was a losing battle; I knew it. “Okay,” I conceded, “I’ll tone them down.” I’d use “wanker” instead of penis, then. I’d find ways to keep them Jill quality. I started to get up.
“That’s not all,” Ellen said, and I shrank back down in the chair, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “We need to get you a managing editor in place right away.”
“I agree,” I said, relieved, thinking the worst was over. “I’ve got a pile of great resumes on my desk.”
“There’s someone in particular whom I would like you to see,” Ellen said. “I’ve already set up an appointment for you to meet her. Three P.M. Tomorrow.”
“Fine,” I said, looking at my watch. “If that’s all, I really need to—”
“That’s not all,” Liz said, her eyes demanding that I keep my ass firmly planted in the Eames.
Ellen gave me a half smile. I was squirming inside, but there was no way I would let it show. Something bigger was afoot, though I couldn’t imagine what it could be.
“The magazine needs to look more mainstream,” Ellen said, as she again fiddled with her hair band.
Mainstream. The word made me want to unleash a primal scream. Jill was the antithesis of mainstream. My magazine had full-on fatty recipes instead of diets; makeunders instead of makeovers; disarmingly revealing celebrity profiles instead of fawning puff pieces; and writers who were a bright band of personalities, not just bylines.
“I’m not saying the magazine has to be mainstream,” Ellen went on, as my blood boiled. “It just has to look a little more mainstream.”
“It needs a total redesign!” Liz blurted.
That was it. “What?!” I exclaimed, so bewildered that my jaw nearly fell into my lap. “That’s just not necessary!”
“It’s not open for negotiation, Jill,” Liz barked nastily. “It’s an absolute must. And it needs to be done in six weeks.”
“Six weeks?!” I was approaching primal scream pitch, so much so I thought I’d shatter Ellen’s sparkly glass windows. This time I stood. I clasped my hands together so they could not see them shaking. As much as I hated confrontation, I had worked way too hard to be talked to this way. “Why six weeks? There’s no way!”
“There’s always a way,” Ellen purred, keeping her cool. “I’ve seen it done, even more drastically, in less time.”
“I need it to sell for January,” Liz snapped. “That’s why it needs to be done in six weeks.”
Ellen went on, “So let’s get ourselves a new managing editor. And let’s get the redesign under way. Asap.”
I was speechless. I didn’t know how to respond. I just stood there staring at her in shock, still convinced there was no way.
“The woman I want you to see is from a small publication, New Jersey Lighthouses. But she’s vastly talented,” Ellen went on, tidying her desk and not giving me another glance.
Liz continued to glower, adding, “You’ll see; new blood will be good for Jill.”
A lump started in my throat. A lump of rage that I knew would eventually manifest into tears. New Jersey Lighthouses? Were they on crack? Even worse—a redesign? In six weeks?!
“No, I don’t think so,” I said, shaking my head. “I think Jill is fine the way it is. I don’t understand why you’re trying to turn it into exactly what it’s not supposed to be. Jill isn’t Charisma!”
“It certainly isn’t. And like Liz mentioned,” Ellen said, “it’s not up for discussion, Jill.”
A small laugh escaped my throat. I didn’t really mean it to, and I certainly didn’t feel amused, but it was all so absurd. They had to listen to me. Didn’t they? I was the magazine’s creator and founder; it was based entirely on my vision. I was Jill. They weren’t. And there was nothing they could do about that.
Ellen finally met my eyes. Calmly, quietly, she folded her hands together on her desk. It seemed she was reading my mind. “I understand that Jill is your baby, dear,” she said, trying to soothe me, “but the magazine’s personality doesn’t have to be so tied to yours.”
There it was. The other Manolo Blahnik had dropped. And it was a particularly pointy, spiky-heeled one. And I couldn’t believe what I was feeling. I was hurt. That was a direct insult to me. They didn’t like my magazine because they didn’t like me. Not only did I want to cry; I wanted to quit right on the spot. But I quickly thought of the repercussions…
Josh hadn’t been working all that much lately. We had a hefty mortgage. And we were spending an obscene amount of money on fertility treatments. There couldn’t be a worse time for me to walk out. But I would be damned if I’d let them control my magazine.
“Six weeks,” I choked out in concession. “I’d better get started then. Is that all?”
“That’s all, Jill,” Ellen said, cheerily, while twisting her pearls. “I knew you’d understand, dear.”
As I left her office, I was shuddering inside, holding back the tears that were welling and threatening to spill all over my loaner blouse. I was amazed at how much the Stepford Twins were able to shake me. And I hated myself for it. But I wouldn’t cry just then. I couldn’t. There was no way I’d give them that satisfaction.
I left the thirty-third floor as quickly as I could, but I was still in shock when the elevator hit eight. I couldn’t even spend time preparing for “the walk.” I just did it.
It was amazing how the “red-carpet walk” turned into a “perp walk” in just thirty minutes’ time. Which meant that Casey must have warned everyone to back off. As I passed the sea of cubicles, my staff members turned down their faces, like ostriches ready to bury their heads in the sand, instead of wearing the usual pounce-ready expressions. How much did they know? I was humiliated. But more than anything, I was pissed off.
Redesign. I had to do it. And there had to be a way to compromise. Approaching Casey, I called out, “Cancel every single meeting I have for the next few weeks,” before I sought refuge in my precious, albeit dumpy, four walls. I was never so thankful to have a door. I slammed it shut.
Casey tentatively tapped on it immediately after I closed it. “Every single meeting, Jill?” she asked gently, opening the door a crack and sticking her head in. “Are you sure? Even the ad calls?”
“Especially the ad calls,” I snapped, holding strong. While I did a redesign, Liz would have to sell ads for once.
Casey’s head disappeared as she quietly reclosed the door. I wanted to let the tears come right then, but I fought them. Because I knew when they came, they wouldn’t stop.
I spun around in my chair and studied the framed cover of Cheeky magazine, Jill’s predecessor. It was my very first cover as an editor-in-chief. Then I stared at the framed Time cover, with my beaming face looming over the words JILL WHITE, MEDIA WUNDERKIND. I sighed wistfully. Boy, was I young then! I barely even knew what I was doing. Back then, I was actually encouraged to be flippant and irreverent.
How times had changed.
Shaking off the memories, I finally got myself together and buzzed Casey.
“Hey,” she answered, concerned.
“Hey,” I said. “Whenever you’re ready, come on in and we’ll discuss the day.”
She hung up and within a second my door was opening. She had a hopeful smile on her face. “We’re getting barbecue for lunch if you want in,” she said, knowing hush puppies might cheer me up.
I thought on it. “Maybe,” I said, “but I’m not all that hungry.”
Her voice became suddenly singsong