Chapter Seven A Posh Evening #2
“Thank you, kind sir.” She took the flute and asked, “Have you been behaving yourselves?”
Joel was the first to answer. “Have you met Victor? He doesn’t know how to behave.”
Madison’s champagne went up the back of her throat and out her nose. Viggo instinctively pulled out the handkerchief and was about to hand it to her when she said, “Oh, don’t do that! It’s silk.”
“Seriously, dear boy,” Victor scolded, and handed Madison several napkins from the bar. “Madison Wainwright. I don’t think we can bring you anywhere.”
If this had happened any other time, Madison would have been mortified, but not this time.
She had a fine upbringing, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t laugh at herself.
What a revelation. The Madison Wainwright she had been was always shielding herself from the external forces of disappointment and betrayal.
But for the past few months, she had been surrounded by decent people.
People without an agenda. And she realized she could finally be herself.
She thought she might be having an epiphany and laughed even harder.
“Give it up, girlfriend. What is so funny about shooting champagne from your nostrils?” Victor mocked annoyance and interest.
Madison regained her composure and dabbed her lips. “Sorry. I was having an out-of-body experience!” Madison threw her head back and cackled even louder.
Victor sent a concerned look to Viggo, who was steadying Madison. “I’m not going to ask you if you’re okay,” he said, recalling their conversation from the week before.
Madison could barely contain herself and laughed even harder. She finally straightened up and took a deep breath. “I just realized that I was having fun. At one of these,” she said, as she swept her arm across the room.
It was Victor’s turn to cackle. “Madison Wainwright, I do not know what has come over you.”
With a wide-mouth smile, Madison retorted, “I have given myself permission to be happy.”
“Well, amen to that, sister!” Victor clinked her glass, and they each clinked the others.
The man with whom Madison had been speaking turned toward the dining room, where dinner was about to be served. He nodded in Madison’s direction. She smiled and nodded in return.
“You must tell us what you discussed,” Victor said as he pulled out a chair, while Viggo did the same for Madison.
Madison waited until she saw where the man was sitting and who was within earshot.
“Dish, Madison.” Victor was getting antsy.
As much as she hated it, she had to schmooze the advertisers.
Like every other magazine, readership had dropped in print and online.
“Too many distractions” kept people from reading.
Everyone’s job was on the line. The magazine business was on the decline.
They needed advertisers to keep them in business. It wasn’t the subscribers anymore.
“Geoffrey Wilson,” she said in a hushed tone. She addressed Viggo to explain who he was. “Real estate developer. Just finished a high-rise in Battery Park. Mega bucks. I don’t think our readership can afford a three-million-dollar condo.”
“So why advertise?” Viggo asked.
“Exactly. Tax write-off, perhaps?” Madison offered.
“In any event, we need his business.” Madison left out the part where he reminded her of her father.
He even had the last name of a president.
Madison wondered if he ever lied about his ancestry like her father did, who went out of his way to tell people he was related to Zachary Taylor.
When Madison reinvented herself the first time and changed her last name, she did her own DNA research. There was no connection whatsoever.
Victor turned the discussion to Madison’s idea. “Did you tell him your idea for the new column?” Victor asked. “He could be a big influence in getting your point across to Leland.” Leland was the CEO of the magazine and often planned outings for their advertisers.
“DIY posh? No. His clientele are posh. Lots of posh. Posh. Posh. Posh,” Madison said, with a solid knowledge of what that meant. She’d lived it for eighteen years. And right now, she wouldn’t change this particular moment of her life with anything material from her past.
“How would you like to tell me about it,” Viggo encouraged her. “Good practice for when the right opportunity presents itself.”
“Excellent point,” Madison said with confidence, and began to describe a column that she thought could help increase their audience.
“Several years ago, there was a television show called The Look for Less, and I want to bring the concept to the magazine. The left side of the page would show the luxury version of a look, and the right side would be the same “fit” but much less expensive.” She took a breath and scanned her immediate area again.
She didn’t want anyone stealing her idea.
Madison continued to explain, “I made a preliminary pitch to the executives. It had a simple title, ‘Look Great at Any Price.’ But the bigwigs thought the title ‘wasn’t sexy enough.’”
“Did they like the idea?” Viggo asked.
Madison raised her glass in front of her face and mumbled, “They don’t like anything that resembles change. It costs money; plus, they’re a bunch of old farts.”
Everyone at the table held back their snorts and snickers. Their shoulders bobbed as if they were all having seizures. Madison was the first to breathe.
“Then I came up with the name ‘DIY posh.’ I can legitimately speak to the subject of posh. But I am not a snob.”
Victor chimed in, “No, not a snob. But you do keep a stiff upper lip.”
“It’s my job, cowboy,” Madison quipped.
“Cowboy?” Joel asked with a raised eyebrow.
Madison put on an impish grin. “Ah. Victor never mentioned the shoot? The one where he had to stand in for the male model?”
“Nooo. Do tell.” Joel’s eyes were like saucers.
“The male model we signed for the shoot got sick at the last minute. We couldn’t reschedule because Cherice, the photographer we commissioned, gets paid ten thousand dollars a day. Victor was just the right size for the clothes, and we shot him from the back.”
“See. That’s not a terrible story,” Joel said.
“Except for the part where he wore the spurs and hat for the rest of the day. At his desk.”
Joel snorted and patted Victor on the shoulder. “Well, heehaw! Git along little doggie!”
Victor scowled, shot a look to Madison, and rubbing his hands together, cackled, “I’ll get you, my pretty.”
The sound of utensils clinking against glasses signified the speeches were about to start.
“Oh, yippee,” Victor said sarcastically as he clapped wildly.
Madison looked at Viggo. “This is what I was talking about,” she whispered, jerking her thumb in Victor’s direction.
“We have to be enthusiastic for our CEO,” she continued, pointing to the speaker at the podium.
She also clapped, then mumbled under her breath, “Please try not to fall asleep. This guy is an old windbag.”
Viggo couldn’t have been more entertained. Feeling very much at home with Madison, her work-husband, and his husband was a bonus.
Leland’s speech went on for twenty minutes. Madison thought she was going to fall asleep in her vichyssoise. She unintentionally moved her knee against Viggo’s. “Sorry. I was drifting off.”
“Drift away,” Viggo said with a smile.
“Well, the soup would match my jacket,” Madison said, and kept her knee exactly where she wanted it.
After more faked applause, Leland left the podium, and the entrée was served.
The discussion turned to pop cultural trends.
Madison had a distaste for social media, even though it offered her a leg up in her early days, when she’d started a blog called “Where Are You Going in That?” But back then, the Internet was a new frontier, and putting out any kind of content was an accomplishment. Things were different now.
“Every Tom, Dick, or Harry with a smartphone thinks they’re Francis Ford Coppola or Steven Spielberg, spitting out TikTok videos every second of the day.
” Madison was getting worked up. “People are settling for subpar content and shoddy production simply because it is available for free. The result is an audience with lower expectations and the dumbing down of media consumers. In the process, traditional media is losing ground.” She hated talking about it as much as she hated the concept.
“Plus, there are too many crazies on the Internet.”
Victor patted her hand. “It’s alright, Madison. Deep breaths.”
“Does this happen often?” Viggo joked.
“Madison hyperventilating?” Victor cocked his head. “It depends on your definition of ‘often.’ Does once a day count?” Victor folded his arms and then let out a yelp. “Hey!” He glared at Madison, who had just kicked him under the table.
Dinner was starting to wind down, and the waitstaff began serving coffee. Madison scanned the room. “Need to do a little campaigning.” She stood and nodded at Victor. “Come on. But first, a trip to the loo. I need to freshen my lipstick.”
“So do I,” Victor teased; then he turned to address Joel and Viggo. “I want the two of you to behave yourselves.”
“I wouldn’t think of misbehaving,” Viggo answered with a devilish grin.
“Nor would I,” Joel added, and raised an eyebrow at Viggo.
Madison leaned over, placed a hand on Viggo’s shoulder, and whispered, “Order a brandy. For both of us. I’ll need it.” Anyone observing the two of them would think they were in a relationship. For Madison, it was beginning to feel like one. Viggo was having similar thoughts.
Madison and Victor made a beeline for the restrooms.
“So, dearie, the more time I spend with Viggo, the more I like him.” He elbowed her. “Come on. You have to be feeling the same way.”
Madison stopped short and turned to Victor. “Yes. And now we will not discuss this any further. Am I making myself clear?”
Victor couldn’t tell if Madison was being serious, but decided to err on the side of caution. “Crystal clear.”