MOVING ON
By Lawndale Stalker
~*~
"Thanks for covering for me, Tiffany. I owe you one."
"Sandii, you owe me several. Anyway, I don抰 think Stacy believed me this tiime."
Still breathing heavily, Sandi Griffin sat down at her computer, which Tiffany had turned on for her, and called up the article she抎 been working on yesterday. She looked over to Tiffany in the cubicle across the aisle, and smiled reassuringly. "Don抰 worry, Tiffany dear. Stacy is our friend. Anyway, I can handle her."
Tiffany抯 return look was either dubious or disapproving. It was hard to tell with Tiffany, because she didn抰 use expressions that she thought might contribute to wrinkles. Saying nothing, Tiffany turned back to her computer and resumed typing. Sandi jumped to the end of her article and read the last two paragraphs to pick up the thread of her thought. Just as she placed her fingers on the keys, her phone rang. Muttering a bad word under her breath, she picked it up. "Sandi Griffin."
"Sandi, come to my office." It was Stacy.
Sandi thought about saying something, but decided against it. Instead, she rose and headed down the aisle in the direction of the editorial offices. Stacy抯 office was of course elegantly furnished and decorated, with a pair of matching bulbous-trunked potted palms and a set of exotic bromeliads for accents. Stacy looked up and saw Sandi approaching through her glass office wall, and beckoned her to enter.
The background noise nearly vanished as Sandi closed the office door behind her. She wondered how long it would take her to get an office like this. "Stacy, I know that article is late, but I抦 almost?
Stacy held up a hand to cut off Sandi抯 excuse. "Quinn wants to see you, Sandi." She picked up two layout sheets and resumed comparing them.
The walk across the break/lounge/waiting area seemed much longer this time than before. Sandi walked to the end of the short corridor, stopped before the all-glass door, and inhaled deeply. One word, in gold letters, in the magazine抯 title font, adorned the door. The word was "QUINN." Sandi pushed the door open, exhaled, and entered.
On the other side of the sumptuous outer office, the receptionist looked up. "Quinn will see you now," she said, gesturing to the massive, unadorned mahogany door that led to Quinn抯 inner office.
Quinn stood at the oversized picture window, taking in the magnificent view of Central Park over the tops of lesser skyscrapers, fashionable hotels and apartment buildings. She turned as Sandi entered. Quinn wore low-rider jeans of an unfamiliar cut and prefade pattern, held up with a rope in place of a belt, a short-sleeved gingham top with poufed shoulders tied to expose her midriff, palomino faux work boots, and no-makeup makeup. Her long red hair hung down her back in a ponytail, with two ringlets framing her face. A darling little gold baby bird with sapphire eyes peeked out of her navel. It was, Sandi knew instantly, the next new look.
"You wanted to see me, Quinn?"
"Not really, not like this," Quinn sighed. "Sandi, all of us here at QUINN magazine aren抰 just a working group, or even a family. We抮e almost like a single individual, a personification of today抯 teen. Smart, savvy, stylish, on the cutting edge of the latest trends. You might say I抦 the personification of that personification. That抯 my job. Your job is to keep QUINN ahead of the leading edge of clothing styles梒uts, colors, fabrics梖ar enough ahead so that, when the magazine hits the stands, the information is still prescient enough to keep our readers one step ahead of current fashion. You抮e not doing that job, Sandi."
"Quinn, if you抮e worried about that article, it抯 almost done. You抣l have it before lunch."
"Page Design was supposed to have it yesterday. Five highly paid professionals sitting around for hours with nothing to do, and the issue deadline can抰 be postponed. But it抯 not just that."
"If you mean me being a few minutes late occasionally, I抦 sorry about that, but Manhattan commuting is brutal."
"It抯 more than a few minutes, and more than occasionally, Sandi. All of us here are faced with essentially the same set of commuting problems, and you抮e the only one who can抰 seem to solve them. But it抯 not just that, either."
"Well, what, then?"
Quinn picked up some papers from her freeform glass-topped desk and gestured with them. "Take this article of yours on the new colors for summer. What were you doing, crystal ball gazing? Throwing darts at a color wheel? Wishful thinking? Aubergine, for crying out loud! Aubergine isn抰 due back till Fall of next year."
"That article was a result of extensive research and careful analysis," Sandi replied, looking hurt.
"Sandi, you抮e not supposed to be doing any analysis, or any other form of prognostication. You抮e supposed to download the information from the Cartel website, and write your article around it. Same for styles and fabrics. The Cartel decides those things, based on input from the labs of the fabric and dye makers, other science and engineering data, and economic, political, and sociological projections."
"Anyone who can write can do that. What about my fashion savvy and expertise?"
"The previous editor抯 fashion savvy and expertise, her instinctive grasp of what it抯 like to be a teenage girl today, and her deep understanding of the evolving youth culture are what drove this magazine into bankruptcy. Morgendorffer Multimedia took it over, changed the name from VAL to QUINN, brought in a younger, more with-it staff, and raised it from the dead. We can抰 have you using it as a soapbox to promote your personal preferences and wild theories like she did. Everybody has to work together and pull their own weight around here to keep QUINN on top, Sandi, and you抮e just not doing that. I have to let you go."
"Quinn, I抣l do better, you抣l see. Give me another chance."
"Sandi, we抳e had this conversation before. You抳e had several other chances. You抮e just not getting it. You抮e not doing the work."
"Doesn抰 our friendship mean anything to you?"
"Our friendship is why you抳e gotten all those extra chances. But I have a boss I have to answer to. I抳e already kept you on too long. Now I have to do my job, or I抣l be fired myself."
"Huh? What boss? You抮e Quinn!"
"QUINN Magazine is only a part of Morgendorffer Multimedia. A small part."
"But who owns Morgendorffer Multimedia, if not you?"
The receptionist抯 voice came over the intercom. "Quinn, Ms. Morgendorffer is here."
"Tell her I抣l be with her in a min? Quinn didn抰 bother to finish the sentence as the door opened. "Hi, Daria."
"Sorry to barge in, but my schedule is really tight today." Daria Morgendorffer, impeccable in a spruce-green silk power suit, crossed the office and laid her alligator hide briefcase on Quinn抯 desk. "Hello, Sandi."
"SHE抯 the owner?" Sandi asked incredulously. "What does she know about fashion?"
Quinn frowned slightly. "Sandi, Daria was the fashion editor for a newspaper before you could even spell it, and she抯 younger than you. And remember, it wasn抰 you or me that Val came to Lawndale High to see. It was Daria. Now, if you抣l excuse us?
Dumbstruck, feeling sick to her stomach, Sandi turned and headed for the door. Just like that, it was over. But then she stopped. "Wait?do you know anyone who抯 hiring?"
"I do." Daria pulled a business card from a pocket of her briefcase and handed it to Sandi. "Pan Press is hiring office assistants, and they have good pay and benefits. Once you抮e hired, you have first crack at better jobs within the company later on. Talk to Brooke Waters."
Sandi numbly took the card. "Uh, thanks, Daria."
"Sure. Good luck."
"Yeah, good luck, Sandi. Here抯 your letter of recommendation." Quinn handed Sandi a piece of paper. "And here抯 your severance pay. I hope we can still be friends."
Sandi looked up from the two pieces of paper in her hand and smiled an uncertain smile. "I抎 like that, Quinn."
After the door had closed behind Sandi, Daria turned to her sister. "I know that wasn抰 fun, Quinn, but you handled it well."
"Thanks, Daria. I know it had to be done, but I didn抰 know it would hurt this much."
They were silent a moment, leaning against the front of Quinn抯 desk, Quinn gazing sadly at the carpet, and Daria watching her sister.
"That bellybutton baby bird cracks me up."
Quinn smiled a little. "Junior high girls will love it. You know, this all feels so weird sometimes. I still dress like a teenager. I still feel like a teenager. But I抦 in this big corner office in a Manhattan skyscraper, running a magazine. It抯 unreal."
Daria nodded. "Believe me, I know the feeling."
"That was nice, what you did for Sandi. Thinking to keep an eye out for job openings for her. Uh, that is a pretty good job, isn抰 it?"
Daria looked at the door and smiled a peculiar little smile. "It抯 the best paying job she抯 likely to get without learning to pole dance. Charles Ruttheimer happened to mention in my hearing that another office assistant quit on him. The work is easy, and he won抰 fire her even if she screws up, but he抣l try to make her his squeeze toy. He抯 been wanting to for a long time."
"Upchuck?! Oh, geez! I forgot that he抯 running Pan Press now. Well, Sandi抯 known Upchuck for a long time, and she knows his tricks. I don抰 think she抣l be an easy target."
"I hope not. The more preoccupied Upchuck is with plans for personal conquest, the more deals I can beat him out of."
Quinn smiled. "Geez, Daria, you抳e always got all these plots and plans going. What deals?"
"Right now, I抦 looking at the Mainland Chinese market. I intend to have at least seven magazines and a book publishing house launched while Chuckles is still trying to get into Sandi抯 pants."
"Eewww! Now I feel guilty again for firing her!"
"You should have done it sooner. Besides, we抮e adults now. We play by adult rules."
"Yeah, I know, but she抯 been my best friend for a long time. And she wasn抰 that much of a drag on the magazine."
"I think you抣l be surprised how much your team抯 morale and productivity improves, now that they see you抮e not playing favorites. Even Stacy and Tiffany. And Sandi will do all right. I抦 betting she can manipulate Chuck better than Chuck can manipulate her."
"I guess you抮e right, Daria. Thanks."
"Sure. Well, gotta go. Here抯 my column, and that article on Geek Chic I promised you." Daria handed Quinn a floppy disk from her briefcase.
"Oh, good. This will give the page design people something to do while I finish Sandi抯 article. Lunch Friday?"
"You bet."
La la LA la la.