Fairy Tale Interrupted by Rosemarie Terenzio Read Free Book Online Page B

turn into wallpaper. John worked to put people at ease—making reservations, writing thank-you notes, always following the proper protocol. He wanted to do things the right way, and so did I.

    As soon as John left my office, I picked up the phone to find out the name of the coolest maitre d’ in the world and send him the biggest bouquet of flowers I could afford. I was learning some manners of my own.

    While I was busy learning manners from the master and fending off lunatics, John and Michael continued courting investors for the magazine. We could have carpeted the office floor with rejection letters—all very sincere in their regret, mind you, but rejections nonetheless. And so we were psyched when Hachette Filipacchi, the media company behind magazines such as Elle and Car and Driver, called to request a second meeting. After taking a call from a representative for David Pecker, the CEO, who had said they were interested in making a deal, John hung up with a combination of shock and sheer relief on his face.

    “Wow. This might be it,” he said.

    The months of knocking on people’s doors asking for money had taken a toll on John and Michael, two rich guys not used to going around town with their hats in their hands. All theskepticism and doubt brought on by rejection finally gave way to the possibility that their wacky magazine idea might actually change the world—and I would be part of it.

    Unless . . . that’s when a terrible thought and very real possibility dawned on me: What if John and Michael don’t take me with them to Hachette? We’d never discussed the scope of my job, neither its duties nor its timeline. Maybe, once they got the magazine up and running, they planned on dumping me for someone with more experience or a better education. What do they need me for? Why wouldn’t they want someone more corporate, with some magazine experience? I thought. The feeling crystallized when John and Michael said they were heading out for a celebratory drink and a strategy meeting.

    On my way home, I walked through the small park near the office to clear my head, but even the perfect fall weather couldn’t dispel my anxiety. By the time I opened the door to my apartment, I was in a total funk. I was convinced that I was back at square one; only now when I revised my résumé I’d have to put the title of assistant down as my current position instead of publicist. The white walls of my apartment had never felt smaller.

    I had to talk to someone about my situation. The trouble was, not many people knew the identity of my current employer—except for Frank and my family, and Frank wasn’t exactly a model career counselor. John hadn’t asked me to, but I’d kept my role as his assistant secret from most people. I didn’t want random friends asking me for autographed photos or out-of-the-way favors. More important, I was nervous about inadvertently leaking secret information to the wrong person.So I erred on the paranoid side when it came to concealing my job, telling my friends that I was working for a new PR firm.

    Once while talking to a guy I wanted to impress, I bragged that I worked for a magazine.

    “Oh, which one?” he asked.

    I panicked then and tried to dodge the question. “It’s not one you’ve ever heard of,” I replied dismissively.

    “Try me.”

    I racked my brain. “ The Congressional Research Tribune .”

    “No, I’ve never heard of that,” he said slowly. “Sounds technical.”

    “It’s based out of DC” was all I could muster, and he instantly lost interest.

    Okay, so I wasn’t CIA material. All I knew was that if the press found out John was shopping a magazine, the leak wouldn’t come from me. While I was learning all the nuances of being a discreet and dedicated assistant, I hadn’t yet learned how to advocate for myself.

    So I picked up the phone and called the one person I knew wouldn’t ask a lot of annoying questions.

    “Hey, Dad,” I said into the