Fifty Is Not a Four-Letter Word by Linda Kelsey Read Free Book Online Page A

ring—presented on
     a beach in Mauritius—soon to be swapped for a little something from Stephen Webster, Madonna’s favorite jeweler. The girl
     she’s sharing this with has just discovered her boyfriend is screwing someone else. The reassuring sound of lipsticks and
     mascaras and eye shadows being jiggled in makeup bags. Thirtysomethings with their altogether different agendas: hassles with
     babysitters and child minders and even “Do you think Hope would let me go part-time? I’m so tired I can hardly stand up.”
     “Well, she can hardly say no when that’s exactly what
Jasmine
campaigns for every single issue.” Fortysomethings? All the fortysomethings are on the top floor. Fiftysomethings? You’ve
     got to be joking.
    And then Tanya, lovely, ever discreet Tanya. “Where’s Hope?” I can hear the fashion editor ask her. “Oh, she just popped up
     to see Simon. Be back soon.” In fact, I’ve been gone for fifty minutes, which is highly unusual, as Simon has a twenty-minutes-only
     policy for all but board meetings. Tanya has been asking herself, “Where’s Hope?” for at least half an hour and is beginning
     to worry in the manner of a mother whose child is late from school.
    I can’t stay here all day. I’ve got to get to my girls before he does. My girls. Even the two boys among my staff are my girls.
    • • •
    All is quiet. I peek round the door of the cubicle, step outside, and grab a paper towel. After dousing it with liquid soap,
     I remove the mascara smudges from underneath my eyes. My handbag is in my office, and I can’t do full repairs without my kit.
     I look awful. I run the cold water and sloosh my face, then dab it gently with another paper towel, trying to avoid removing
     the last vestiges of makeup. Okay, this should be enough to get me into my office. This time, as I stride purposefully back
     across the open-plan floor, I fling neither casual hi’s nor smiles, keeping my eyes straight ahead.
    “Just give me five minutes, Tanya, no interruptions, then come in and see me.”
    Tanya looks at me, her face a question mark, then merely nods.
    I close the door and get out my armor. Eye-whitening drops, lip- and eyeliner, YSL Touche Éclat to deflect light from the
     shadows under my eyes. A comb. Looking the part helps. This time I really do have to be strong. Not for me but for them.
    Five minutes later, Tanya knocks quietly and enters before I can answer.
    “Close the door, please,” I say.
    She sits down with me at the small round conference table, hub of the magazine, home—over the past eight years—to hundreds
     of discussions, debates, heated arguments, and heart-to-hearts.
    “Something awful’s happened.” My right hand is resting on the table, and Tanya instinctively reaches out to cover it with
     hers. “
Jasmine
is to be relaunched with Mark as editor. I’ve no idea how many of the staff will lose their jobs, but there is one thing
     I am absolutely determined to make happen. Mark will need an assistant. We both know he’s using a temp at the moment. And
     you’re the girl for the job. He’ll let you fuss over him to your heart’s content, but more important, I really think that
     the new
Jasmine
will be right up your street. Promise me, Tanya, promise me you’ll give it a go.”
    Tanya’s lower lip is trembling; her eyes are welling up. “But Hope, this is too terrible. I couldn’t even begin to think of
     working for Mark. Not after working for you. Why are they doing this? What’s going to happen to you?”
    I gently remove her hand from on top of mine and place it between both my hands, taking control of the situation.
    “Tanya, it’s just the way of the world. It’s unfair, it’s unjust, but it’s business. Although bad business, I can guarantee.
     I’ll fight all I can to save as many jobs as possible. Me? God, I could do with a break. I’ve been doing this for nearly thirty
     years. Who knows, I may decide to become a geologist. The