The Other Black Girl(9)
She could already see Hazel telling her all about it after work, dishing stories over gin and juice, when Vera chimed in, “Yes, it really is quite cold. We think we get snow here. But up there it’s a different animal entirely. Maisy knows all about that. Don’t you, Maze?”
“Ah, that’s right!” said Hazel good-naturedly. She didn’t seem bothered that her use of the word “cold” had been misunderstood. “Weren’t you telling me that you were born and raised in Boston?”
“From diapers to my dissertation,” Maisy chirped. “And my first job was in Boston, too. It’ll always be my home”—she placed a hand on her heart—“but it’s definitely not for everybody. The food scene is dreadful. Ver, do you remember that awful awards dinner up in Cambridge?” And with the introduction of this memory, she and Vera were off for about three minutes, going back and forth about every course, sparing not one extravagant detail.
Nella stretched her face into as little of a smile as she could get away with, prepared to exchange a knowing glance with Hazel as they waited for the conversation to circle back. But when she tried to meet the girl’s eye, Hazel didn’t look bored. She was actually smiling and tutting and Ohmygod ing right along with Vera and Maisy. At one point, she contributed a joke of her own and even nudged Maisy with her elbow.
Nella frowned, a little bummed that her glance hadn’t been reciprocated. She was a little surprised, too. She couldn’t remember when she’d first ventured to touch her boss, but it certainly wasn’t her first day, probably not even her first month.
“Anyway, what was I saying?” Maisy said finally. “Hazel, Nella here will be an amazing resource for all of your questions. You should totally pick her brain.”
“We call her the author whisperer,” Vera added, even though Nella had never been called this a single day in her life. “Whenever a diva is freaking out, Nella just lays on that charm of hers and it’s all good.”
“Aw, nah.” Nella chuckled. Fake-humble was the MO at Wagner, after all. “I don’t know about all that. But yes, ask me anything. I’ll be just right across the aisle.”
Hazel flicked her locs over her shoulder, a cheeky smile spreading across her face. “Careful what you say! I’ll probably be bothering you all the time. I know magazines, but books are a complete mystery to me.”
Had the new girl really just admitted that in front of her boss? That’s pretty ballsy of her, Nella thought, remembering how much she’d downplayed her own inexperience in publishing when she first started. But an explanation for this came to her almost immediately: Entry-level assistants are liked way more when their bosses think they’re blank slates. “It’ll be no bother at all,” she said. “Really!”
Hazel’s head tilted to the side just so, like it was being gently tugged by an invisible string, like she was just so happy to know Nella was in her corner that she couldn’t keep her head straight. “I’m so glad to hear that.”
Maisy bowed her head in gratitude. “Great! And Vera, before we go: Do you know if Bridget is here today? I would love to swing by her office and introduce Hazel before we grab lunch.”
“I heard Stevie playing through the wall earlier, so…”
Both women made faces at one another. “Ah. I’ll take my chances. We’ll let you get back to it. So sorry, again, for interrupting!”
“Oh my god, Maze, don’t even worry about it!” Vera waved her off and sat back down in her chair, her hands already returning to the couple of scrawled notes on Colin Franklin’s latest novel. “And Hazel—again, it’s so nice to meet you. We’re thrilled to have you on board.”
“Yes! Welcome!” Nella added cheerily, and after a few half waves, four became two again.
Nella sat back down, feeling readier than ever to delve into her Shartricia feedback. Meeting Hazel had poofed away her apprehension, renewed her sense of purpose. But when she started to speak, she noticed something disconcerting had come over her boss’s face. After a few wordless seconds, Vera put her pen down and said, a bit grumpily, “Jeez Louise. I’m always ready to take a break from work after I talk to Maisy. She’s that exhausting.”
Nella shrugged. It was startling whenever her boss treated her like a confidante.
“Now, where were we?”
“Colin Franklin. Needles and Pins.”
“Yes. Yes, so you were saying—”
Vera was interrupted again, this time by Stevie Nicks. Bridget, an associate editor with an affinity for the singer, was definitely in the office that day, and had apparently been in a good enough mood to open her office door when Maisy knocked. Nella and Vera listened as Maisy shouted out the name of her new assistant, and then as Hazel shouted it even louder. Nella was shutting Vera’s door when Maisy yelled Hazel’s name a third time, adding, rather helpfully, “Like the nut!”
Vera sighed. “Thank you. Ugh. Someone really needs to do something about that,” she complained, even though they both knew very well that the last person who’d asked Bridget to turn down her music had suffered a rough couple of months with HR, because Bridget happened to be the granddaughter of one of Wagner’s first authors—who in turn happened to be a golf buddy of Richard’s. This explained why she’d scored her own office at such a relatively junior level, a decision of Richard’s that had uniquely pissed off both upper-and lower-level employees.