Word of mouth

Paula wasn't her usual self at all, thought Katy. In fact, the
features writer of Mode magazine had been in a bitch of a mood all day.
The normally even-tempered Paula had been spitting nails since
glamourpuss Lianne Dawson had been hired as their new star columnist.
She'd even dragged Katy off to a nearby caf? to hold a crisis
meeting.

'It's so unfair, Katy,' said Paula. 'She's a talentless cow who's got
to the top by sleeping with the right people. She's crap, and even she
knows she's crap.'

'Oh come on, Paula.' Katy was beginning to suspect that her favourite
colleague was having a rare attack of the green-eyed monster. She knew
that Paula had been passed over for the job, even though everybody else
on the staff had thought it was already a done deal. 'Give her a break,
she's the new girl. She's probably just finding it hard to fit
in.'

'Katy, she turned her last piece in a day late, three hundred words too
short, and full of spelling mistakes. She can't bloody write! We gave
it back to her for a rewrite and she said no way, she was off to the
hairdresser. So I spoke to the editor, and he said to stop whinging and
go sort it out. It took me five times longer to fix it than it took her
to throw it together. She made two mistakes in the original copy that
we could have been sued over. The whole thing's driving me nuts.'

'Really?' said Katy. 'Actually, I read the final piece and it was okay.
Pretty good you know, edgy, witty. Are you sure this isn't just sour
grapes?'

Paula looked wounded. 'I'm glad you liked it, because I was the person
who ended up writing the damned thing. I got all the aggravation, she
took all the credit, and what thanks did I get? Bugger all.' She
lowered her voice. 'I was talking to an old mate of mine who works on
Threads Monthly, and he said all her columns were ghost written when
she was there. She didn't do a stroke of work, and she got paid a
fortune. All the women there hated her, and so did he,' she said.

'Oh, did they?' said Katy, quietly picturing a gaggle of jealous women
backstabbing their glamorous, ambitious colleague.

'Ah, yes' said Paula, 'She was all sickly-sweet with him in the
beginning. He's gay, in an I'm-not-going-to-shout-about-it kind of way,
and as soon as she realised that he wasn't being won over by her
cleavage and stocking-top flashing, she started being a bitch to him
too and went over his head to someone more senior. Well, several people
more senior, if I heard right.'

She fixed Katy with a conspiratorial look. 'There was even a rumour
going around that she gave their publishing director a blow job in the
back of his taxi home every evening to get that promotion.'

Katy looked at her slightly mousy friend and her 34A chest, and thought
about their new colleague, who had been complaining about how hard it
was to get 32DD French underwear in earshot of every passing male that
morning. Surely she wasn't having an insecurity attack over something
like that, how silly would that be?

'She's not a 32DD you know, I know what that looks like, and she was
talking utter shit,' Paula said. 'And they look like someone had glued
a couple of grapefruit halves to her chest just under her chin, for
chrissakes. Ugh, she drives me up the wall. And now she's started
talking in a husky voice to get the editor all turned on. It makes me
sick.'

Katy was getting fed up with her friend's bitterness, and started
looking around for a means to escape that wouldn't hurt Paula's
feelings. She finished her overpriced coffee in two quick gulps, making
her throat burn and her eyes water.

'Right, I'm going to have to get back, I've got to pick up those
transparencies from the picture library,' she said.
'Oh, I had no idea it was so late. Sorry, I've just been ranting on and
on?it's just, well, you know, she's such an evil bitch. Watch your
back.'
'Look,' said Katy, 'keep a lid on it, eh? Even if she is as bad as you
say, spreading rumours like that can backfire on you, be
careful.'

She left Paula finishing her toasted ciabatta, and was relieved to put
some distance between herself and her cranky lunch companion.

She stopped off at the newsagents to grab twenty juicy Marlborough
Lights. On the short walk back to the Mode building, she remembered
Paula confessing to having a massive crush on the editor a few weeks
ago. He'd never shown an obvious interest in her, and Paula had always
been too shy to take the risk of finding out either way.

Lianne and the editor had appeared very pally at the staff meeting that
morning, but Katy put it down to a bit of harmless horseplay. But it
was all starting to make sense; no wonder Paula suddenly had things out
of proportion today. Katy felt a pang of sympathy for her friend, who
was obviously going through a rocky patch with her self-esteem. Paula
would probably calm down soon enough, and it'd all go back to normal,
she decided.

Back at the magazine office, the monthly deadline was looming. Too much
espresso was being consumed, tempers were more frayed than usual and it
looked as though most people would be working late into the evening.
Smoking was banned throughout the building, but Katy was too busy to go
down ten flights of stairs and head outside for a fag break. The
craving for sweet nicotine eventually became too much for her at half
past three, and she nipped into the ladies' toilets for a crafty
cigarette.

Once inside, she made sure she was alone, then made her way into the
most tucked away cubicle by the window and lit up. Afterwards, she
dropped the butt into the pan, flushing it cheerily away to its doom.
She unlocked the door and headed out, absent-mindedly checking her
reflection in the mirror as she went by.

Katy had a nagging feeling that she'd forgotten something. She patted
her pockets. Nope, her fags were okay. Shit, she'd left her lighter
behind on the cistern. As she retrieved it, the main door opened and
she froze inside the half-open cubicle, hoping that it wasn't the
pictures editor coming in to screech at her about the smoke and drag
her back to the desk.

Lianne dropped her makeup bag by the sink, pouted into the mirror and
reapplied her lip liner and gloss. She was touching up her eyeliner
when her mobile began to trill the latest tacky garage hit.

'Babe! How's my best mate?' she said in her new husky voice. 'Oh, yeah,
it's me - I've got a very sore throat today.' She started
laughing.

'I told everyone I was going to get my hair done, and they're all so
stupid here, thick bitches, nobody'll even notice that it looks the
same as yesterday. Went down the clinic for a check up instead. The
throat swab came up gonorrhoea, can you believe it? Oh well,
occupational hazard, but it's a new one on me.' More raspy
laughter.

'So babe, where are we going tonight? I can't drink, antibiotics.
Still, we can find other ways to keep ourselves amused, know what I
mean? Okay, see you at eight.'

Katy waited until she was sure Lianne had gone, then made a sharp exit
from the toilets. Barely able to contain her laughter, she made her way
over to the features desk.

'Paula,' she said, 'I owe you an apology?'