惠蘭原創
天生夜遊神，小半生從事中文。敝姓王，但從未登基，隻是沾了些先祖靈氣而已；生於午夜，著歌而來……
小說《吉兒》第一章節選
原著：凱倫•亞波斯基（美國）
漢譯：惠蘭
謹以此書獻給：史蒂文，本和莉莉
第一章《吉兒》頁麵廣告縮水10%！
這一切，發生在一個普通的工作日。午後十分鍾，電梯停在8樓，我剛好喝完最後一滴可樂。我忘了帶門卡。安檢時，除了沒做腔體搜查，其他部位都被查了個遍。現在，用腳踢著一個複印紙盒，看著它慢慢抵開玻璃門，我大大地鬆了口氣。先前，8樓是沒有前台的。因此如果沒有複印紙盒，我就得叫人幫我開門。這本來嘛，也不是什麽天大的事。不過，每次進辦公室，我喜歡盡量不驚動他人。但這事實上不可能。因為，我進辦公室必須進行的“走步”，不可能不被人注意。
因為門的設計方式，如果想要走進辦公室的話，我就得跟通道兩側幾乎所有的下屬打招呼才行。我真的不想費力地去打麽多麽招呼。別誤會我：不是我不喜歡他們，事實上，我對多數人都沒有惡感。但是，我來到辦公室，想實實在在幹點兒活，本身就夠煩的了。而眼下這個必須的“走步”程式，讓人煩上加煩。
想不麻煩，就必須在別人沒來之前進辦公室。這等於是說，要趕在早上9點之前。想想看，早上9點之前。這有多麽荒謬。這簡直不可思議。當然，我可沒說過絕對反對早起，可我有鋪天蓋地的業務、聚會、晚間電視直播訪談，有各種各樣各類各式各等的事情要忙。而我做這些事的目的，全都是為了讓雜誌的PR紅火。外加我那可愛的失眠症，我絕對需要在早上多睡些時。
為了盡量顯得優雅，我喜歡把“走步”想像成走紅地毯。這跟參加奧斯卡名流們的那種走法一樣。不停步子。邊說話邊走過等在兩邊的人。如果不這樣做，就沒有辦法進入慶典。但是，他們又都很有禮節，快樂地揮著手、微笑著。隻有在需要擺姿勢或是應對采訪時，才簡短地停留一刻。
現在，我臉上帶著走紅地毯一般的微笑，推開玻璃門，準備“走步”。當我接近辦公室汪洋般的隔間時，我開始想像同事們收音機裏剌耳的聲音，就像管弦樂隊美妙的聲浪；頭上的日光燈簡直就是舞台的聚光燈。我讓我的嗅覺相信：自己走過之處，並不是廉價的難聞的午餐的味道，而是法國名貴高檔香水的餘味兒。而眼前的光盤、書籍，以及過期的雜誌堆，都變成了象牙柱。隻有那幅貼在會議室附近牆上的、被墨水筆弄得髒兮兮的布蘭妮•斯比爾的招貼畫，總在我的想像裏，提醒我保持臉上走紅地毯時的那種微笑。
其實我心裏清楚，所有這些，都是我自己極端任性的想像。但是，錯覺讓人愉快。難道不是麽？它能給我一幅裝出來的麵孔。潛意思是：哇噻，吉兒真是讓人感覺良好。酷斃了！這說明，微笑背後，一切盡在掌控中。而此刻，我特別需要這種麵孔。是的，副主編最近跳槽了。沒有她，我的事多了很多。自然，我也少了一個我與下屬之間的擋箭牌。
這不，預料之中的轟炸說來就來：
我邊走邊微笑，回答的語速像在打機關槍。“沒問題。你好。把材料給剴西。嗯，不錯。很‘搞笑’。晚些吧，我保證看。”
我像伊麗莎白女王一樣對他們揮手。這種自我陶醉的想象，對忘卻這層樓裏的雜亂無章十分有效。當勒斯特姆傳媒最初買下我們的時候，把我們安排在15層樓；和《時尚》雜誌在一起。可惜好景不長。當初從《時尚》雜誌雇員們永無休止的厭惡的表情，我就已經知道好景不長了。他們不可能忍受我們的紋身、身上的廉價穿孔、五花八樣的頭式，以及慣常的不修邊幅。果然，我還沒回過神來，我們就被踢到樓下去了。被塞進自助餐廳的一個角落裏，夾在供餐員和收銀員之間。如此一來，《吉兒》在勒斯特姆王國的地位就不言而喻了。
再有幾步路就到辦公室。轟炸又來了：
“吉兒，你真的要我打電話給凱蒂•漢生的人，告訴她我們不想用她做封麵了嗎？真的麽？”
這讓我停住腳步，極不情願地被拽回了現實。這次是羅莎麗歐，娛樂欄目的編輯。“是的，真的！”我尖刻地回答。
“可是她的專集剛在排名榜上位居第一。”她半猶豫地請求到，“你曾說過，我們必須考慮一個能吸引大眾的封麵。”
我看著羅莎麗歐，她藍色的頭發亂成一堆。在所有我知道的人中，她應該最懂我的心思了。她是個典型的都市女孩——還在廣播電台當過DJ。我的天，連她都這樣。我猜她一定是誤解了我上個星期的話。
“我的意思是要找珍妮弗•安尼斯頓那種類型的名人。”我解釋到，“絕對不是一個低廉的模仿秀的獲獎者。要讓凱蒂•漢生上我們的封麵，除非加上一段封麵解說：“凱蒂•漢生出醜的十個理由。”
我邊說邊走進辦公室，這時一個毛茸茸的東西擦了擦我的腳踝。我停下，彎腰下去抱起努格斯，照片部編輯凱拉的狗。我對此毫無辦法，因為凱拉每天都把狗帶來上班，人事部曾為此寫過好幾封威脅信，但都沒用。無奈，我隻好把努格斯當作我辦公室的吉祥物。我把狗抱起來，湊著我的臉，期待著一個吻。可她隻是不友好地對我叫了兩聲而已。我歎了口氣，把狗放回地上。不管我多麽費力地嚐試，這狗就是不喜歡我。
我的助理凱西見我來了，立即來了精神。我進辦公室時，臉上的表情告訴她：別讓任何人進來；她也最好不要加入那群如從地獄來的康茄舞隊一樣吵吵嚷嚷、追著要我辦事的人的行列。凱西很懂事，不管情況如何緊急，在我沒有完全定下神之前，她通常不會給我找事兒。不過，從她臉上焦急的表情，我知道她有什麽很緊要的，多半是不愉快的消息要告訴我……
附：英文原文
1
Jill’s Ad Pages Suffer 10% Decline
—AdAge, October 2004
It started like any typical workday. At about ten minutes
past noon, I chugged the last drops of my Diet Coke just as
the elevators opened onto the eighth floor. I had forgotten my
ID and had already been subjected to everything but a cavity
search by building security. So I was relieved to see that the
usual box of copy paper was propping the glass door open.
The eighth floor didn’t have a receptionist, so if the box of
copy paper wasn’t there, I’d have to call someone to let me
in. Not a big deal, but I liked to keep my arrival into the office
as inconspicuous as possible. Which, in actuality, was impossible.
It was impossible due to “the walk.”
Because of the layout of the floor, there was no way for me
to get to my office without being accosted by nearly every
staffer along the way. Not that I had anything against my
staffers—most of them I really liked. But “the walk” was just
a ritual that made the act of getting to my office, and then actually
getting some work done, an even longer, more drawn-
out, time-consuming process than it already was.
I suppose I could avoid the problem by getting into the office
before anyone else. Which meant before 9 A.M. Which
was completely, absolutely out of the question. It’s not that I
was a total diva about early mornings; it’s just that after benefits,
parties, and late-night live television interviews—all to
keep the magazine’s PR profile up—combined with my lovely
2 Karen Yampolsky
insomnia problem—I needed a few extra hours of sleep in the
morning.
So to deal with “the walk” as graciously as possible, I sometimes
liked to picture it as a “red-carpet” kind of walk. Celebrities
who arrive at the Oscars, for example, don’t stop and
chat with every person waiting on the sidelines. Otherwise they
would never make it into the ceremony. But they oh so nicely
blow them off, cheerfully waving and smiling, stopping only to
offer a brief pose or sound bite.
So I put on my best red-carpet smile, pulled open the glass
door, and started “the walk.” As I approached the sea of cubicles,
I imagined the alt-funk blaring from a staffer’s radio
to be sweeping orchestra strings. I pictured the unflattering
fluorescents to be bright spotlights. And instead of must,
dust, and rotting lunches, I tricked my nose into believing that
the stench in my trail was some A-lister’s expensive French
parfum. The cluttered stacks of CDs, books, and back issues
became ivory pillars, lining the way. But the Sharpie-defiled
Britney Spears poster plastered near the conference room . . .
that always stayed in the picture, ensuring that my red-carpet
smile stayed in place.
I know it’s all a terribly egotistical fantasy, but the illusion
amused me. And it gave me my game face—the jeez-Jill-is-sopleasant-
and-cool-and-in-control visage behind the smile. I
needed it so much more now, since our managing editor recently
had jumped ship. Without her, I had a lot more work
and . . . one less barrier from the accosters.
Their barrage began.
“Jill! Will you be able to look at my copy today?”
“Jill! What do you think of this as a ‘Hoax’ for the March
issue?”
“Jill! Do you think I’ll be able to get your approval on this
layout? It ships tonight.”
I sailed on, smiling, responding in rapid fire. “Heeeeey. Hi.
Leave the copy with Casey. Yeah, good ‘Hoax.’ Later, I pro
FALLING OUT OF FASHION 3
mise.” I practiced my Queen Elizabeth wave. The fantasy
was especially useful in making the utter crappiness of the
floor melt away. When Nestrom Media first bought us, we
moved to the fifteenth floor, sharing it with Fashionista magazine.
But that didn’t last long. I could tell by the fashionistas’
consistently disgusted scowls that they couldn’t bear
our tattoos; piercings; cheap, multihued haircuts; and general
slovenliness for long. Before I knew it, we were being kicked
downstairs, shoved in a corner behind the cafeteria, between
the supply guy and the check-cashing lady. Now it couldn’t
be any clearer where Jill fit into the hierarchy of the Nestrom
magazine empire.
Just a few more feet to go. And the onslaught continued.
“Jill! Do you really want me to call back Katy Hanson’s people
and tell her we’re not interested in having her on a cover?
Really?!”
That one stopped me in my tracks, snapping me right into
reality. It came from Rosario, the entertainment editor. “Yes,
really!” I snapped.
“But her album just hit number one,” she halfheartedly
pleaded. “And you said we had to start thinking a little bit
more mass appeal for the covers.”
I looked at Rosario, her blue hair matted in all directions.
She of all people should know better, I thought. She was a
downtown girl—a dj, for crying out loud. I guess she misunderstood
me in last week’s meeting. “I meant someone more along
the lines of a . . . Jennifer Aniston,” I explained. “Definitely not
a cheesy reality show winner. The only way that Katy Hanson
would end up on one of our covers would be via a cover line
reading 10 REASONS WHY KATY HANSON BLOWS.
With that, I continued making my way to my office when I
felt a furry presence brush my ankle. I stopped again and
stooped to pick up Ruggles, Kyra the photo editor’s dog. I had
no choice but to make Ruggles the office mascot since Kyra
brought her in every day, despite more than a few threatening
4 Karen Yampolsky
letters from HR. I held the Yorkie to my face, expecting a kiss.
But she just yipped at me. I sighed before I tossed her back on
the floor. No matter how hard I tried, that dog just didn’t like
me.
Casey, my assistant, perked up when she saw me approach.
I gave her my best don’t-let-anybody-in look when I reached
my office. She knew better than to join the conga line from
hell trailing after me, and she usually waited for me to get settled
before she confronted me with anything, no matter how
urgent. I could tell by her exasperated expression, though,
that she had some really pressing, and probably unpleasant,
news…
祝惠蘭在新的一年中萬事如意!