The Darlings by Cristina Alger Page B

trash.” He closed his eyes and turned his face to the heavens, as if to say, God help us all.
    Every fiber of her being told Marina not to roll her eyes, not to open her mouth. If she rolled her eyes, he would fire her. If she opened her mouth, she was afraid a torrent of screaming would pour out, and every single frustration she had with Duncan and the magazine and her boyfriend and the snobby Morgensons and the fact that she got paid less than $30,000 to work eighty hours a week and was treated like a total peon even on Thanksgiving eve would be aired, and she would not be able to stop it.
    Instead, Marina said timidly, “Maybe the piece stays in, but you could add the finance piece you were describing to me yesterday, to provide, you know, a little balance?”
    Duncan looked at her for a few seconds, and then switched off the light box and went over to sit at his desk. He didn’t answer. Marina realized that by speaking, she was at best prolonging her departure, and at worst, she was enraging Duncan with the implied presumption that he gave a shit what she thought about the magazine’s content.
    â€œRemind me what I said yesterday,” he said, tapping his fingertips together.
    She took a deep breath and tried to recall what he had said, word for word. Duncan liked to hear her repeat his own words back to him, but she had to be precise. “Yesterday, you were saying that we had to be careful not to seem like we’re out of touch with the financial crisis. That if we published too many pieces on fashionistas and socialites, we would seem irrelevant and frivolous and too many magazines are falling apart precisely for that reason. Then you said that Rachel’s suggestion for a piece on Lily Darling and her new line of dog accessories was exactly what you didn’t want to hear.” Marina paused, and then blurted, “I have to say, I agree with this; I can’t imagine anyone would actually buy designer dog sweaters right now, and Lily’s too young and ridiculous to actually run a business. But that’s just my opinion.” She fell quiet again; she shouldn’t have editorialized. The wall clock ticked away. Though she desperately wanted to, she refused to look directly at it. If he caught her wanting to leave, it would end very badly.
    â€œGo on.”
    â€œAnyway,” she resumed quickly, “you said that instead, we should be running a piece on her father, Carter Darling, who was actually a person of interest and substance who ran a real business that people would want to read about. Then you said that dedicating four pages of the January issue to a photo spread on twenty-year-old models was mindless and unmemorable.”
    Marina looked up. She had a tendency to look at the floor when she spoke. She felt her face hot with embarrassment and wondered how long she had been talking. It was probably the longest she had ever spoken inside Duncan’s office.
    To her relief, he wasn’t glaring. Instead, his eyes were closed behind the frames of his tortoiseshell glasses.
    â€œI was right about the ingénue piece,” he said. He opened his eyes and nodded thoughtfully, as though he were acknowledging someone other than himself. “That’s exactly the issue. Relevancy. Right now, the only thing anyone in New York cares about is Wall Street. No one gives a shit about some twenty-two-year-old anorexic model at Fashion Week. We simply don’t have time for frivolity right now. We can’t afford it.”
    â€œI—”
    â€œAgreed. It’s too late to cut the ingénue piece. But if we ran it in the January issue next to some exposé about the board of Goldman Sachs, or some hedge fund manager who has done something naughty, I think we’re in business. I love this idea. It’s very high/low. That’s what this magazine is all about. We just have to develop it, and quickly.”
    Marina nodded, still a little dazed from