Really, I blame a combination of sleep deprivation, cold medication, and too much caffeine. And maybe a touch of insanity. But really, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
“Why do you keep going on about the line column? You act as though that’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever done,” Stephanie said mildly to her editor, Jessica, who was standing in front of her, waving a sheaf of papers and turning an alarming shade of red.
“The readers have had enough, Stephanie. This is a woman’s magazine. They don’t want to read philosophical discussions on adages and plumb the depths of their subconscious,” Jessica said. “You should read some of these e-mails.”
“So what you’re saying,” Stephanie said with one eyebrow arched. “Is that women are too vapid and nim-witted to appreciate anything that makes them think. Not very progressive thinking, now, is that?”
“You know that’s not what I think, but…”
“But that’s what you think.”
“Look, I’m not about to say that our readers are a good cross-section of all American women. Our readers are a certain type of woman. The type of woman who doesn’t want to think about what a line may or may not mean,” Jessica said through clenched teeth.
“Not a very nice thing to say about your readers, Jessica,” Stephanie tutted.
“I’m not the one saying it. They are the ones saying it. Here, read some of these e-mails.” Jessica thrust the papers into Stephanie’s hands.
Dear Editor:
I cannot believe you continue to allow Stephanie Feinton to waste valuable pages in your magazine on that nonsense she calls an article. What is it even supposed to be about? It reads more like a personal blog than anything that belongs in a fashion magazine. We don’t care about a line on a napkin, we care about A-line skirts and eyeliner and lip liner. Stick to what makes this magazine great, and weed out the crap.
Signed,
Perplexed in Mississippi
“Valuable pages that could otherwise contain obscure advertisements for perfume showing lions and the circus? Really, I have never understood that one. It is topped only by the naked woman in the jeans ad. That one is something I don’t think anyone will ever be able to explain to me,” Stephanie said.
“Read on,” Jessica said.
Dear Editor:
While I do normally enjoy Stephanie Feinton’s columns, as they lend a breathe of originality and interest into what can sometimes seem like nothing but a magazine of advertisements, I was a little confused by this month’s article, which seemed to come out of left field, even for her. I suppose that answers the question as to if she is ever given any guidelines, or is simply allowed to write whatever she wishes. At any rate, I can only hope this is a momentary blip and she will return to her usually, witty, dry-humored self.
Signed,
Disappointed in Maryland.
“So she didn’t like one column. I’m failing to see the truly awful in this e-mail, it says she usually enjoys my column. Can’t really argue with that, can we?”
“Read on.”
Dear Editor:
Stephanie Feinton sucks. You should fire her.
Signed,
Pissed in Montana
“Well, no accounting for taste. I’m sure every writer gets some of these every month,” Stephanie said.
“Well… yes, but you get more than your fair share,” Jessica grudgingly admitted.
Dear Editor:
I had a dream last night involving Stephanie Feinton, a vat of oil, and a large ostrich feather and I was hoping…
“Whoa, I don’t think I needed to see this one from Amorous in Missouri,” Stephanie said. “Though that is a really creative idea for the use of an inflatable dolphin.”
Jessica frowned and snatched the letter out of Stephanie’s hand. Her eyes scanned down the page, and she turned a startling shade of bright pink. “Oh, my,” she squeaked. “That is…”
“Creative?”
“Disturbing.”
“Yes, well. Right, right, read on.”
Dear Editor:
I was very disappointed in the decision to run Stephanie Feinton’s not well thought out dissertation on the meaning of a line. She put no thought into the reason for the line, the thought that went into the drawing of the line, and the meaning and nature of the line itself. This short-sighted exercise did nothing but to foist her pseudo-intellectual drivel on the world.
Signed,
Aggravated in Michigan
“She completely missed the point of that exercise,” Stephanie said. “If she’d wanted a long, drawn-out essay on what the line could have meant, I could give her that – but I doubt you’d give me enough room to publish it. Besides, that was against the rules. It was the picture, and only the picture, that had to be worth a thousand words.”
“Rules?” It was Jessica’s turn to arch an eyebrow. “I should have known this was one of your ridiculous wagers. Your most bizarre ideas always are.”
Dear Editor:
I am writing on behalf of an organization that is interested in buying the rights to all of Stephanie Feinton’s past and future articles, so that we may make sure they never again see the light of day. It is our believe that she is the incarnation of the Devil himself, put on this earth to spread the word of the darkness and turn people from the one true path…
“Wow, Militant in Massachusetts sure does go on for awhile. I didn’t realize such a young and… unusual church could already have so many pieces of literature from which to quote. I particularly like the bit about comparing me to a sow’s head that has been boiled in molasses. Quite creative.” Stephanie shook her head. “I really don’t think this is making your point.”
“I… I actually didn’t think you’d read them,” Jessica admitted. “You normally just tell me people have a right to their opinion and if they don’t like your column they can stuff it.”
“True. But I’m feeling unpredictable, so.”
Dear Editor:
I would like you to know the article on 101 ways to remove stubborn stains saved my life. I borrowed my mother’s best silk blouse, and spilled mustard on it. I thought I was dead for sure, but Sandra’s tips worked a charm and got the stain out! Now she’ll never know, and I won’t get in trouble.
Signed,
Miscreant in Maine
“You really just did grab a random handful, didn’t you?” Stephanie asked.
“And yet a significant number of them were actually complaining about you,” Jessica said. “What does that tell you?”
“I’m popular?”
“Try again.”
Dear Editor:
I would like to write to inquire where I can obtain the boots pictured on page 24 of this month’s issue. The print claims they are Binky McClouds, but I contacted the company and they have never produced a boot in that style. If you could please respond and let me know the correct place to buy the boots, I would be grateful.
Signed,
Shopping in Minnesota
“As enlightening as that was, I think I’ll pass on reading any more,” Stephanie said.
“Right,” Jessica sighed. “Just try to keep it more… pertinent from now on, okay?”
“Sure, you got it,” Stephanie said. “How about an article on the eight U.S. states that start with the letter M?”
Jessica looked at her blankly. “What brought that up?”
Stephanie shook her head sadly. “One question, though.”
“Shoot.”
“How many pictures of lines on napkins did you get?”
Jessica stared at her for a long minute. She walked over and set the stack on printed e-mails on the edge of her desk, then turned slowly to face Stephanie.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t ask,” Jessica said slowly.
Stephanie simply smiled and looked at her.
“One thousand, three hundred and forty two,” Jessica admitted.
Stephanie just smiled even more widely, then walked out of her editor’s office.
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