New York for Beginners (17 page)

The word
no
presents an even more difficult challenge. It generally does not exist in the American vocabulary. Any critique is formulated positively. If you ask an American if he liked the movie
Battlefield Earth
—based on a novel by L. Ron Hubbard, the founder of Scientology—he’ll say something like “It was really interesting.” That actually means he thought it was horrible.

(
New York for Beginners
, p. 107)

15

Of course Zoe hadn’t been able to get interviews with Michelle Obama, Hillary Clinton, and Maria Shriver at such short notice. She was not looking forward to the next weekly meeting. She was sure the honorable Mr. Papst would show her no mercy the second time around. But then she had an idea. A fantastic one. Hadn’t the legendary Tom Chrysler promised her an interview? An exclusive interview, at that?

“I can hardly wait to have the chance to talk to you, dear. We simply must meet for lunch.”

That was what he’d said. Zoe was saved! Right before Voldemort decided to fire her after all because of the nonexistent politician interviews, she could inform him very casually about the interview with Tom Chrysler. True, it was like comparing apples and oranges, but at least it would be a good way to distract him.

She looked for the email in which Tom Fiorino had given her Tom Chrysler’s number. The great thing about Americans, Zoe had decided, was how amazingly available they were—even the most important ones. She dialed the number eagerly. This would surely get her a gold star from Voldemort.

“Tom Chrysler’s office.”

“This is Zoe Schuhmacher from the German fashion blog StyleChicks. Could I please speak to Mr. Chrysler?”

“What about?” The voice was so frosty that Zoe started to worry. Maybe she had distracted the secretary from an important task that was vital to the survival of the human race.

“I met him recently through a mutual friend, Tom Fiorino, and we made plans to meet for lunch.”

“I’ll leave him a message.”

Then the ice-cold creature simply hung up. Zoe held the telephone receiver in her hand for a few seconds with the irrational expectation that something else would be said. But that was it. What now? She shook her head in amazement. At Schoenhoff, an assistant like that wouldn’t last three days.

Tom Chrysler didn’t call back that morning, nor did he call back that afternoon. Zoe tried again the next day. Maybe her message had gotten lost. Or maybe the assistant had been fired before she’d been able to deliver Zoe’s message.

“Tom Chrysler’s office,” the same voice answered this time.

“This is Zoe Schuhmacher from StyleChicks. Could I please speak to Mr. Chrysler?” She made an effort to speak in a condescending tone, hoping it would give her voice some kind of authority.

“What about?” the assistant barked back.

“I already left a message. I got to know Tom through Tom Fiorino, and we wanted to meet for lunch. I’d like to make an appointment.”

“I’ll leave a message.” Then she just hung up again.

I can’t believe it! Is she crazy?!
Zoe thought.

Zoe decided to write an email instead. She wouldn’t let a stupid trick like that put her off.

Dear Tom,

I was very happy to have a chance to meet you through our mutual friend, Tom Fiorino. I would be delighted if we could continue our fascinating conversation over lunch.

Kind regards,

Zoe Schuhmacher

“And he still hasn’t answered!” Zoe said to Mimi, still irritated. They were enjoying a girl’s night out, getting pedicures at Dashing Diva. They had chosen a shade called Marine Metallic for their toenails. They were sitting next to each other in pink plush chairs with Cosmos in their hands while their feet were soaking in warm water.

“How could she be so rude?” Zoe said with annoyance.

“What’s so rude about that?” Mimi asked in surprise.

“Excuse me, Mimi, but it was
his
idea that we absolutely
must
meet for lunch. So at least he could answer my three calls and two emails, couldn’t he?”

“But he didn’t mean it that way.”

“What didn’t he mean?”

“The thing about lunch.”

“How can you not mean it if you say ‘I can hardly wait to have the chance to talk to you, dear. We simply
must
meet for lunch.’”

“But, sweetie, don’t you know? That actually means ‘I’ll just be polite to this hussy so I can finally end this conversation.’”

“What? But that’s basically the opposite of what he said to me!”

“Exactly. That’s the way it is with us Americans.”

After that, Zoe enlisted Mimi’s help for a little American-/German-linguistic coaching. To clear up all transatlantic misunderstandings, once and for all.

What the American Says / What the German Hears / What the American Means

We’ll do our best / It’s going to work out / It’s not happening

I hear what you’re saying / I agree with you / I’m of a different opinion entirely

Very interesting / Very interesting / That is so boring

I’m sure it’s my fault / I take full responsibility / This is really your fault

You must come for dinner / Come have dinner at my home / I’m only being polite and have no intention of cooking for you

Zoe and Eros were constantly asked if working for a fashion magazine was like
The Devil Wears Prada
. Until recently, they’d only laughed at the idea. But ever since Lord Voldemort had taken over at
Vision
, not only did wastebaskets fly through the air when someone’s page layout wasn’t the flavor of the day, but people were actually fired. Three on the first day, in fact. At least, that’s what Zoe had heard through the grapevine.

As Zoe entered the conference room shortly before five a.m. on Wednesday, Eros was already sitting in front of the video monitor with his head resting on his arms and squinting with half-open eyes at the screen—which so far showed no signs of life besides an occasional flicker.

“If the damn connection doesn’t work today and I got up for nothing, I’ll kill myself,” he moaned.

“It can’t have anything to do with us. We’re online.”

They waited.

Suddenly, the screen flickered again. Images of their German colleagues, with the conference already in full swing, appeared on the screen.

“They started without us!” Eros complained.

“What about my story about illegal hormones in face creams? They’re especially dangerous to pregnant women,” the woman from the health section asked. “Isn’t that going in this month? I did six weeks of research for it. I even smuggled myself into the factory as an assembly-line worker. We paid ten thousand euros for the photographic evidence alone. We even filmed videos for the online version.”

“But that’s old hat,” Papst said, trying to wriggle his way out of it, even though he’d personally ordered the story to be written, ‘preferably yesterday.’ “I’ve seen it a thousand times.”

“That can’t possibly be true. You only got my manuscript yesterday. It’s a worldwide exclusive. No one has written about this scandal yet.”

“It doesn’t interest me. The whole thing is so terribly unappetizing, anyway, don’t you think? Pureed placenta and such. It makes me nauseated.”

Then dear Mr. Papst realized that New York was online. Zoe was suddenly wide awake.

“Ah, New York has deigned to bless us with their presence,” he said.

Zoe, who wanted to shorten the nerve-killing suspense preceding her potential beheading, spoke up to say, “Mr. Papst, we’d just like to let you know immediately that it didn’t work out with the interviews.”

“Which interviews?”

Zoe didn’t know what to say. Was he hard of hearing? “With Michelle Obama, Hillary Clinton, and Maria Shriver.”

“Oh, that,” he replied dismissively. “There’s time for all that.” Then he changed the subject to the fashion section.

“Voldemort is either going through early Alzheimer’s, or he just likes sending reporters on wild goose chases,” Zoe said.

“I suspect the latter,” Eros said. He got up from his place at the conference table and went to lie on the sofa that was placed against the wall. “Wake me at nine.”

Zoe was too wide awake to go back to sleep. Instead, she cleaned her desk. She tended to believe that only beginners needed order; geniuses could handle chaos. But even chaos had its limits. Shortly before nine, Blonde Poison strutted noisily into Zoe’s office and noticed the tidy desk. “My, you’ve been very busy this morning already,” she said.

“Very funny, Madison. What’s up?”

“Tom wants to have lunch with you today.”

“Tom Chrysler!” Zoe cried in surprise, and jumped up.

Madison looked at her blankly, like a parrot does when strange people jump around in front of its cage and try to teach it to talk in squeaky soprano voices.

“Tom Fiorino.”

“Not Tom Chrysler?”

“No, not T-O-M C-H-R-Y-S-L-E-R.
Do you want it in writing?”

Zoe sank back into her chair, disappointed. “I can’t go anyway. I have an appointment at Jason Wu’s showroom and have to have lunch with his publicist afterward.”

Zoe was still embarrassed about the scene by the garden fence. Even the thought of needy women turned her off. In the past weeks, every time she had waited for the elevator, she had desperately pleaded with the Universe not to let Tom be on his way down. And as usual, her prayers had been answered. Zoe didn’t actually plan to see Thomas Prescott Fiorino anytime in the next millennium.

Madison sashayed back out the door, looking almost personally offended. Her expression was clear. It said, “Who would be so stupid that they wouldn’t go out to eat with their totally attractive boss?” Even her footsteps sounded huffy.

Two minutes later, she was standing in front of Zoe’s desk again, posed like a dominant rooster. “Tom said to inform you that it’s an official order: twelve-thirty at Michael’s.” She turned and made a swift exit, before Zoe could protest.

Zoe looked after her, puzzled. “Now the boss is playing boss, and ordering me around? Who does he think he is, anyway?”

What did he want from her, now that he didn’t want anything from her?

Lunchtime at Michael’s: where the who’s who of the media and entertainment worlds convened. Careers were made there. And destroyed.

A permanently smiling hostess guided Zoe to a corner table at a front window. They passed S. I. Newhouse, Graydon Carter, and Johnny Depp. Tom was already there. Today he wore a pinstriped suit, without a tie, as usual. As their eyes met, he smiled his charming lopsided smile.
His smile should be licensed as a weapon,
Zoe thought.