checked out her dental care options.”
“Do you know she travels in her own bus?” someone asked. “Like a rock star.”
Just as the conversation was about to turn full tilt onto the subject of celebrity transport, someone rapped on my doorjamb. Standing behind Lindsay was a woman of medium height, with dishwater blond hair cut in an unflattering page boy, and wearing an olive green pantsuit of the most aggressively dumpy design imaginable. She surveyed the crowd through an owlish pair of glasses.
Suddenly, it was as if someone had shot off a bird gun at a duck pond. Coworkers flew out my door, leaving me floating all alone in the sights of…well, whoever this was. I still didn’t know, but a knot of foreboding formed in the pit of my stomach.
“Hi,” I said, attempting to keep the uneasiness out of my voice.
She smiled tightly. “I didn’t mean to break up your little party.”
I blushed self-consciously. “No—it’s just my first day. I’m Rebecca, by the way.”
“Hi, Rebecca, I’m Janice Wunch.”
I really had to keep my lips from twitching. If ever a person looked like a Janice Wunch, it was this woman. Poor thing. You would think she would have changed her name, or at least her glasses.
“I’m the production manager.”
I kept the polite smile frozen on my face. I had no idea what this meant.
“I have a little list here—well, actually, it’s quite long—of things of yours that are late to production.”
“Of mine?” I asked, confused. “But I just got here.”
“I’m sure many of these are projects that were originally Julie’s, but of course they’re your babies now.”
“Oh, I see…”
She handed a list to me, which filled up an entire page. It was staggering how late I could be on everything on my first day.
“In terms of priority, of course, the edit for The Baby Doctor and the Bodyguard needs to get done first. It’s nearly a month late. I have told Rita about this repeatedly, and she said she was going to get Lindsay to do a preliminary edit, but then apparently she changed her mind when Lindsay left the manuscript on a crosstown bus and they had to ask the author’s agent for a duplicate.”
I nodded. As urgent as the situation was with The Baby Doctor and the Bodyguard, there were two other late edits on the list, along with other stuff that I was completely clueless about. What was an art info sheet? I owed five of those. Where was cover copy supposed to come from? ( Me? I wondered with growing hysteria.)
“No big deal,” Janice said. “Just get it to me ASAP—or by the end of the week, if you can.”
I gulped. The end of the week was sooner than what I had in mind. She had to be kidding. “If there’s a problem getting some of this stuff in…”
She blinked at me with what appeared to be sincere incomprehension. “Why should there be?”
Maybe because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing?
My heart started to pound. This was why you should never stretch the truth in a job interview. Eventually someone was going to expect you to know something.
When Janice Wunch left my office, I closed the door behind her and succumbed to a moment of blind panic. What the hell was I going to do now? I was contemplating simply running away and spending the rest of my life as an editorial fugitive when my phone rang. I leapt for it. I didn’t care if it was bad news. At least someone from the outside world was trying to contact me.
It was Fleishman. “How’s the little editor doing?”
“She’s dying.”
He laughed. “You sound stressed.”
I told him about the late list. I told him I didn’t even know what most of this stuff was. I told him to prepare for my impending departure from the ranks of the employed. “I’ll send the clothes back to your mom,” I promised.
“Just go ask that assistant person what to do,” he said.
“Lindsay? But she’ll think I’m an idiot.”
“All the better—that’ll make her day. Assistants love to think
“Do you know she travels in her own bus?” someone asked. “Like a rock star.”
Just as the conversation was about to turn full tilt onto the subject of celebrity transport, someone rapped on my doorjamb. Standing behind Lindsay was a woman of medium height, with dishwater blond hair cut in an unflattering page boy, and wearing an olive green pantsuit of the most aggressively dumpy design imaginable. She surveyed the crowd through an owlish pair of glasses.
Suddenly, it was as if someone had shot off a bird gun at a duck pond. Coworkers flew out my door, leaving me floating all alone in the sights of…well, whoever this was. I still didn’t know, but a knot of foreboding formed in the pit of my stomach.
“Hi,” I said, attempting to keep the uneasiness out of my voice.
She smiled tightly. “I didn’t mean to break up your little party.”
I blushed self-consciously. “No—it’s just my first day. I’m Rebecca, by the way.”
“Hi, Rebecca, I’m Janice Wunch.”
I really had to keep my lips from twitching. If ever a person looked like a Janice Wunch, it was this woman. Poor thing. You would think she would have changed her name, or at least her glasses.
“I’m the production manager.”
I kept the polite smile frozen on my face. I had no idea what this meant.
“I have a little list here—well, actually, it’s quite long—of things of yours that are late to production.”
“Of mine?” I asked, confused. “But I just got here.”
“I’m sure many of these are projects that were originally Julie’s, but of course they’re your babies now.”
“Oh, I see…”
She handed a list to me, which filled up an entire page. It was staggering how late I could be on everything on my first day.
“In terms of priority, of course, the edit for The Baby Doctor and the Bodyguard needs to get done first. It’s nearly a month late. I have told Rita about this repeatedly, and she said she was going to get Lindsay to do a preliminary edit, but then apparently she changed her mind when Lindsay left the manuscript on a crosstown bus and they had to ask the author’s agent for a duplicate.”
I nodded. As urgent as the situation was with The Baby Doctor and the Bodyguard, there were two other late edits on the list, along with other stuff that I was completely clueless about. What was an art info sheet? I owed five of those. Where was cover copy supposed to come from? ( Me? I wondered with growing hysteria.)
“No big deal,” Janice said. “Just get it to me ASAP—or by the end of the week, if you can.”
I gulped. The end of the week was sooner than what I had in mind. She had to be kidding. “If there’s a problem getting some of this stuff in…”
She blinked at me with what appeared to be sincere incomprehension. “Why should there be?”
Maybe because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing?
My heart started to pound. This was why you should never stretch the truth in a job interview. Eventually someone was going to expect you to know something.
When Janice Wunch left my office, I closed the door behind her and succumbed to a moment of blind panic. What the hell was I going to do now? I was contemplating simply running away and spending the rest of my life as an editorial fugitive when my phone rang. I leapt for it. I didn’t care if it was bad news. At least someone from the outside world was trying to contact me.
It was Fleishman. “How’s the little editor doing?”
“She’s dying.”
He laughed. “You sound stressed.”
I told him about the late list. I told him I didn’t even know what most of this stuff was. I told him to prepare for my impending departure from the ranks of the employed. “I’ll send the clothes back to your mom,” I promised.
“Just go ask that assistant person what to do,” he said.
“Lindsay? But she’ll think I’m an idiot.”
“All the better—that’ll make her day. Assistants love to think
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