by Lucy Sykes
“I don’t think so,” Imogen said, pushing Eve’s phone away so she could look at her own computer screen.
Refusing to be ignored, Eve perched on top of Imogen’s desk, kicking the wood with her sneakers.
“What did ya think of Mack’s shoot?”
“You mean Alice’s shoot.”
“No, Mack was the one who took the pictures. And you know what that proves? It proves we don’t need to pay someone like Alice a small fortune.”
If Imogen hadn’t been there, hadn’t seen Alice get knocked over and drop that phone with her own two eyes, she would swear that Eve had found some way to sabotage that phone and Alice and the entire photo shoot.
“We got lucky, Eve.”
“No. Mack was just younger and smarter and quicker. Alice is a dying breed that’s about to go extinct.” Same as me, right, Eve? Imogen thought. She didn’t say anything out loud. Eve began kicking the desk harder. Thud, thud, thud, thud.
“Anyway, you should have come yesterday. It’s bad for morale when you don’t show up for these things.”
“Eve, like I said, I definitely wasn’t told anything about it. You can swear that you sent me an email. I don’t think you did. I didn’t get a text from you. More than that, I told the staff to stay home. They could have worked from home. Most of New York City worked from home yesterday. There was no reason for them to come to your house and learn a ridiculous coordinated dance to Beyoncé.”
Eve’s eyes narrowed to slits.
Imogen looked through the glass wall and out onto the main floor. No one out there looked like a happy member of any team. They looked exhausted, bedraggled, like people who hadn’t slept in their own beds. She could tell some of them were dressed in Eve’s clothes—so many Juicy tracksuits and oddly fitting Hervé dresses.
“This isn’t camaraderie, Eve. This is a forced labor camp.”
“You don’t get it. You’re never going to succeed in tech, Imogen. You don’t get it. It’s about building communities, about building a team. There isn’t room for people like you here, for lone wolves!” Eve underscored her point by raising her head to an imaginary moon, letting loose a howl and pivoting on her rubber sole to stalk out of the room. Six months ago the exchange would have shaken Imogen to her core. Now she took it in stride. She logged on to the TECHBITCH page and wrote a comment.
“My techbitch just forced the entire office to learn a coordinated dance to Beyoncé’s ‘Crazy in Love.’ Then she howled like a wolf pup.”
Within minutes she had six smiley faces, four LOLs, four ROFLs and a gif of a delighted rhesus monkey hopping up and down.
She felt a swell of love from these fellow victims, or rather survivors, of techbitches the world over.
At quarter till she pulled out a compact to check her makeup and ran a comb through her hair. God, I look tired.
The desk for Worthington’s two assistants stood empty and for a moment Imogen wondered if, influenced by Eve, the publisher fired them in favor of an army of Outzourced assistants overseas. But no, they were merely inside Worthington’s office, both typing away on MacBooks, busy, and still homely.
“Imogen Tate,” Worthington’s voice boomed, his elaborate comb-over rising above his prominent brow. Only after she sat down in one of the chairs opposite his desk did she notice brown cardboard boxes lining the back wall. Worthington wasn’t in his regular suit. He wore Nantucket Red chinos below a well-cut blazer with a jaunty matching red pocket square.
“Redecorating?” she asked. “I’ll make a couple of calls if you want to switch designers.”
He chortled and slapped his thigh. “Remember the days of putting the interior decorators on the company dime? Ahhhh, we had some fun, didn’t we? No, I’m not redecorating. Moving.”
The hairs on the back of Imogen’s neck curled as she wondered if times had gotten so bad that Robert Mannering Corp. would need to sell their building and relocate somewhere cheaper—like New Jersey. She shuddered.
“Where are we going?”
“Not we, Imogen, just me. I’m happy you called this meeting. I wanted to talk to you in person before I made the announcement to the entire magazine group. I’m leaving Robert Mannering Corp.”
For a brief moment Imogen wanted to make a joke about Eve taking Worthington’s job next but she bit down on her tongue.
“Where are you going? Why did you quit?”
“I didn’t quit. Took a buyout. They’re about to be offered to all us old dogs, all the senior management. The company wants young blood in here. They want cheap blood in here. I hung on as long as I could. I hired people like Eve, but I know I’m not what they want.”
Imogen was speechless, but surprised to realize she was not as surprised as she should have been.
“What will you do?”
“Going to Thailand for a month or two. The women there.” He whistled loudly. “They do things that you probably can’t even imagine. I mean. Of course, the wife will be joining me, but you never know….” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down as Imogen forced her face to remain completely neutral.
“Sounds like a wonderful trip. But you can’t just go on permanent vacation. Can you?”
Worthington joined Imogen on the couch, jauntily crossing one stubby leg over the other, his thigh touching hers in a way that made her skin crawl. “They aren’t getting off scot-free here. I’m getting an excellent compensation package that will pay my many alimony payments for at least the next year. I could teach. I’m still on the board at the business school at Columbia. I have so much wisdom to impart,” he said very earnestly, his face about three inches from Imogen’s, his breath smelling of cigars and Altoids.
“I’ll get rid of the apartment in the city, or rent it out, go out to the beach, spend time with my kids. This isn’t ideal. I would have run these magazines until they ran me into the grave, but our directors don’t want magazines anymore, at least not the kind I made. Everything is changing and I don’t know if I want to keep up with it.”
It was the most human she had ever seen her boss.
“When are you telling everyone?”
“I’ll make the announcement this afternoon. The board is going to meet to decide who else they want to offer a small golden parachute to, so to speak.”
“What kinds of people are getting the offer?”
“I think they’ll make the offer to anyone who makes in the mid–six figures, anyone whose salary they don’t think they can justify in this new world of publishing. We can offer you one too, Imogen. But you don’t have to take it.”
“Don’t I?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’ve seen you adapt more over the past few months than I have over the past ten years. You’re starting to get it.”
“Then why would I get offered the buyout?”
He sighed. “Your salary is high and you’re over forty. Ageism is alive and well. It’s just sugarcoated with lovely going-away presents. Think about it. Like I said, you’re doing a great job. You have what it takes to keep running that website, but you could also take the opportunity to try something new.”
“I don’t want a buyout right now,” Imogen blurted out with a conviction she hadn’t known she felt.
“So be it. I’ll let the powers that be know you have spoken. So what did you come up here to talk to me about?”
Imogen thought for a moment. Why bring up Eve now? The point was moot. Worthington won’t even be her boss much longer. Someone more Eve-like would likely take his place.
It took a minute to sink in, but Worthington had given her high praise, had said she’d adapted. It was true. She’d learned more about tech in the past three months than she’d learned during the ten prior years. It wasn’t without pain and sacrifice, but staying in her job was a possibility if she wanted it. But knowing that she could take a buyout and start doing something totally new was an intriguing proposition.
“What will happen to Glossy? Will
Glossy still be Glossy?”
“I imagine that Glossy will continue to exist in some shape or form forever. It’s a great brand, a household brand. Women know Glossy. They trust Glossy. But between us, the website isn’t doing as well as Eve had projected. There is talk…no I shouldn’t even bring this up right now.”
“Come on, Carter.” She rarely used his first name. “Tell me.”
“Why not? You’ll find out sooner or later. There’s talk of selling off Glossy.com to a tech company, one that knows a little better what they are doing, one that can deliver on all of the things that Eve promised—traffic, sales, data collection. The girl came up with a genius concept, but I don’t know how she’s doing on the implementation side. And she’s killing the morale of that office.”
Of course Worthington knew what was happening downstairs. You didn’t get to his level by being oblivious. She didn’t know how he did it, but her boss must have eyes and ears on that floor. If he knew about her progress, then he knew about Eve’s inadequacies.
“Robert Mannering Corp. created Glossy. They would just sell it that easily?”
“It isn’t a child, Imogen. It’s a business. Like I said, it’s a strong brand. If they can get a good payday from a sale, the board will take it.”
It was a lot to take in. Not that she had always seen eye to eye with Worthington. In fact, she’d had some of the bigger blowups of her professional life with him, but she respected him as a businessman in a sea of creative people, the man who had to make the tough decisions because his staff often had their heads in the clouds.
Imogen looked at his moon-faced assistants, both of whom were staring at their boss with adoring gazes.
“What do the two of you plan to do?”
The shorter one smiled widely. Imogen felt badly that she had never bothered to take a second to learn their names.
“Our start-up just got funded!”
The taller one piped in, “Mr. Worthington was nice enough to introduce us to his friends who work in venture capital and we just got our first round of funding.”
Imogen both did and didn’t want to ask what the girls’ company was all about. She didn’t have to, because Worthington chimed in with pride.
“Tess and Marni came up with a brilliant idea.” The women beamed. “They are disrupting the way people wait for restaurants. They’ve built an app called LineDodge where users can input how long the wait is at any restaurant in the world so that you never get caught in a line.”
The taller one added, “It then crowdsources reviews off Yelp to tell you the next best rated restaurant with that cuisine with no line.”
“I invested some pocket change in it,” their boss admitted.
The shorter one shrugged. “We rented a co-working space at WeWork and we’re incorporated. It’s awesome.”
Rashid was right, anyone with a dream these days could go start a company.
“Who would buy Glossy.com?” Imogen asked, switching gears for a minute.
Worthington scratched his head.
“It’s all early-stage talks. Most of those never go anywhere. But I know there was a Chinese company interested. Plus, the folks over at that e-commerce company Shoppit have been by a few times to talk about it.”
Imogen felt a shiver run down her spine.
“Shoppit? Did you meet with Aerin Chang?”
“Chang. That is exactly who we met with. Smart whippersnapper, that one. Loves magazines. Loves you too. Had great things to say about you.”
Why didn’t Aerin Chang tell her she was looking to buy her website? That was a huge deal. Was their meeting all a calculated game to find out more about the business? Imogen felt used.
“When did Shoppit come here?”
“A couple of weeks ago. The board thought it was a little crazy, but hell, if they end up getting two hundred fifty million dollars for the old product, I don’t think they care what that little Korean girl does with it.”
Aerin was seriously considering buying Glossy. More and more their meeting seemed like an attempt to pump information out of Imogen, especially when Aerin asked her what she didn’t like about her magazine. It should have been so obvious. It wasn’t the start to a friendship, it was corporate espionage.
Did this mean that Aerin was no better than Eve?
She walked over to Worthington, prepared to shake his hand and then at the last minute leaned in for a hug instead. The man seemed surprised, but he soon embraced her back, sniffing at her neck a little too long.
“We had a good run of it, kiddo,” he whispered in her ear. “Think about taking the buyout. Leave the Glossy Imogen Tate behind and become a new Imogen Tate. Write a novel, open a bakery. Start a second act. This is New York City. If you don’t reinvent yourself, you get left behind.”
“I think that might be the most true thing that has ever come out of your mouth, Carter.”
“Plus,” he said, winking suggestively, “I won’t be your boss anymore.”
Imogen smiled and patted him on the shoulder. It was hard to be angry at a dirty old man. “No, you won’t be.”
The assistants, both furiously typing away at their MacBooks, now commanded a new air of respect. Imogen gave them a grin and a small salute as she walked out, making promises to Worthington about getting together with the kids and the spouses, maybe out at the beach next summer.
Riding the elevator back to her office, she considered her options. She could call Aerin and tell her she knew. What would she even say? How dare you invite me to your office and share macarons with me and then not tell me you wanted to buy my magazine?
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. Deep in thought and vaguely clumsy, Imogen fumbled for it. Ashley.
>>>>Your daughter is at the office.<<<<
It was hardly noon, lunchtime at Country Village Elementary.
Imogen was out of breath by the time she made it to Glossy’s floor. Quiet as ever, there was just the gentle tap, tap of manicured nails on keyboards. Her eyes scanned the room.
Eve’s tall desk stood empty.
They were in Imogen’s office. Eve and her daughter were in her office.
This time it was Annabel in her desk chair, laughing, as Eve perched precariously on the side of the desk. Imogen smoothed her hand over her ponytail and wiped her index fingers under her eyes to remove any traces of stray mascara.
“Annabel Tate Marretti, what in god’s name do you think you are doing here?”
At the authority in her voice, both Eve and Annabel were startled to attention.
“Mom.” Her daughter looked up, chagrined. “I came to see you.” There was something so honest and so innocent in her eyes. She saw something guilty lurking in Eve’s as she turned to face her.
“Please leave me alone with my daughter, Eve.”
Eve let out a hollow laugh. “What’s the big deal? She just came to see you.”
“Let us be, Eve.”
Imogen felt Eve’s roll of her eyes and as she turned saw Eve try to lock eyes with her daughter for a conspiratorial stare. For her part, Annabel wasn’t having any of it. She kept her eyes on the floor.
“Why aren’t you in school? How did you get here?”
“I wanted to see you,” Annabel said. Now tears streamed down both her cheeks. She let Imogen hug her. Keep your shit together, Imogen said to herself. Her daughter’s words were barely audible through her hiccupping cries. “She’s so mean. Candy Cool is so mean. She sent this out to my whole school.” Annabel held her iPhone out at arm’s length like it contained a disease.
Another picture of her daughter. This one superimposed on an obese woman on a mock cover of Glossy magazine under the headline EVEN MY MOM THINKS I’M UGLY. The post had 345 likes and 57 shares.
Candy Cool was a cunt.
Her daughter’s eyes begged for compassion. Gone was the strong, confident young woman who threw organic produce into a Vitamix on a YouTube channel watched by thousands
of other preteens. She was a scared little girl who needed her mother.
“Darling, do you still think that Candy is Harper Martin?”
Annabel shook her head from side to side.
“No. Harper is the worst, but she can barely use a computer. She couldn’t make these.”
“Do you have any idea who is?”
“No. Harper is like the meanest girl in the class but she isn’t this mean. The message posted after this was even worse.”
“What did it say?”
“She said, ‘Your mom thinks you are ugly because you don’t look like her.’ ”
It took all of Imogen’s strength not to scream out loud right then and there. Instead she softened her voice all the more.
“You know I don’t think that, right?”
Annabel didn’t nod. Instead she looked away.
“Sometimes I think you wish that I were as pretty as you.”
“Annabel. Stop it. You aren’t as pretty as me. You’re prettier than me. You’re beautiful. Do you know what I would give to have this gorgeous curly head of hair like yours or your perfect olive skin? I have this terrible pasty white skin that turns red the second I go into the sun. You’re the most beautiful little girl I’ve ever seen. I don’t know who this bully is. We’ll find out. I promise.”
She would let Alex play bad cop. She had to get her daughter out of here.
“Let’s go home.”
Annabel allowed Imogen to hold her hand as they walked out of the office.
Eve looked pointedly at them as they left, a smile lingering at her lips that Imogen just couldn’t interpret.
—
Once Imogen assured her daughter there was no truth to anything this bully said about their relationship, Annabel panicked that her parents would take away her YouTube channel.
“I love it. You can’t take it away. It’s my most favorite thing in the world.”
“Annabel. I don’t want you putting yourself out there like this right now. You’re so young.”
“Everyone does it! You put yourself out there on Instagram. You put yourself out there with the magazine. This is my thing. Please let me have my thing. The people who watch my videos are my friends. Maybe I don’t know them in real life, but they’re my friends and I need friends. It isn’t like you and Dad are ever around.”