want to go too far into how she’d inspected the bag after she knew whose it was, not in front of Ruby at least. She told the story without the one o’clock in the morning visit to the office and the photocopies of the receipts while he poured her a cup of coffee and Ruby a juice. Ruby interjected where she could, telling him what a really awesome friend Thomasina was, how the whole runway thing had just been an unfortunate incident, and how even her beast of a sister had grown to like the German heiress.
As the bathroom door opened, Stu said, “Same deal. I get you whatever you need, if I can. My sources are an open book. But it’s my story. I have exclusive first rights to everything you guys do or say regarding what happens with the Thomasina Wente case.”
“You’re becoming quite mercenary, Stuart.” The woman’s lilting voice had an accent so slight it only seemed to add music to the perfect speech. Five-nine and not a hair over a size six, she was radiant and clean in jeans and a white shirt. When she smiled warmly and genuinely, Laura felt guilty for hating her so completely.
She held out her hand to Ruby. “I’m Tofu,” she said, except that wasn’t what she said at all. What she said sounded like an exotic fruit of subtle sweetness. Tah -fuh.
Ruby shook Tofu’s hand, and Laura realized that Tofu thought Ruby was her, because if someone were to describe her and her sister without pictures, he or she might use the same words. And if one felt threatened by someone, and there were two people in the room, well, one might assume the more attractive of the two was the problem one. One might think the competition was an equal. But no, it was a woman three inches shorter and fifteen pounds heavier. And with half a face made up, as if she were starring in A Clockwork Orange. All she needed was to be leaning out of a triangle with a knife. She shook her head a little so her hair covered her eye.
Ruby looked at her pointedly. If she could shoot thoughts out of her eyes and into Laura’s brain, her look would have said, “Wear it like you mean it.”
Laura brushed the hair away, exposing the overdone eye. “I’m Laura.”
Tofu was the picture of social grace as she redirected her attention and shook Laura’s hand, firmly and dryly. Like a total bitch. “Nice to finally meet you,” she said. Finally . As if Laura were Stu’s long lost sister or Canadian ex. “Honey,” she said to him, showing ownership, “did you get the tent down from the hall closet?”
“It’s by the door.” Then he turned to Laura. “Tofu’s doing an action at the I.I. building today.”
International Insurance had been busted for evading taxes and selling fancy financial products that amounted to legalized gambling to investors, hedge fund managers, and the federal government’s pension fund. The CEO got a nine-figure bonus, and the pensioners had gone broke. Oldest story in the book. It bored Laura into a coma. Ruby was already picking her nails.
“Our dear should be going, too.” Apparently, our dear was Stu. Tofu must have had a streak of old lady in her. “But he’s too busy using his talents to support big publishing.”
“The New Yorker is not big publishing.” But by the look on his face, Laura could tell he was conflicted, and by the faux-light tone of the conversation, she knew that had been discussed until the issue was raw at the edges.
“Darling…” Tofu touched the side of his face. “A hundred small, struggling papers that support our cause would have your story. Even the Village Voice . Not that that’s perfect, but at least they put a left polish on the issues.”
“Of magazines with any kind of circulation, the New Yorker is considered the most progressive magazine in the country, bar none.”
She rolled her eyes. “Is there any coffee?”
“Oh, sorry.” He pointed at Laura, who clutched the cup that apparently contained Tofu’s coffee.
“Do you want more?” Tofu asked.
Laura
As the bathroom door opened, Stu said, “Same deal. I get you whatever you need, if I can. My sources are an open book. But it’s my story. I have exclusive first rights to everything you guys do or say regarding what happens with the Thomasina Wente case.”
“You’re becoming quite mercenary, Stuart.” The woman’s lilting voice had an accent so slight it only seemed to add music to the perfect speech. Five-nine and not a hair over a size six, she was radiant and clean in jeans and a white shirt. When she smiled warmly and genuinely, Laura felt guilty for hating her so completely.
She held out her hand to Ruby. “I’m Tofu,” she said, except that wasn’t what she said at all. What she said sounded like an exotic fruit of subtle sweetness. Tah -fuh.
Ruby shook Tofu’s hand, and Laura realized that Tofu thought Ruby was her, because if someone were to describe her and her sister without pictures, he or she might use the same words. And if one felt threatened by someone, and there were two people in the room, well, one might assume the more attractive of the two was the problem one. One might think the competition was an equal. But no, it was a woman three inches shorter and fifteen pounds heavier. And with half a face made up, as if she were starring in A Clockwork Orange. All she needed was to be leaning out of a triangle with a knife. She shook her head a little so her hair covered her eye.
Ruby looked at her pointedly. If she could shoot thoughts out of her eyes and into Laura’s brain, her look would have said, “Wear it like you mean it.”
Laura brushed the hair away, exposing the overdone eye. “I’m Laura.”
Tofu was the picture of social grace as she redirected her attention and shook Laura’s hand, firmly and dryly. Like a total bitch. “Nice to finally meet you,” she said. Finally . As if Laura were Stu’s long lost sister or Canadian ex. “Honey,” she said to him, showing ownership, “did you get the tent down from the hall closet?”
“It’s by the door.” Then he turned to Laura. “Tofu’s doing an action at the I.I. building today.”
International Insurance had been busted for evading taxes and selling fancy financial products that amounted to legalized gambling to investors, hedge fund managers, and the federal government’s pension fund. The CEO got a nine-figure bonus, and the pensioners had gone broke. Oldest story in the book. It bored Laura into a coma. Ruby was already picking her nails.
“Our dear should be going, too.” Apparently, our dear was Stu. Tofu must have had a streak of old lady in her. “But he’s too busy using his talents to support big publishing.”
“The New Yorker is not big publishing.” But by the look on his face, Laura could tell he was conflicted, and by the faux-light tone of the conversation, she knew that had been discussed until the issue was raw at the edges.
“Darling…” Tofu touched the side of his face. “A hundred small, struggling papers that support our cause would have your story. Even the Village Voice . Not that that’s perfect, but at least they put a left polish on the issues.”
“Of magazines with any kind of circulation, the New Yorker is considered the most progressive magazine in the country, bar none.”
She rolled her eyes. “Is there any coffee?”
“Oh, sorry.” He pointed at Laura, who clutched the cup that apparently contained Tofu’s coffee.
“Do you want more?” Tofu asked.
Laura
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