describes senior editor Lulu Price and editorial director Graham Fisher as “brainwashed cult members,” while another says “they’re as cruel as Vivian.” In any case, Vivian Grant now has plenty of room to throw chairs—but far fewer minions to use as targets.

  “I can’t believe it,” I shook my head, putting down the paper. “Dawn quit, too?”

  “Yup. Apparently, she led the charge. I invited her tonight, but she still sounds pretty shaken. We’ll get her to the next meeting.”

  “Good for Dawn.” She’d finally hit her limit. “Jeez, can you imagine what it’s like over there?” A shudder passed through my body despite the summer heat.

  “They deserve each other,” said Phil. “And come on, this is Vivian. Let’s not kid ourselves too much. You know her evil genius will find some way to make buckets of money again, and she’ll lure in a fresh crop of employees who don’t know better. The cycle will start all over again. She’s not out of the game.”

  Maybe, I thought to myself. Maybe Vivian would find some way to rise again, stronger than ever. Phil was right; she was a genius. Vivian had a unique ability to see opportunities that others didn’t, her work ethic was insane, and even her egomania could be considered an asset in certain circumstances. She was beautiful, brilliant. She had everything going for her, really … and yet I’d never encountered anyone who exuded so much misery and anger. And that was the shame of it all. What if a woman as capable as Vivian was also able to treat her employees with some respect and decency? There’d be no stopping her.

  “Anyway, enough about her,” Phil said. “Tell me how you’re doing, kid. How’s the job search?”

  “Some promising leads, but I’m just gathering information. This time around, I want to be sure I know exactly what I’m getting myself into before I commit.” Fortunately, thanks to Mara, I had already managed to find David a great job at P and P. He was working with a well-respected senior editor there, and was happy and thriving in his new environment.

  “And have you been in touch with Randall?”

  “I have, actually. He’s doing well. Taking things slow, trying to get out of the office a little more. He seems happier.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. You seem so much happier, too, Claire.”

  I was happy. I felt like myself again, which came as an incredible relief. The last month had been really great. For starters, I’d found a cute one-bedroom apartment in Williamsburg, which Bea had helped me transform into a charming little home. It wasn’t grand, but it was mine—and the rent was pretty reasonable. Mom had come out to visit for a week, and the night before we’d christened the apartment with its first Anne-and-Cherry Garcia marathon.

  This afternoon, before she had to leave for the airport, Mom and I had visited Lucille. Needless to say, I’d been nervous, despite Mom and Randall’s reports that Lucille was recovering well from the wedding disappointment. But the visit had turned out to be shockingly enjoyable. If Lucille had some lingering hostility toward me, she hadn’t shown it at all. She was all smiles as she ushered us in for tea, even congratulating me on “standing up to that hideous Grant woman.”

  Apparently, she’d been keeping busy since the wedding derailed. At Mom’s urging, Lucille had agreed to team up with Mandy for wedding consultations—just part-time work, but it was keeping her occupied. As soon as we’d sat down, Lucille proudly showed off their plans for a lavish winter wedding in Palm Beach.

  “I’m sorry I never thanked you for all the work you put into the wedding,” I told Lucille. I’d been so preoccupied with my own struggles, I hadn’t appreciated just how artistic and beautiful Lucille’s vision had been. It wasn’t my style, but her eye for detail was exquisite.

  “You’re welcome, dear,” Lucille said, squeezing my hand. “I’d be happy to plan your next one.”

  No chance of that happening—but it was her way of saying that all was forgiven, and I appreciated it. Having Mom back in her life and embarking on a new career had brought out Lucille’s spirit of magnanimity.

  “Here’s to changing our lives for the better!” Phil said, clinking his glass against mine and snapping me back to the party. “Of course, Claire, it will probably be a while before you’re ready to start dating again.”

  “Oh yeah.” I nodded solemnly.

  “By the way, I got an interesting submission from a friend
of yours recently. Luke Mayville. His agent said you’d suggested he send his next manuscript my way, since his option with Grant Books is now obsolete. Well, he did—it’s a partial, maybe five chapters at this point—and it’s excellent. No surprise, given the success of his first book. Of course, we put an offer in immediately. We’ll see if we can get Dominick to accept it”—Dominick Peters was the William Morris bulldog to whom I’d introduced Luke a few weeks earlier—“but hopefully he will. The offer was extremely generous.”

  “I’ve read the chapters. I knew you’d be a great editor for the job, Phil.”

  “Well, thanks. I really appreciate it. We all think Luke has a big career in front of him.”

  “Definitely,” I agreed, glancing at my watch as subtly as possible. Eight-ten already. “Phil, I wish I could stay longer, but I’ve got to meet someone. I’d love to have you and Linda over for dinner sometime, now that I have a kitchen table.” Bea and I had done an Ikea raid that weekend.

  “We’d love that. Don’t get to Brooklyn often enough anymore. Anytime.”

  I said my good-byes to the rest of the ex-Grant group, collected some more business cards, and slipped out the door. It was a warm night, and people were all over the streets. I walked the four blocks to Mimi’s quickly, loving the feeling of summer air on my skin.

  “Sorry I kept you waiting,” I said, kissing Luke softly before settling in across the table from him.

  “Worth the wait,” he smiled.

  “Luke! Claire! My favorite couple!” called out Mimi, charging toward the table. “Let me tell you what is special tonight.”

  As Mimi launched into her recitation, Luke reached over the table and took my hand. I couldn’t seem to stop smiling when I was around him. Fortunately, it seemed mutual.

  “You two,” laughed Mimi after she’d finished. “My love birds!”

  I sat back in my seat, excited for the night ahead of us. A whole new chapter of my life was beginning—and this time, I was writing it.

  Acknowledgments

  I’m deeply grateful to Jamie Raab for taking this book under her wing. It’s been a delight and privilege to work with Karen Kosztolnyik, my insightful, diplomatic editor. Rick Wolff’s support and guidance—on this book and in general—have been a tremendous blessing. My agent, Daniel Greenberg, has been an outstanding ally, advocate, and reader. The entire team at Warner Books—especially Michele Bidelspach, Harvey-Jane Kowal, Lisa Sciambra, Anne Twomey, Heather Kilpatrick, and Jennifer Romanello—has been ace.

  My heartfelt thanks to Marisa Brown, Mariah Chase, Dan Clark, Grace Clark, Kelly Collins, Stephanie Harris, David Kanuth, Carey Mangriotis, Elizabeth McGloin, Colleen McGuinness, Daria Natan, Ashley Phipps, Lindley Pless, Massy Tadjedin, Elisabeth Wild, Alexandra Wilkis, Andra Winokur-Newman, Chris Wolff, and Laura Zukerman. Most of all, John Loverro, whom I can’t possibly thank enough.

  As always, I’m indebted to my parents and grandparents for their unconditional support, inspiring example, and open door policy.

 

 

 


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