“She’s my age,” Rose said with a dissatisfied look. “We can’t do that for September. We can use her later.”
Their most hard-edged senior stylist, Charity Bennett, had another suggestion, and made herself heard shortly after the meeting started. Rose frequently had run-ins with her, but respected her style and quick mind, and Charity often took them the extra mile to something truly avant-garde. She was young and daring. Rose always kept a leash on her so she didn’t take them too far. Charity had jet-black hair, a sharp ivory-white face, and was never afraid of going toe-to-toe with the editor-in-chief. Rose admired her for it, and listened to what she had to say. Even if Rose wasn’t crazy about her personally, the pepper and spice she contributed to their editorials were a good wake-up call to help them stay ahead of current trends.
“What about Pascale Solon?” Charity suggested. “She’s twenty-two years old, spectacular looking, and she just won every prize there was at the Cannes Film Festival for her new film. She’s having a white-hot affair with Nicolas Bateau, who wrote the book the movie was based on. He’s forty-two, nearly twice her age, and they were the big item in Cannes. He made it very obvious that he’s having an affair with her. He’s married of course, and the biggest bestselling author in France. Everyone says she’s going to win an Oscar for the film, and for sure a Golden Globe,” the award given by the foreign press, which often presaged how the Academy would vote for the Oscars. “She’s young, she’s new, and one of the most sensational-looking girls I’ve ever seen. She’s so sexy, she has an almost innocent pornographic quality to her. She makes Lolita look like Minnie Mouse. What do you think?” She looked straight at Rose, who sat quietly, expressionless, thinking and not reacting for a minute. At times, Rose was inscrutable, until she wished to share her thoughts.
“She’s a possibility,” was all Rose would concede. When there was something about an idea she didn’t like, she became Sphinx-like. To those who knew her well, she was obviously not sold on the idea. And if they couldn’t get Rose on board, they all knew it wasn’t going to happen. Rose had to believe in the decisions she made.
“If we don’t get her, Vogue will,” Charity said, knowing that that might make Rose want to grab Pascale before someone else did. Charity knew that Rose never let Mode stoop to tabloid journalism, but they were not above touching lightly on some tantalizing detail of a subject’s personal life, without taking it too far. Rose had rules and set boundaries she expected her editors to respect. She would only agree to what they wrote if it was confirmed as fact, and would not tolerate editorials in the magazine that were handled in a sleazy way. She hated filth and idle gossip. The magazine was about fashion, not peeping into their subjects’ occasionally unsavory lives. If they were famous, they usually had secrets. Charity Bennett always tried to push Rose beyond that line, and when sufficiently annoyed by it, Rose didn’t hesitate to push back. This time, she didn’t comment, she just pursed her lips, which everyone in the room knew was a warning sign to back off.
“We can’t base our interest in her on an affair with a famous writer,” Rose finally commented. “By the time the September book comes out, it could be over anyway. The film just came out. Four months from now she may be sleeping with someone else, and we’ll be old news and look foolish.” She hated publishing gossip, as they all knew, and steered clear of it whenever possible. They did serious articles and interviews about the direction of their subjects’ careers and lifestyles, and an affair with a married man, even a famous one, was not enough to convince Rose to put Pascale on the cover. But there was no question, Pascale Solon had become a major star overnight, in a tough role that she had handled brilliantly. And Nicolas Bateau had been the co-producer and director, and had apparently been coaching her in his spare time. He had gotten a fabulous performance out of her. Rose hadn’t heard about the affair until Charity brought it up. It was just the kind of salacious information and innuendo that Charity thrived on. Rose wanted a fashion story on the cover, not a tell-all piece.
“The affair may not be over as fast as you think,” Charity persisted. “There’s a rumor that she’s pregnant, so we may be right on target with the story in September.” She was smug, as another editor rolled her eyes.
“Oh please, don’t give me another cover of a naked star with a big round belly on the cover. I’d rather see the First Lady in one of her navy blue suits and a white blouse with a bow. We can’t do another pregnant star,” Rose said, starting to seem annoyed.
“It won’t show if we shoot her now.” Charity gave her a quelling look, as Rose went down a list of someone else’s suggestions, none of which grabbed her either.
“What about Michaela Lim?” Rose said, distracted. She was another new young star, and had just delivered a brilliant performance in a recent movie.
“Next year,” Charity countered. “No one’s heard of her yet. She’s not nearly as glamorous as Pascale. And she really is too young. She just turned nineteen. She needs to be more seasoned before we put her on September.” Rose nodded agreement. She had a valid point. “Let’s face it, Nicolas Bateau is a hunk, and if he leaves his wife for Pascale Solon, it’s going to be news around the world, and our September issue is going to be the hottest issue on the stands. I want to grab that,” Charity said with dogged determination. Pascale was heartbreakingly beautiful, and there was no denying that she would look fabulous in anything they put her in. It was a no-brainer, but Rose didn’t like it.
“It will also seem as though we endorse infidelity, and men cheating on their wives. This is America, Charity. Americans don’t like men who cheat. This isn’t France.” Charity had worked for a French fashion magazine before coming to Mode, and it came dangerously close to tabloid journalism. Rose’s face was expressionless and her tone cold when she turned her electric-blue gaze on the senior stylist who was so determined to put Pascale on the cover. “We’re not a tabloid or a movie magazine,” Rose reminded her sternly. “There are plenty of other magazines to cover that. Let’s not forget who we are.” Charity looked frustrated, and they went on to other details of the issue that had to be decided in the coming weeks. When the meeting ended, they hadn’t agreed on the cover yet.
“I think he’s fooled around before,” Charity said, as the meeting came to a close. “I forget who he’s married to, someone ordinary but nice looking. I think she’s a writer or a journalist or something.”
“She’s a well-known interior designer,” Rose corrected her. “And they have young children. I don’t like the story.” She stood up, which was the signal for all of them to go back to work. The meeting had lasted for two hours, and they had covered considerable ground on other points. There were a million component parts to their big issue. In the end, the final decisions would be made by Rose, but they all knew that without exception, Rose did what was best for Mode, and had unfailing instincts for what that was, whatever her personal opinions. They respected her for it, even Charity, who didn’t agree with her in this instance. Their other options all seemed like such a bore to her. She was the youngest of the senior staff, and on most occasions, Rose liked the spice she brought to it, but not this time.