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SOMEONE KNOWS - Chapter 1 Valerie Olivier-Long accepted a glass of wine, avoided the eye of a recently unemployed art director angling for a job and headed directly across the ballroom floor of the Four Seasons hotel. Around her, camera's flashed, celebrities laughed, posed, preened. The event was the National Magazine Award ceremony. Vanity Fair had won, not Panache. No surprise, considering the inner chaos at the magazine, but she'd come tonight with a scrap of hope that Panache might, just might, defy the odds.
Being a bit superstitious, Valerie thought she probably shouldn't have worn the cat pin. Forget how perfect it looked perched on the shoulder of her black dress, its diamond eyes twinkling, black cats meant bad luck.
She smiled as she approached her friend, Roxanne Fielding, former super model turned photographer. "Having fun yet?" she asked.
"About as much as you," Roxanne replied, arching one elegant eyebrow. She raised the camera in her hands and focused on Valerie. "Smile."
Flash. "Don't waste film on me, Rox. Publishing's heavy-hitters are here tonight as well as a ton of celebrities. I saw Gwyneth Paltrow and Nic Cage a few minutes ago."
"Together?"
"No, silly. Although I suppose that would be news. Get shots of them and anybody else who's somebody and we'll do a feature on this event in the next issue. That'll show we're not sore losers."
With the camera still focused on Valerie's face, Roxanne smiled. "Do you ever quit working?"
"Do you?" A couple of years ago as Roxanne's modeling career declined, she'd picked up a camera and found her true calling. Her photographs could be riveting, although an event such as this hardly posed much of a challenge. Still, it was the kind of thing the public gobbled up. And the stuff that sold copies of Panache.
"I've shot at least a dozen rolls and there's some good stuff. I swear I'll offer them to Talk if Liz doesn't pay me decently."
"Over my dead body."
Roxanne lowered the Nikon and began removing a film cartridge. "Speaking of the dead, wasn't that Wayne Coulter I saw breathing hard on you a few minutes ago?"
Valerie laughed softly without taking offense. Dr. Wayne Coulter was the cardiovascular surgeon she'd been seeing fairly often lately, but in spite of Wayne's increasing insistence, she was reluctant to take the relationship to the next level. She wasn't sure why she was holding out. He was attractive, well-mannered, extremely eligible and didn't seem to have any obvious objectionable habits. "He invited me to a house party at his place in the Hamptons, but I think I'll pass. I'm just not interested in a sexual relationship right now."
"Or at any other time since your divorce."
Valerie's smile was wry. "And who is your date tonight, Rox?" Roxanne was even less inclined to a serious commitment than Valerie.
"I've got one, which is more than you can say." The reloading done, Roxanne tucked the cartridge in a shoulder bag. "I'm with a friend of Eric's."
"Oh? Anyone interesting?"
"Actually, yes. Very interesting." Roxanne scanned the crowd, searching for her date. "I'd introduce you, but it's impossible to keep track of anybody in this crowd."
Roxanne's sexual partners seemed to change almost daily, so it was impossible to keep her current love life straight. If one of Roxanne's relationships developed, Valerie was sure to hear about it from Eric Johns, her personal assistant.
"Maybe later you can join us," Roxanne said. "We're planning to--"
"Valerie!" A petite redhead swerved close and quickly air-kissed Valerie's cheek. She made a little moue of sympathy. "That award should be yours. Next time, darling..." Waving cheerily, she plowed on toward the bar.
"Speaking of the crowd, have you seen Liz?" Roxanne asked as a photographer from another of Panache's arch-rivals, Talk, took a shot of Valerie, then gave a casual high-five and moved on to Rox.
"No, I haven't, have you?"
"She's not here."
"I can't imagine why." Liz Chopin was Panache's editor-in-chief. She micro-managed every facet of the magazine's operation, so it was extremely unusual for her to miss an event as important as the NMA ceremony. "It must be something personal, otherwise, she'd be here."
Roxanne lifted the camera to get a shot of Tina Brown talking with an executive of Miramax. "Liz not being here is more than odd, it's positively fateful. I thought you might have some scoop."
"I haven't a clue." Which was true. She and Liz were friends, but she wasn't blind to the problems at the magazine stemming from Liz's management style. Valerie, as senior features editor, was careful to say nothing, but lately, there were troubling internal signs. More and more decisions were delayed, features were sidelined awaiting approval, missed opportunities were piling up. More maddening to Valerie was Liz's tendency to avoid controversial topics, thus earning for Panache a reputation for mediocrity. It was especially frustrating since Valerie was brimming over with ideas which never saw the light of day. So far, however, Hal Kurtz, chairman and CEO of the Kurtz-Whitman media empire, showed no sign of recognizing Liz's shortcomings.
"My money says our editor and friend is living on borrowed time," Roxanne continued as she focused the lens on Christopher Hitchins and Dominick Dunne chatting beside a potted palm. She took the shot, then lowered the camera to fiddle with an attachment. "I know you like her, Val, but she's a drag on the magazine. Hal Kurtz needs to find the balls to fire her before it's too late to breathe new life into the magazine. Then the door would be open to someone new--such as yourself--to change its image."
"Thanks, Rox, but I don't see that happening anytime soon," Valerie said dryly. She'd like to capture the top spot at the magazine, but she didn't want to see Liz terminated.
"Then you'll be the only one surprised when it does."
"And I do have a date tonight," Valerie said, eager to change the subject.
"Attending the awards event with the boss isn't a date." Roxanne looked beyond her where Hal Kurtz stood with a couple of publishing's heavy hitters. "But I suppose that explains why he's been craning his neck in this direction for the past few minutes. He looks like a pro sports referee waving at you like that."
Valerie gave her wineglass to a passing waiter. "He must be ready to leave. He said something about dinner at Le Cirque later."
"Without Liz?"
"Maybe she'll meet us there." Valerie leaned forward and kissed Roxanne on the cheek. "See you Monday."
Valerie made her way through the glitzy crowd toward Hal. Meeting her gaze, he signaled with a nod of his head that he was indeed ready to leave. Now that it was time to go, she realized she was hungry, not having eaten anything all day except an apple and a yogurt Eric had plunked in front of her during a conference call at two o'clock in the afternoon. Dinner at Le Cirque would be nice.
"Let's get out of here," Hal said as she approached. Then he turned to his companion, a tall man with broad shoulders and cool gray eyes who looked as if he'd been born to wear a tux. "You've met Jordan Case, haven't you?"
Valerie's heart skipped a beat. Any appetite she had died. Jordan Case. Even with losing out to Vanity Fair, Valerie had managed to find some pleasure in this event until now.
Not waiting for her reply, Hal nudged her through the crowd. "My limo's out front. I've invited Jordan to join us."
Worse yet. Why? For Hal's benefit, Valerie and Jordan exchanged smiles, hers tight, his bland.
"He mentioned the feature in last months' Panache about the rise of investment scams on the Internet," Hal said. "I told him the feature was your idea. There's Franklin," he said, spotting his chauffeur, and still clutching her elbow, he guided her through the hotel's entrance to the car. Once the three of them were inside, Valerie avoided looking directly at Jordan.
"How've you been, Valerie?" He was coolly polite.
"Very well. Thanks." Much better than the last time she'd seen him. "You?"
"Great. Fine."
Seated opposite them, Hal crossed his legs and surveyed them, his fingers linked around one knee. "You two aren't still sulking over that business with the special projects editor, are you? What was her name? Jennifer? Jocelyn?"
"Jacquelyn," Valerie said shortly.
"I never sulk," said Jordan, his tone faintly mocking.
Suggesting that she did? Valerie struggled to speak without revealing an intense desire to knock the smile off his face and into next week. "Why would you sulk? It was no inconvenience to you having Jackie walk off the job in the middle of a deadline." Jordan had scoured New York publishing to find the best special projects editor to add to the staff of his fledgling magazine, Access, settling finally on Jacquelyn Pearson. Then he'd coolly offered her obscenely more than what she was making at Panache. It had been hellish trying to finish that issue without her. In fact, it had been Valerie who'd stepped into the breach, doing her job and Jacky's.
"Still expecting loyalty from your employees in this business, are you?" Jordan taunted.
She stared at him then in profound distaste, wishing her boss weren't watching and listening so avidly. Of course, Hal couldn't know that the incident with Jacquelyn was only the final encounter Valerie had had with Jordan. By the time he had gotten around to stealing Jackie, she'd already personally experienced his ruthlessness. But thankfully no one knew anything about that except Jordan and her, and she intended it to stay that way.
"I hope the level of hostility I'm feeling doesn't set a tone for the future," Hal said, and gazed out the window as the limo crawled up Madison. "It won't make the jobs I've got in mind for either of you easy."
Valerie looked at Jordan, but found nothing in his expression to explain Hal's statement. Hal still stared out the window, silent now. She'd have to wait until they got inside the restaurant to find out what was going on.
Her bewilderment increased when Hal ordered champagne as soon as they were seated. What was going on? If Jordan weren't present, she would have asked Hal outright. And where was Liz?
There was a muted pop as the bottle of champagne was uncorked. "Liz has tendered her resignation," Hal said, as if reading her thoughts.
Valerie blinked. She looked at Jordan, who sat relaxed, watching her and toying with the stem of his glass. Hal waited until the waiter left them, then added, "She feels her usefulness to the magazine has ended. She'll be pursuing other interests."
Valerie had argued with Liz over a feature only moments before leaving the office that day. Liz hadn't acted like an editor who was quitting.
"You seem surprised," Hal said.
"Yes." And chilled. Liz would never have walked away willingly. She was blind to her shortcomings as an editor. Valerie had tried every way she knew to persuade Liz to move away from the stuffy issues that characterized her work. She'd longed to broaden the appeal of the magazine, but Liz had stubbornly refused anything hinting at innovation or risk. Still, to get the ax out of the blue was...devastating. Valerie could only imagine how shattering it would be. And humiliating. Poor Liz.
"I wish her well," she said quietly.
"Of course. Now..." Hal lifted his glass. "How would you feel taking over as editor of Panache?"
Her mouth dropped. How would she feel? Stunned. Flattered. Thrilled. Almost dizzy with delight. Only an hour ago, she'd been thinking what she would do in Liz's place. Now she was being offered a chance to try out her ideas. It was a dream come true.
"It's yours if you want it," Hal said.
She glanced at Jordan and wondered why he was here. He was certainly no friend of hers. A closer look told her the offer was not news to him. What did he have to do with Panache? With Kurtz-Whitman, for that matter? Access magazine hadn't been a K-W enterprise.
"I think Hal's waiting for a yes or a no," Jordan said in that low, I-know-everything tone.
Valerie quickly turned back to Hal. "I'm just taken by surprise, Hal. I had no idea that Liz was leaving. And of course I'd feel honored to take over."
"Then you've got the job." Hal smiled benevolently and clinked his glass against hers.
"You probably have some ideas about changing things," Jordan said when they'd finished their toast.
"Is that so unusual?" She wondered again why it was any of his business what she'd do at the magazine.
"Not unusual at all. Maybe you'd care to share a few of those ideas with us."
"Perhaps I should explain Jordan's interest," Hal said. "I've done some reorganization across the board. Not only will there be some changes at Panache, but I've done the same thing at Kurtz-Whitman. I believe new ideas and new approaches at the top will strengthen my whole publishing organization. With that in mind, I've hired Jordan to help make that happen. He'll be associate publisher and will answer directly to me. I hope you two will work well together."
"We'll be fine, Hal," Jordan said, not looking at Valerie.
"Yes, well..." Hal shifted to the left to allow the waiter to place a salad in front of him. "I didn't get that impression in the car, but I'm going to give you both the benefit of the doubt and see how it goes."
"Exactly what form will Jordan's authority take in relation to my authority at Panache?" Valerie asked carefully, not looking at Jordan. She suspected he was enjoying her dismay.
"I don't think he'll cramp your style, Valerie." Hal spread herb butter liberally on a crust of bread. "But he'll have final say on all publications under the K-W umbrella, Panache included. This includes--if he chooses to get involved--content, layout, hiring and firing, even article assignments."
She felt her heart sink. It was worse than she thought. "Do you realize what that means, Hal? He's essentially the editor, not me."
"Only if he believes you're taking Panache in a questionable direction." He chewed the crusty bread while she fumed. "Do you find the terms of the job unacceptable?"
"I find the terms uncomfortable," she said, proceeding with caution. Everything she'd worked for was almost in her grasp. A knee-jerk reaction to Jordan would jeopardize everything. "I would be less than honest to say otherwise. But we're both professionals and, as Jordan says, we'll be fine."
"Good, good." Hal motioned for more champagne. "Now, let's drink to a smooth transition, both at K-W and at Panache, and to a friendly relationship developing between the both of you."
Valerie only pretended to drink.
It was difficult not to pick up the phone and call Sara the minute Valerie got home and tell her news. But it was after midnight and nobody welcomed a call at that hour, no matter what the occasion, not even a daughter. Still, she was tempted. It was such a delicious thing. Editor of Panache.
Success, however, had come at a high price. She'd spent eight long years at the magazine, working her way through a variety of jobs, neglecting her marriage, shortchanging Sara when her workdays sometimes lasted ten, twelve hours, even more at times of crucial deadlines. No surprise, then, that her marriage had been a casualty of her ambition, ending after only four years. Andrew Long had finally walked out complaining that she had only two passions in life--her daughter, Sara, and Panache. It was one thing, he told her, to play second fiddle to a daughter, but no man should be expected to tolerate coming in third after a magazine. Once he was gone, she focused even more passionately on getting to the top in the publishing world.
Now she was editor of Panache.
The only other person in her life who would understand what that meant was Janine Livaudais. But her old friend was now lost in the fog of Alzheimer's. Janine no longer recognized her or Sara after devoting over twenty years of her life to them. She had been Valerie's mainstay, capable of doing everything--driving, marketing, shopping, managing their home--and then her brain had simply shut down. Valerie still had difficulty accepting the injustice of it. Janine, who'd once been a nun, was Valerie's mother, not in blood, but in every other sense of the word; she was the only grandmother Sara had ever known. The hole she left in their lives would never be filled, and tonight that loss was especially bitter.
With a sigh, she undressed and went to get her nightgown in the bathroom. She would have to save her news until tomorrow. She hoped Sara would be free for lunch. Her nightgown, usually behind the door, wasn't there. She stood looking about wondering if she, too, was getting forgetful. Stress, she decided with a shrug, thinking she must have tossed it in the laundry. Too many deadlines and too little down time.
Then she spotted the gown draped over the back of the chaise near her bed. Picking it up, she saw the delicate lace bodice was torn. How on earth had that happened without her knowing it? Had she torn it in her sleep last night? But surely she would have noticed. Or maybe Maria, who cleaned for her, had done it. But usually, if Maria damaged something, she left an apologetic note. However it had happened, it was ruined now, although how she could have missed seeing it as she took it off this morning was a mystery.
At the armoire, she chose another nightgown, her head buzzing with plans to make Panache the talk of the publishing world. Given half a chance, she believed she could breathe new life into the magazine and change it's stodgy image. It remained yet to be seen whether Jordan Case would be a problem.
In bed finally, she fell asleep and dreamed...not of Panache, but of Jordan Case.
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