Page 97 of Bad Words

“Selina Chan,” said a low, cordial voice. A slender, deeply tanned man in a canary-yellow suit had sidled up to us.

“Anthony, hi,” I said, shaking his hand. “Jacob, Cassie, this is Anthony Villano. He writes for The New York Times Book Review.”

“And I’ve been trying to poach Selina for years,” he said confidentially to Jacob and Cassie. “What do we think? Is this the year?” He leaned closer, his smile turning to a sympathetic grimace. “It can’t be long now for City, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh.” Anthony thumbed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Well, I know you’re not responsible for the, ah … change in direction of the coverage.” He let out an apologetic laugh.

My face warmed. The New York Times Book Review had presumably never posted anything as degrading as “10 Bookish Gadgets Under $15 on Amazon That You Have to Try!”

“Yes, we’ve had less creative control recently. But City is perfectly healthy.” I waved to the elaborately decorated railings on the mezzanine. “I’d think that was clear.”

“Really?” said Anthony. “I thought this was compensating for something. I mean, that ticket price…” His eyes strayed to the opposite side of the room. “Oh—I’m sorry, I have to catch Simon. Simon!”

As he hurried off, my cheeks continued to prickle. I scanned and spotted Scott again, near the musicians. “If it’s okay with you two,” I said to Jacob and Cassie, “I’m going to have a word with Scott.”

“Sure thing,” said Cassie. “We’ll see who we can offend the most by not knowing who they are.”

By the time I reached Scott, the warmth in my face had spread down to my neck. I unwound my scarf. “Selina,” said Scott. “Love the dress.”

“Thanks. Listen, Scott, I just talked with Anthony Villano, and he was acting like it’s obvious that City is about to—to—I don’t know.” I dropped my voice, looking around at the glimmering formalwear. “Go bankrupt.”

Scott buffed out a smudge on his wineglass instead of replying.

“Scott.” My voice rose. “That’s not happening, is it? Please tell me it’s not happening.”

“No, no.” He raised his hands. “Well, not imminently.”

“What do you mean, not imminently?”

Scott set his wineglass on a high-top. “Hayden got word over Christmas that the rent on our office is hiking in March. Something to the tune of eight percent.”

I couldn’t speak. I didn’t know the exact rent on our office, but I knew eight percent represented tens of thousands of dollars a month.

“So … yes. The ticket prices, the new ‘content strategy’ … these are Hayden’s last-ditch efforts to keep us solvent. In her way, I think she’s trying to help.”

Around us, the string quartet’s melody floated up to the high stone reaches of the room. The City Magazine banner on the wall rippled as a small group of people passed beneath it, laughing and sipping tomato-red cocktails. Pretty sounds circulating through this hollow structure. I watched with disbelief.

“Maybe this strategy of hers will work,” said Scott.

“Maybe. Yeah.” I tried to collect myself. I knew that whatever I was feeling, Scott must be feeling it tenfold. “I guess, let’s not assume anything catastrophic will happen.”

“Exactly.”

I excused myself and moved through clouds of perfume and cologne, holding up the navy silk of my dress. But the more I looked for Jacob and Cassie, the less I wanted to find them. They’d spent so much of the past four months worrying about me, my reputation, my position. I missed the days when I was nothing to worry about, for anybody.

I was attracting a number of nods and polite hellos, which I returned. Then a hand brushed my shoulder. A red-haired woman in a group of five. I recognized the long narrow slope of her nose, her downturned eyes.

“Selina, hi! Mary Clark.”

“Right. The Guardian,” I said. “It’s good to see you.”

She waltzed through a few niceties about the party, the drinks, the lights. Then, with relish, she said, “And it’s been so fun to follow along with this feud between you and Parker Navarro.”

“Oh … Thank you,” I said, thinking of Parker standing alone in a convenience store. His family. His inexplicable silence.

“I kept wondering, you know—what on earth is she going to say tomorrow?” Mary laughed. “What part of this man’s career is she going to end next?”