Little Pink Slips by Sally Koslow Page A

?" Magnolia ventured, hearing her voice squeak, but feeling incapable of lowering it.
    "Well, it's clever the way you do the product endorsement thing,
    your seal of approval."
       "That's Good Housekeeping. "
       "And I like that column, 'Can This Marriage Be Saved?' Read it all
    the time at the podiatrist's.
       "That would be Ladies' Home Journal. "
       "You ladies, you're all alike." Bebe snapped, although Magnolia had
    to admit that she'd heard the exact remark many times in focus groups. Which was why she'd planned a redesign of Lady with Harry James. She could feel her temples throb at the epic injustice of the
    whole situation.
    "I'm sure we can work out any little details later," Darlene broke
    in. "This is just get-acquainted time. Felicity, do you have anything
    you want to ask?" Felicity's voice was low, her manner confident, and her accent,
    decidedly northern English.
    "Only if Magnolia thought there would be anything unusually dif
    ficult about doing a magazine this way?"
    Magnolia wasn't entirely sure what answer she could cough up,
    other than that handing over the magazine to Bebe and/or Felicity
    was the worst idea since bald guys with ponytails. "Typically, a maga
    zine's editor in chief is a benign dictator," she responded. "What she
    says, goes. For better or worse, it's her vision, her success if the maga
    zine's a hit, her disaster if it bombs. In this case, the vision would be
    Bebe's. It's an unorthodox arrangement, but I'm sure there's a way to
    work it out."
    "Dictator?" Bebe said. "Sweet."

C h a p t e r 7

    Marshmallow and Mademoiselle

    Manhattan offered far posher nail salons than Think Pink, where the only frills were a bowl of miniature Snickers and two
    jade plants in the jaws of death. What the establishment lacked in lux
    ury it made up for in location, which was equidistant from Magnolia
    on West End and Abbey on Central Park West. The real draw, though,
    was its owner, Lily Kim, the mother of Ruthie Kim, Magnolia's fash
    ion director.
    In Korea, Lily had been a midwife. Here, she labored seven days a
    week in her shop, her real mission being to make sure that her daugh
    ter Ruthie achieved profound success. The tutors who helped Ruthie
    get into Stuyvesant High School—the Ferrari of New York City pub
    lic education—paid off when Wellesley gave her a full scholarship.
    While picking clothes and arranging fashion shoots wasn't quite what
    Lily had projected for her daughter—her ambition ran along the
    superhighway of concert cellist–Olympic skater–McKinsey consult
    ant—Lily had accepted Ruthie's choice. Now she made it her business
    to know Nina Ricci from Narciso Rodriguez, and she never hesitated
    to offer fashion advice or to comment on the appearance of Ruthie—
    or anyone else. "Maggie, you look tired," Lily announced, as she arranged Magno
    lia's polish shades: Marshmallow and Mademoiselle, one coat of each,
    to create the subtle pink of a blushing bride.
    "Week from hell," Magnolia responded. She had to be careful what
    she said, since every detail would bounce back to Ruthie. "But it's been
    worse for Abbey." She turned to her friend. "What's the late-breaking
    news?" she asked. This much Magnolia knew: as of 11:30 last night,
    Tommy was still MIA.
    Magnolia thought it a testament to the donation of her precious
    Ambien stash that Abbey had even shown up today for their weekly
    manicure. She'd bombarded her with calls to make sure she wasn't still home in her nightgown on a sunny afternoon watching You've Got Mail, w hich every single woman in Manhattan could lip-synch.
    "Got a message last night," Abbey said. "The prick's alive."
    Anger, Magnolia thought. Excellent. Abbey's still alive, too. "Where
    is he?" she asked.
    "Hiding in cyberspace," Abbey reported. "That's all I know." She
    blinked away a tear. Clearly, wrath was only a topcoat on a fragile base
    of fear, hurt, and anxiety.
    "What did he say?" Magnolia pressed on, while Lily quietly began
    filing