My Year of Casual Acquaintances (South Bay #1)

11.

When I fire up my computer the next morning, I’m relieved to see an email from Nic Rodriguez. But relief turns to frustration when I read the message.

Marvelous Mar (or should I call you MM for short). Please don’t be TOO peeved with me. I will send you the article tomorrow, I promise. Anyway, isn’t this deadline kind of crazy-early for a July issue? It’s only the middle of April.

Nic’s charm is wearing off, and fast. I reply at once: Our official deadline for the July issue was last week. We have a review process involving a team of editors and advisors; and we must allow time for this review, and time to repeat the process with a revised draft if needed. If I don’t receive the manuscript from you by tomorrow, I will plug another article into that slot. I’m not sure whether this sounds snippy or merely formal, but I hit the send button. I receive Nic’s response ten minutes later.

No worries, MM. I assure you, I’m not throwing away my slot. He is parodying another lyric from Hamilton. He adds: Anyway, there won’t be a need for a revised draft.

We’ll have to wait and see, I think. I type a reply. I hope so. I have every confidence you’ll deliver a great article, Nic. No. He’s being a wiseass and does not deserve an obsequious response. I delete it and write: We’ll have to wait and see.

Well past the close of business in New York the following day, Nic emails the long-awaited article. I normally begin my beach walk at this hour, but curiosity gets the better of me. The beach can wait.

Two pages into the manuscript, I already regret the decision to forgo my afternoon exercise. Disappointment is too mild a word for my reaction as I slog through the murky prose. From a standpoint of grammar and syntax, Nic is an even weaker writer than Doctor Dave, our celebrated dust diagnostician. But each month Doctor Dave serves up a sizzling platter of meaty advice that our engineering readers can sink their teeth into. Nic has delivered nothing more than a lightweight plateful of sickly sweet confections, sugar-coated and devoid of flavor or substance. The article is a shameless commercial plug for L&M. I debate whether to call my boss. But this article is such a flagrant violation of our editorial guidelines, I’m confident Robert will back me up as he always does. No reason to disturb him with this.

I also consider calling Nic to discuss the submission, but there needs to be a paper trail. I pour a glass of white wine to soothe my frazzled nerves and settle down to the task. It takes a full hour to draft a reasonable and measured response. I inform Nic, with apologies, that this article is not something we can publish in its present form. I attach a copy of our “Guidelines for Authors,” the document he clearly didn’t bother to review earlier. So Nic won’t accuse me of being negative or unfair, I then offer suggestions on how he might approach the next draft. I highlight several areas of concern for our readers and provide a series of questions to be answered. To placate him, I write: These revisions will be time-consuming, and it’s now impossible to include the piece in July. The good news is, we’ve reserved a slot in the following issue, which is one of Powder World’s best-read every year. Please reply to confirm your agreement with this plan.

Hitting the send button, I’m confident I’ve addressed the problem with an abundance of fairness and diplomacy. Yet I don’t hold out high hopes for anyone who could submit such a piece of unmitigated rubbish in the first place.

. . .

I wake up early again, on edge about the unresolved situation with Nic. Business hours have begun in New York. Perhaps his answer awaits me already. But when I get to my desk, I see I have no voicemail, no email. Maybe he’s at a meeting, maybe he’s read my email but is still mulling it over. I turn my attention to editing another article, but I can’t resist checking the inbox every few minutes in my impatient search for resolution. I ditch plans to go to a strength training class at the gym because I’m reluctant to leave my desk until I know something.

Another two hours go by before the phone rings. “Ms. Meyer? Nicolas Rodriguez here.” No more Marvelous Mar. He’s all business now.

“Good morning, Nic.”

“I reviewed the email you sent me last night.”

“Good. Do you have any questions?”

“No questions. I think you need to call your boss. Robert Carlson, the publisher.”

“Yes, Robert is the only boss I have. Why do I need to call him? Perhaps I should have emphasized this before, but I make the editorial decisions at Powder World.”

“Just call him,” says Nic. There’s an abrupt click on the line as he disconnects the call.

My hands are shaking as I speed-dial the office. “Robert, have you spoken to Nic Rodriguez, the new L&M account guy?”

“Margaret.” Robert’s voice is dull, expressionless. He’s once again forgotten he is not supposed to call me by my old name, but this is no time to split hairs.

“He told me to speak to you, and then he hung up on me. What the hell is going on?”

A heavy sigh. “We have to run the article.”

“What? Have you read it?”

“Yes, he emailed it to me this morning.”

“Then you know it’s a steaming pile of horseshit.”

“I recognize that. Listen—he threatened to cancel the advertising if we don’t run the article. Not only the ad in the July issue. He’s threatening to pull the entire schedule for the rest of the year.”

“Then talk to Ed Matthews,” I said, naming the vice president of marketing at L&M. “Ed’s a reasonable guy. I can’t believe he’d support his agency doing something this outrageous.”

“Of course, I tried to do that. I stalled Nic, told him I’d get back to him, and phoned L&M immediately. But it turns out Ed is on a three-week South American cruise for his twentieth anniversary, and he left strict orders not to be disturbed. He instructed his assistant that ‘the agency can handle any decisions in my absence’ – and the problem is, ‘the agency’ now means Nic Rodriguez. I’m up against a wall here.”

I take a deep breath, trying to collect myself. “But this kind of thing has happened before, and you’ve never given into it. You’re the one who taught me, we mustn’t ever let advertisers hold us hostage.”

“That was then – this is now. Our first quarter bottom line was lousy. In fact, it stank like last week’s garbage. We can’t afford to lose one of our biggest advertisers right now.” His voice cracks a little with the strain. “It’ll break us, I’m telling you. It’ll break us.”

“What if it’s all a big bluff?”

“I don’t think it is. Anyway, I can’t take the chance. I called Nic back and told him we’ll run the article in July, but he has to make a few concessions.”

“Like what?”

“He agreed to eliminate the section where the article criticizes competitors. And he’s letting us cut out two of the brand name mentions.”

“Only two? But not eliminate all of them? There were way more than two product plugs in the manuscript.”

“Correct.”

“I still can’t believe you’re telling me this. Have you considered the blowback from our other advertisers and contributors? They’re all going to come to me, as the editor, and ask, ‘Why did you let L&M run a puff piece like this when you’ve always held us to a stricter standard? What happened to editorial integrity?’ I’d like to know how I’m supposed to answer them, Robert. What has happened to editorial integrity?”

“Defending our integrity doesn’t do a lot of good if there’s no magazine left to defend. Believe me, I don’t like this any better than you do, but we’re running the article. My decision is final on that.”

My heart is crashing in my chest. “And I’m resigning as editor, effective today. My decision is final on that.” I slam down the receiver, unplug the business phone from its cord, and hurl it across the room. I won’t be needing it anymore.