I'll Take Manhattan (53 page)

“She would not do that. He’s simply wrong.” Maxi spoke with the anesthetized coldness of shock.

“When was the last time you talked to her?”

“Just last week, when Justin was freed. We’re on the best terms we’ve been on in years. Look, Monty, this is some trick of Cutter’s. He’s trying some new tactic that I can’t understand until I talk to her. You just sit on this absurdity until I go uptown and see her—she’s always home in the mornings. And keep your lip buttoned, or whatever.”

“Obviously. But I’m worried about the printer. If we lose our time on the presses, if they’ve already replaced us for next week, we won’t get the issue out in time even when you straighten things out. They sell their time months in advance.”

“Call Mike Muller, the Burda business guy at the plant, and tell him that I personally guarantee payment. Me, Maxime Amberville.”

“Will do,” Monty said, looking as if he would like to ask more questions. Maxi hurried out of his office and rushed downstairs to where Elie was waiting for her.

She burst in on Lily who was conferring with her chef about a dinner party.

“Mother, we have to talk right away.”

“Maxime, I’ve been trying to reach you all weekend. Jean-Philippe, I’ll finish this menu later. Where were you, Maxime? I’ve been so anxious to speak to you.”

“Out,” Maxi answered mechanically. “Mother, Lewis Oxford just called to say we didn’t have any more credit, that
B&B
was out of business.”

“Oh dear, oh dear, this is exactly what I didn’t want to have happen! That fool Oxford! I warned Cutter that I wanted to have a meeting with you and Toby and Justin all together, first, but obviously Oxford didn’t check with me to make sure it had taken place.”

“What does that mean, ‘first’? Why do you want to talk to the three of us? What does it have to do with
B&B
?”

“Maxime, do stop shouting. Oh, dear, I
so
wanted this to be an orderly event, and now it’s spoiled.” Lily actually wailed in distress.

“Mother, you are going to drive me out of my mind. What in holy hell are you talking about?”

“I can understand that you’re upset, dear, hearing it like that. I wanted to tell you all at the same time.” She paused for a few seconds and then continued, resolutely, “I have decided to sell Amberville Publications to the United Broadcasting Corporation, but now it’s been announced in the worst possible way.” Lily twisted the head off a rose in a silver bowl.

“Mother! I don’t give a damn what
form
this decision comes in!
How can you sell
? I … I don’t understand anything you’re saying. Sell
our
business? Sell Father’s business? Sell Amberville? It’s … it’s—you just can’t do it—it’s—
unthinkable.
” Maxi sat down opposite her mother, her legs drained of strength, her heart sinking as she read the stubborn expression on Lily’s face, only agitated by the way in which she had to present a decision on which Maxi could see she was determined.

“Now, Maxime, do listen to me and stop saying the first thing that comes into your mind. It’s not at all unthinkable. It makes great sense. Since your father died the company has been without its founder. It’s kept on going by momentum but that momentum can’t last forever. UBC is interested in buying the company and Cutter believes that in three months, when the sale will take place, the price will be close to—well, more or less a billion dollars. This is an opportunity that may never come again and it’s obvious that I have to act on it. Maxime, you and Toby and Justin will receive a hundred million dollars each. There’s no way in which any of you can realize your ten percent unless I sell, but that’s not the only reason I’m doing it.”

“Mother …”

“No,
wait
, Maxime, don’t interrupt until you hear me out. I can’t run a magazine publishing company, Cutter doesn’t want the responsibility and I don’t blame him, Toby obviously has his own life, Justin has his, and although you’re having fun with your fling at turning out a magazine, you obviously aren’t cut out to run a vast enterprise. If the company is ever to be sold, the time is now, not later. I know that
B&B
is having a dear little boom but you have to admit that it’s costing the company a fortune. Cutter reluctantly
had to tell me how much money
B&B
loses each month and I was horrified. It’s too expensive a toy even for you, Maxime, and UBC will be buying Amberville on the basis of what Cutter called a very sick-looking balance sheet if it continues to be published.”

“So it
was
on your orders that Oxford called?”

“Yes, of course, but I had intended to explain it all to you before any of you heard from him. Nobody is supposed to know about the sale until it’s gone through, except the family. I’m deeply distressed that you had this shock. If only I’d been able to reach you over the weekend …”

“I was out,” Maxi repeated. “Mother, don’t you understand that a new magazine automatically loses money no matter how big a success it is, until it starts getting enough income from the advertisers? I literally almost
gave
away the advertising to get the magazine off the ground, and it costs more to print an issue than I can sell it for on the racks.”

“That was clever of you, I suppose, although I’m no judge … it sounds to me as if you willfully took a big risk. But that’s neither here nor there, Maxime, since the decision to sell is mine to make, and I’ve made it. I’m being guided by Cutter in how to handle Amberville affairs until the sale is official and he is quite adamant about stopping publication of
B&B
right now. I’m sorry for your disappointment, dear—”

“Disappointment.” Maxi’s echo was flat. The gap between the way she and her mother felt about
B&B
was so vast that no words could bridge it, no emphasis of tone could make any difference. Her mother would never be convinced by anything she could say that
B&B
was not just a plaything but the only tribute that was in her power to make to Zachary Amberville and the great love she had for him.

“Well, I know you’ve been having a terribly amusing time and I’m really proud of how well it’s selling, but obviously you couldn’t have done it without using the company’s money, could you?” Lily continued.

“No, as a matter of fact, I couldn’t. No way,” Maxi admitted.

“Well then, you do see, don’t you? It’s not like a real
magazine, is it, dear? It’s subsidized, it’s not paying its own way.”

“No, that’s wrong, Mother. It is a
real
magazine.
Millions
of women pay a dollar fifty for it every month. I have a fantastic staff working their hearts out.
B&B
exists, it’s growing like mad, the September issue has two hundred and fifty pages, it’s crammed with ads and photographs and articles and we get thousands of letters from our readers, it’s as real as any other magazine, it’s just
young
,” Maxi said passionately.

Lily laughed indulgently. “Maxime, Maxime, I’m pleased to see you sticking to something for such a long time, and if your father were alive he would have been delighted, but you just have to accept the reality of the sale of Amberville. It’s in all of our best interests.”

“Mother, look. If,
before
the sale goes through, I can show you that Amberville Publications isn’t losing money because of
B&B
, if the company is worth just as much as it would be without
B&B
, would you reconsider your decision to sell?” Maxi asked quietly.

“First of all, you don’t know how Justin and Toby will feel. I’ve told you how Cutter and I feel. No, Maxime, I can’t promise to reconsider.”

“If I don’t ask you to ‘promise’ to reconsider; if, just before the three months are up, I come to you and just ask you
to think about it again
 …” Maxi asked imploringly.

“I’m afraid that the answer will still be no, dear, but, of course, you can always come and ask,” Lily said gently. She found it hard to refuse Maxime absolutely when she obviously cared so much and was being so reasonable. There was no harm in letting her “ask” again since it was obvious that she couldn’t accomplish the impossible and publish without money. And if she didn’t insist that her daughter accept her decision right now, it would end this upsetting interview so much more quickly and pleasantly. She’d have time to finish planning the menu for her dinner party before lunch.

“Where to now, Miss A.?” Elie asked.

“The Amberville Building,” Maxi answered. She must
talk to Pavka. He was the only person to whom she could go for advice. At the offices of
B&B
everyone would be looking to her for leadership but she needed help herself as she had never needed it before. She prayed that he was in his office and not out enjoying one of the long lunches for which publishing was more guilty than Hollywood. She had to talk to Pavka before she went to speak to her accountants to get the money to keep
B&B
operating.

“Is he in?” she asked Pavka’s secretary anxiously, skidding to a halt before her desk.

“He’s in your father’s office,” the secretary answered and Maxi could see that she was puzzled. “He’s been in there for a half hour and he asked me not to put through any calls. But of course he’d see you—perhaps if I just knock—” Maxi was gone before she could even get up, headed at a half-run down the corridor to the door of the office which nobody had used or changed since Zachary Amberville’s death.

“Pavka?” she questioned softly. His back was turned to her and he was standing at one of the windows, his head bowed, leaning on the sill with both hands in a position she had never seen him in before, a posture of helplessness. He turned and the amused and knowing look she was so used to seeing on his alert, dandy’s face was gone. In its place there was a gravity that matched hers and something she recognized as deep grief. And yet he could not possibly know about the proposed sale yet. Lily had said that only the family would be told now.

“You must have received one of these too,” Pavka said, holding out a sheet of paper, without even greeting her.

“No, nobody’s sent me anything—not on paper anyway. Aren’t you going to give me a kiss?”

“A kiss?” he asked absently. “Did I not kiss you?” He gave her a brief peck, very unlike his traditionally close and appreciative embrace and for the first time since she’d gone to see Lily, Maxi felt real terror.

“Read this,” he said, handing her the memo from the office of the Vice-President for Financial Affairs. It listed all the changes and cuts that Cutter had outlined to Oxford. Copies had been sent to the editors and managing editors and art directors of all six Amberville publications. Maxi
read it in silence. Nothing was said about the sale of the company.

“I intend to resign,” he told her abruptly. “I don’t have the power to prevent these measures but I refuse to have my name associated with them; using the cheapest writers and photographers we can find; cutting the number of color pages; throwing everything to celebrity models; getting editorial pages from advertisers for plugs; using inferior paper and eating up everything in inventory, including those many projects that didn’t turn out well enough to come up to our standards. This memo is vile, Maxi,
vile
!” He quivered with rage and frustration.

“Pavka, please sit down and talk to me,” Maxi implored,
B&B
forgotten in the shamefulness of what she had just read. They both sank into the weathered leather armchairs that faced Zachary Amberville’s desk and fell silent. In spite of their anger and concern, as soon as they stopped speaking they became aware that in the office something was still happening. They felt it immediately. Some activity was continued within the room that didn’t need a human presence, something alive and powerful and joyous, imprinted in the very walls; a sense memory of Zachary Amberville hung in the air, as robust and enthusiastic as he had been when they’d last seen him. Pavka and Maxi both drew deep breaths and, for the first time, smiled at each other. Still they didn’t begin to speak as they looked around the big, always disordered, wood-paneled room, its walls covered with the originals of some of the famous covers and illustrations that he had published over the years and, here and there, signed photographs of Presidents of the United States, of writers, photographers and illustrators. Nowhere was there a photograph of Zachary Amberville himself, but the memory of his excited, amused, vibrant, living voice seemed to echo in the room, his appetite for excellence, his belly laugh, his roar of approval when an associate made a good suggestion, the outpouring of his energy, ardor and fervor that had been concentrated on every issue of each magazine he had ever published—all this lived on without him.

“Pavka,” Maxi said, “am I right in thinking that the
price paid for a company is based on how much profit it’s making at the time of sale?”

“Normally yes. Why do you ask?”

“If,” Maxi continued, not answering his question, “you resigned, but the magazines continued to be published, incorporating all the changes that Oxford has ordered, how soon would the economies show up as profit?”

“On the next balance sheet, in three months. But, Maxi, that’s beside the point. The magazines would be cheaper to produce but they could never be the
same
. We’d know it right away as we worked on the new issues, and in time our readers would see the difference, no matter how cleverly it was done. They might not be able to tell you exactly what was wrong with
Seven Days
or
Indoors
or the others but they wouldn’t look forward to a new issue with the same excitement, they wouldn’t read them with the same satisfaction, and eventually, after a year or so, they would either accept them in their diminished, cheapened state—as so much
is
accepted by consumers—or stop buying them altogether. We’ve never settled for less than our highest possible degree of excellence, but this memo takes the idea of excellence and spits on it.”

“My mother intends to sell Amberville Publications based on the earnings shown in the next balance sheet,” Maxi said tonelessly.