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“But I hope things will be different for you. The world is changing. What I want most for you is challenging work that makes you proud. It’s the key to happiness.”
When I’d contemplated the job I’d worried about the burden of being a boss, afraid the staff would fear and resent me. But now I saw that there was another side to that coin: Nothing feels as good as building a team and empowering people, watching them grow and thrive.
A Condé Nast honcho once carped that I was “too accessible.” I considered that a great compliment. When I’d arrived a quiet haze of depression had been hanging over the office and it had now been replaced by animation, noise, constant conversation. People talked in the halls, gathered in the kitchen, so filled with ideas that the whole place felt as if it was humming.
It would have killed me to admit it, but without Larry we’d have been lost. Nobody was thrilled with his new procedures—we were all marching to his tune—but each day the place ran a little more smoothly. We might resent his endless tinkering, but Larry made us all feel safe.
We were an odd trio, Laurie, Larry, and I, but we had perfect equilibrium, and before long we each began to understand our role in the institution we were creating. I was the cheerleader, the instigator, creating chaos, insisting we make changes right up to the last minute when someone came up with a better idea. The staid magazine, which had always operated at a stately pace, was now speeding along in a constant state of flux. Laurie was the nurturer, mopping up behind me, always calm, always available, always ready to talk. And Larry was the disciplinarian who kept us all in line.
His skin is porcelain white, his hair silver and just a little too long, his eyes pale blue. He has a long, disdainful nose contradicted by full, sensual lips. A good face. And, I notice, elegant, slightly threadbare clothes whose patina of age makes them distinguished rather than shabby.
The more stars in your itinerary, the less likely you are to find the real life of another country. I’d forgotten how money becomes a barrier insulating you from ordinary life.
“When you attain my age you will understand one of life’s great secrets: Luxury is best appreciated in small portions. When it becomes routine it loses its allure.”
Once again I smelled the ocean brine, the seaweed, felt damp sand beneath my feet. And I remembered, as I read, just how it felt to be eight years old and setting off on a great adventure.
The flames leapt up, and as they died I wished, for just a moment, that my parents could be with us. They’d encouraged me to follow my passion—even though it was one they did not share. It’s been a long and very satisfying journey. I hope they know that.
