AREA 47

SECTION 89:

COURTNEY, Chapter 8

Nearly all the important fashion magazines are based in New York City.  But not the biggest.  Big Town had its headquarters in Century City, Southern California.

The Editor and Publisher of Big Town, Tyne Peck Geyerman, was one of the most influential women in the world.  Some male chauvinist clowns maintained that Women’s Lib owed its success to TPG; that if she hadn’t thrown her full support behind Josie Alt’s On Top magazine, that the Women’s Liberation movement would have been doomed to exist only in the fringe areas, instead of bludgeoning through the mainstream media.  On Top magazine was flat-out feminism, balls to the wall——(correction)——tubes to the acoustic tile feminism, and took the definition beyond what Webster had in mind, namely that women were superior to men (Period!).  This was strong medicine for Vietnam weary, sexist, male dominated America.  Tyne Peck Geyerman’s publishing empire was a bit more restrained in its goal of attaining political, economic, and professional equality for women; and her various magazines (most notably, Big Town, and Metro Woman) obviously wished to coexist with the enemy through peaceful negotiation, rather than open warfare.

But when Byron Reed was ushered into her expansive, elegant office, his first thought was: How the hell can Lancôme call her Tiny?

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Reed liked the office building.  It was no nonsense, functional beauty, with just enough colorful frills to suggest the feminine accent.  But CRIMINEY, the way everyone rushed around and moved quickly!  It was like a beehive knocked over by a bear: rooms of people hyper-kinetic with energy; everybody rushing, hurrying.

Reed was cleanly cared for, while he waited for the actual meeting.  Although he was a nobody from publishing’s point of view, his connection with Lancôme was sufficient to obtain the short meeting.  Reed was shown to a comfortable waiting room, and one of TPG’s male assistants kept him company for the twenty-five minute wait.  The only unbusy guy in the building.  But obviously, he was guilty at not being expended to his potential, and took it out on Reed.

“Can I get you some coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

“Something to read perhaps?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks.”

“Shall I turn on the television?  Let’s see, I believe local news is on, or maybe . . .”

“Hey, give me a break, pal.”

But, minutes later, as Tyne Peck Geyerman came around her delicate desk of intricate carved wood, and firmly shook Byron Reed’s hand with a feminine but strong grip, meeting his eyes at eye level, Reed found himself solidly impressed with this older and wiser woman of substance.  He felt like a dubious citizen who had dared to breach an audience with the Queen.  For a moment he was even self-conscious about his long hair——something he rarely even thought about anymore, although it had once been an ever present statement of rebellion.

Rather than a working woman’s suit, she wore an expensive russet cashmere sweater, the sleeves bunched up for work, and a simple gray skirt.  Her casual, low black heels still put her at Reed’s height.

Yes, no nonsense, that was the watchword with this woman.  She exuded that casual relaxed air of someone who completely dominates their surroundings . . . the same look that old man Rendy at dB Records had had about him.  Reed knew that he would never be able to be that relaxed about holding such power.  He knew he had never had it, even as a temporary CEO, himself.

Reed found himself dazed through the banal introductions and pleasantries.

She indicated a large leather chair for him, and returned behind her desk, expectantly.  “How may I help you?  Or what may I do for you, Mr. Reed?”

Reed didn’t answer immediately.

He suddenly felt like a complete idiot.  She was going to laugh him right out of her office.  She was going to think he was a complete nut.  Probably she had already committed herself to using Julie Dayton for the Tomboy image girl.  Why not?  Julie Dayton was the highest paid model in the world, a blond with a ravishing look-at-me complexion, and a spunky, aggressive personality that exploded across the pages of magazines worldwide.  Reed didn’t know TPG at all, and he was trying to do a number on her.  The odds had to be worse than one in ten, for success.  But that thought brightened him.  Hell, 10% is 10%.

He smiled.

Reed brought the mock-up of Tomboy magazine out of the giant manila folder that kept it hid.  Courtney was the girl on the cover.  Reed turned the prototype upside down——right side up for her——and plopped it down on the neat surface of her desk, for her to see.

“You’re looking at the Tomboy cover girl,” Reed said.

COURTNEY, Chapter 9

Copyright 2005 Area 47