Little Pink Slips Read Online Free PDF

—that's what she wants to call the magazine— could be like minting money," Darlene concluded.
       "Like Darlene says, this could be just the ticket for Lady, " Jock chimed in. "Bebe is a marketing genius. When she plugs the South
    Beach Diet peanut butter cookies on her show, the next day cookies fly
    off the shelves. And she'd be willing to promote the magazine on air.
    Take a look."
    "Minting money," Darlene repeated. And again. And again, as if a
    computer chip had malfunctioned. Magnolia wanted to knock Dar
    lene on the head to get her to stop.
    The group opened their folders. Inside were four pages of article
    ideas, most of which Magnolia recognized as recycled from other
    magazines. But what stood out was the red type. Now that she was
    reading on, she saw that the color red, Bebe's signature hue—which
    extended to her hair—would be featured prominently throughout the
    magazine. Every cover would have a red background. The magazine
    would end with "Seeing Red," an essay Bebe planned to write herself,
    where she promised to "vent, no holds barred." Oh, yes, the world was
    waiting for a download of Bebe Blake's opinions, of that Bebe seemed
    to be sure.
       "The magazine that's well-red, that's the kicker Bebe wants," Darlene said. "Genius, no?"
    Okay, joke's over, Magnolia thought. Everyone is going to groan
    now, then toast my idea. She pictured confetti raining on her head. Apparently not.
    "Well, done, Darlene," Jock said. "But this isn't a dictatorship.
    I value the opinion of everyone in this room. Tell me what you think.
    We know where Darlene stands, so we'll start with Milt."
    Milt Herman, one of the grand poobahs, was the son of Scary's
    former president and was the same guy who advised Magnolia, based
    on an obscure study from 1987, never to use a celebrity's photo if her
    teeth were parted. When she'd ignored that dictum with a laughing shot of Jennifer Aniston, she'd put out Lady' s best seller of the year. Milt had never forgiven her the success.
    "I go with Bebe. I see it as a huge win-win, just like Oprah's maga
    zine," he proclaimed.
    That's it. Oprah-envy, Magnolia thought. From its premiere
    issue—which needed to be printed twice because her fans snapped up
    all the copies in two days—Oprah Winfrey's magazine was the
    biggest triumph the magazine industry had seen in the last twenty
    five years. Every other company—and apparently Bebe, too—was
    jealous of Oprah's slam dunk.
    One by one, all the good soldiers fell in line praising the Bebe idea.
    Magnolia spoke last. "I beg you to reconsider," she said, trying to stay
    calm. "First, Bebe's not Oprah. Nobody is. Oprah's the closest thing
    this country has to a saint. You can trip any woman anywhere and she
    can explain what she stands for. If Oprah ran for president with Tom
    Hanks as VP, she'd win by a landslide."
    No one in the room said a word, so Magnolia went on.
    "Bebe doesn't stand for anything bigger than herself—she's just a
    collection of interests. Doughnuts, kittens, country music. Interests
    change."
    She was definitely on a roll. She thought about the photo shoot
    when Bebe wouldn't wear the designer clothes they'd had specially
    made in her size and relived the incident with Fredericka. Should she
    mention that Bebe was notoriously difficult to work with? Nah, her
    colleagues wouldn't care—that would be her problem. Besides, when
    ever you complained that someone else was a pain, people always assumed you w ere the difficult one.
    She flip-flopped about whether to go on, fearing that the head of
    Human Resources would crash through the door and haul her to P.C.
    court. But Magnolia had to say it.
    "Third, it's pretty much an open secret that Bebe is . . ." She
    searched for a delicate word. ". . . a player." Who was she kidding?
    She's a slut. "This doesn't bother any of us, but remember how our
    clients refused to place their ads next to that story we ran about the
    call girl who became a pediatric oncologist?