The rise and fall of Lear Magazine

CORDELIA

I had been walking up the steps of the Park Place subway for the past twelve years, but today was different. Today, I was thinking about how I had climbed these steps all those years ago on my first day at Lear magazine. I had spent the three years prior working four jobs while living in a coffin room in Bushwick. Eventually, I summoned the courage to submit a feature idea to Editor-in-Chief Margaret Lear, who read it and hired me on the spot.

Working at Lear had been my dream—the reason I moved to New York—and the reality of it was so much better than I could have imagined. After two years, my name, Cordelia James, became a consistent byline, and I got to work alongside my two best friends, Reagan Cornwall and Georgina Albany.

These women were like sisters to me. We brainstormed together, edited each other's work, stayed at the office until 1 a.m. to get a feature in, helped each other move houses or get over bad breakups, and eventually, we all moved into the same apartment block in Manhattan. We were living the dream, and best of all, we were doing it together.

Unfortunately, this was all about to change. After twenty incredible years of building Lear from a gossip rag into a fashion magazine with hard-hitting features, Margaret Lear had decided to step down from her position to consult for French Vogue and had asked all three of us to apply for the role.

Margaret leaving was such a loss for me; I just couldn’t imagine a world without her in it. I was grief-stricken. Over the years, she had become a mentor, a hero, a friend.

My assistant Kate smiled at me as I walked towards my office. She wasn't the typical girl who worked at Lear with her mousy brown hair, ill-fitting dresses, and the ugliest pink cardigan you’ve ever seen. However, when I met her, I knew she would be a great fit for where the magazine was heading. She was smart, cared a lot about the world, and was passionate about telling great stories. She was the future of Lear.

I gave her a broad smile as I walked into my office to find Reagan and Georgina sitting on my couch, dissecting a text from some guy Georgina was dating. "Cordelia, read this and tell me what you think," she said, handing me her phone. The text read, "Around tonight, maybe 2am?" Georgina always seemed to chase after the worst men. I looked down at her and said, "G, please, you are too good for this loser. You are hot, talented, and about to interview for Editor-in-Chief at the best magazine in the world. Delete his number."

Georgina nodded. "You’re right, but you know I’m—we’re—only interviewing because we’re being forced to. We’re going to make sure you become our new boss."

Reagan and Georgina stood up straight and saluted me. Reagan lowered her hand and said, "Yeah, I plan to make as many mistakes as possible. I really don’t want the job, and you’re going to be so good at all the internal politics."

Georgina followed suit, furrowing her brow as she remarked with a tinge of anger, "Just remember to talk to the board about getting us online. You know I love Margaret, but she’s really fucked us by living in the stone ages. It’s 2003, for God’s sake; we need to be on the internet."

I couldn't really defend Margaret on this. We had numerous consultants advising us to get online, but her decision to stick to print meant we lost a lot of potential readers and advertisers.

Once Reagan and Georgina had finished their presentations, it was my turn. My assistant Kate joined to handle the tech as I prepared to oust the women I had looked up to my entire life.

This was the first time I'd seen Margaret since the announcement. She looked demure as always, but it was clear she had been crying. While she had presented the decision as her own, we all knew it was partially influenced by the board, as the magazine was losing money and needed a shake-up.

I was about to start my presentation when my eyes met Margaret's, and I froze. I couldn't speak. Looking into her eyes, I couldn't find words big enough to express how important she was to me, to the team she had built, and to the world.

What words could ever convey to these men in suits, who were forcing her out, what she meant to all of us? My silence lingered in the air, broken only by the sounds of shuffling seats and light coughs. Finally, Kate nudged me in the ribs, and Georgina’s reminder was all I could think of. "Online," I yelled.

One of the men looked up, relieved the awkwardness was over, and asked, “What about online?” I picked at my nails and finally said, in a more aggressive tone than I meant to, “We, um, Margaret has fuu...ucked us.”

“Excuse me,” came from the other side of the table. We all turned to look at Margaret, who sternly looked at me.

“I just mean, we’re, um, a bit behind now. We should have gone online a long time ago. It’s why we’re not making any money,” I stammered. Margaret kept staring at me.

“Sorry, that’s it, I should, um, go.” I couldn't hold the tears in. I ran to my office and lay my head on the table to cry.

“All you had to do was say you were going to run the magazine how I had, and now you’ve made me look incompetent. No doubt they’ll rescind the offer to consult for French Vogue, given they think I don’t know what the fucking internet is,” Margaret boomed at me from my office door.

“Cordelia, I have loved you like a daughter, but this is unforgivable. I can’t trust you to preserve my legacy, so as my final act as Editor-in-Chief, you’re fired.”

“What?” Kate yelled from next to me. “She’s done everything for you! She literally has no social life because she’s been married to this fucking job.” Rude but fair. “We should have gone online sooner. We’re a dinosaur now.”

Margaret scrunched up her face. “Well, look, missy, you’re fired too. Take your ugly cardigan and get out of here.” She turned her attack to me. “And you, I know every editor in this town. You won’t be working for any magazine in this country ever again. Get out and never come back.”

MARGARET

I’m Margaret fucking Lear. I had mentored Cordelia for twelve years, and all she gave me was silence and a speech about how I'm out of touch.

She had fucked me. I had wanted to move to Paris, consult, and write my novel.

The board had rescinded my offer and also decided that Georgina and Reagan weren’t a good fit for the role.

This was my legacy. I couldn't let a stranger take it. I felt paralysed and out of options.

The board was brainstorming who could take over when I blurted out, “Let them co-lead.”

The board stared bewildered at me. “Give Georgina New York and Reagan LA, and I’ll stay on to consult for the next few years. They can get us online, and I’ll make sure the tone and vision stays the same.”

Advertising was all these lowlifes cared about, so keeping me around helped. It meant consistency, so the big fashion brands didn't go elsewhere. The board members looked at each other. “Fine, works for us. Just make us some money, Margaret.”

Okay, great. This works, and then in a year or so, I can start the novel.

Five years. Five years with these idiots in charge. As editors, they had been ambitious and diligent, but now they had become slaves to the board, Georgina in particular. I had stayed with her in New York, where she spent the first year telling me everything I had done wrong. She had hired an online editor, Eddie, and he had gotten under her skin straight away.

I tried to keep the tone of the magazine, but Georgina had turned it into the type of site that pointed out women’s cellulite and wrote scathing pieces about celebrities. Reagan was no better, writing rambling features no one wanted to read.

Eventually, they kicked me out of board meetings, I had become obsolete in my own magazine.

I had hired a new PA, Karen, a cute girl with a short blond bob and an ugly pink cardigan I felt I’d seen before. She was my eyes and ears and was the one to tell me Cordelia had taken a job at French Vogue. I knew I had made a huge mistake.

Kate let me know that Eddie had also worked his way into Georgina’s bed and had overheard him poisoning her against Reagan. “You know you need to get rid of her. She’s trying to run LA into the ground. That last article was terrible; people don’t want that. This should be all yours, Georgina. She needs to be gone.”

Georgina had responded, “I know, I know. She thinks she’s a real journalist, but she’s not. She never was. I know what's needed, and it’s not that. We’re making more money than ever, and I just need that dinosaur and two-bit writer to leave me alone.” This had been music to Eddie’s ears.

I was going to confront her, but instead, I decided to get on a plane to LA to try and convince Reagan to put Lear back together.

Reagan met me in the foyer of the LA office with a scowl on her face. “Eddie just called me.” I grimaced at his name; he had gotten to her before me. She continued, “He told me you think my writing is terrible and it always has been.”

I tried to jump in. “Reagan, please, I nev—”

“Don’t, Margaret,” she interjected. “You got rid of Cordelia, and now you’re coming after me and Georgina. I may not like Georgina anymore, but she would never come after my writing.”

“Reagan, please—”

“No, Margaret, just get out. I don’t want you here. We don’t need you.”

I left the building as quickly as I came in and stood on the sidewalk of downtown LA. As I walked down the street, a dribble of rain hit my face. Looking up, the grey clouds above me opened up, and I was drenched in seconds. Winds from the east pushed me off the sidewalk, and I fell into the street.

Lying face down on the road, I turned over and let the rain hit my face as I started to weep. I thought of how things could have been if I hadn’t let my ego get in the way. I had been stuck, and Cordelia was the right choice. She could have taken us online while keeping the board at bay, but instead, I’d driven her away and created two money-hungry monsters.

GEORGINA

When the board hired Eddie, I protested at first, but he knew how to get us online and the type of articles we needed to write to get the most clicks.

As he walked toward my office, I thought about what our marriage and kids would be like.

“Georgina?” my elbow slipped as I came back from my daydreaming.

Eddie smiled at me.

“We need to talk.” He closed the door and looked at me, concerned. “I just spoke to Reagan. Margaret was there. I managed to track her movements, and she’s going to Paris.”

“Paris?” I questioned, as Eddie continued,

“I think to see Cordelia. I’m guessing to bring her back and have her take over. She wants you out, Georgia.”

Oh, I love how he says my name.

“What should I do?” I asked.

“I think you need to destroy Cordelia,” he answered.

Reagan’s name flashed up on my Blackberry. “Hey G, ugh, Georgina,” Reagan said. “Eddie just told me about Lear going to Paris. We need a way to stop Cordelia. I’ve written a few features; maybe we can publish those to keep Margaret happy?” I rolled my eyes and looked at Eddie.

Reagan was also becoming a problem. In the past few board meetings, she’d been more vocal than I’d liked. Eddie was right; it would be better if it was just the two of us.

MARGARET

Landing in Paris, I felt a rush of adrenaline and fear. Cordelia wouldn’t want to see me, but I needed her to. As I stepped off the plane, my phone buzzed with a new article from Lear. The headline read, “Reagan Cornwall Has Affair with 6 Lear Employees.” Fuck, Georgina was going for her. This was the type of thing to get you canceled.

My phone then buzzed hundreds of times as other magazines picked up the story. The news evolved so quickly that within an hour, four other employees had come forward. The internet was a scary place.

CORDELIA

Paris had been good to me. It had allowed me to grow into myself. Cordelia James, Editor-in-Chief of Paris Vogue—I had made it. I had built myself into an award-winning journalist with a team who respected me. I had become the woman I’d always wanted to be.

I had watched from afar as Lear crumbled. Reagan and Georgina kept in touch at first, but over the years we drifted apart, and they became different people. They didn’t care about the magazine or each other; they only cared about money.

I had just finished reading about Reagan’s affairs and her decision to step down as Editor-in-Chief when a familiar, much more aged face appeared at my office door. Margaret Lear, her hair frazzled and her normally demure clothing soiled, walked towards my desk.

“Oh my god, Margaret, you look terrible.” I grimaced as the words left my mouth.

“Do you need help?” I asked.

She answered,

“Yes, I want you to come back to New York.”

GEORGINA

Ruining Reagan was great; she stepped down quickly. It felt like killing a baby deer. Eddie had sent me article after article about her. In his last text, he reminded me that I still had Cordelia to take care of. Then Lear would be ours.

MARGARET

“Cordelia, I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have done what I did. I was already feeling old and over the hill, so when you said what you did, it pushed me. This isn’t an excuse, just hopefully an explanation.”

Cordelia looked blankly at me and then finally said,

“I’m sorry too.”

As we hugged each other, Cordelia’s phone buzzed, as did all the phones in the Vogue office.

With a sigh, Cordelia picked up her phone. “Fuck.”

I looked up at Cordelia.

“Georgina?” I asked.

“Georgina,” she answered.

“She’s made out that everything I wrote at Lear I stole from her and that I have been having an affair with one or two of the board members, and that’s how I got the job here.”

Cordelia let one lone tear leave her eye. I wiped it away and said, “She’s discrediting you so you’ll never work again. She’s gotten too powerful; she needs to be stopped.”

Cordelia looked at me sadly and said, “Margaret, I’m so sorry, but I can’t come back. Georgina won’t stop, and I might not even have this job anymore.”

“I’ll go back to New York and hopefully talk some sense into her,” I said as I left the office.

I looked back at Cordelia, who was already on the phone with HR. We knowingly nodded to each other as I left. This is all my fault. Reagan is gone, Cordelia is gone, my legacy, the magazine is gone.

GEORGINA

Well, that’s it. Reagan and Cordelia are out of my life and out of the magazine. Eddie and I can run this place without them.

Since the article launched, my phone hasn’t stopped buzzing, but I haven’t had a chance to look at any messages yet.

When I finally looked down to see if Cordelia had been officially canceled, I realised it’s wasn't my phone but Eddie’s.

He had asked me to charge it at my desk.

On the front screen were messages about Cordelia, but then one from Reagan. I open it and saw a backlog of messages from the past five years.

The messages revealed two people having an affair, but not only that, there were hundreds of messages of him encouraging her to take me down, saying that I was a terrible writer she didn’t need, and how she could be the editor-in-chief alone—all the things he had been saying to me.

The man had played both of us, and I’d let it happen. I’d let it kill my relationship with my best friends and destroyed the legacy I had been a part of building.

I was a joke, not the real journalist I’d dreamt of being.

I was writing a final article about Reagan being the real downfall of Lear magazine, how she had convinced the board members to take on new advertisers, killed the brand and its integrity, and felt features were not needed.

I read through the piece, clicked find and replace, and changed Reagan’s name to my own.

As I saw Margaret walk into my office, I hit publish.

MARGARET

I spotted Georgina across the office as my phone buzzes. This article would be enough for the board to fire her and replace us both. This was the end. A stranger would take over Lear, and everything I had worked for had been broken by one bad decision, by my ego. I had killed the three women I had loved the most, and I had killed myself.