Excerpt of Sushi for Beginners by Marian Keyes

Chapter One

At Femme magazine, something had been in the air for
weeks, a feeling that they were living on a fault line.
Speculation finally burst into flames when it was
confirmed that Calvin Carter, the U.S. managing director,
had been sighted roaming around the top floor, looking for
the gents'. Apparently he'd just arrived in London from
the head office in New York.

It's happening. Lisa clenched her fists in excitement.
It's actually finally, bloody happening.

Later that day the phone call came. Would Lisa pop
upstairs to see Calvin Carter and British managing
director Barry Hollingsworth?

Lisa slammed down the phone. "Too right I would," she
shouted at it.

Her colleagues barely looked up. People slamming phones
down then shouting were ten a penny in the magazine game.
Besides, they were trapped in Deadline Hell -- if they
didn't get this month's issue put to bed by nightfall,
they'd miss their slot with the printers and would be
scooped once again by archrivals Marie Claire. But what
did she care, Lisa thought, hobbling to the lift, she
wouldn't have a job here after today. She'd have a much
better one somewhere else.

Lisa was kept waiting outside the boardroom for twenty-
five minutes. After all, Barry and Calvin were very
important men.

"Should we let her in yet?" Barry asked Calvin, when he
felt they'd killed enough time.

"It's only twenty minutes since we called her," Calvin
pointed out, huffily. Obviously Barry Hollingsworth didn't
realize just how important he, Calvin Carter, was.

"Sorry, I thought it was later. Perhaps you'd show me
again how to improve my swing."

"Sure. Now, head down and hold still. Hold still! Feet
steady, left arm straight, and swing!"

When Lisa was finally granted admission, Barry and Calvin
were seated behind a walnut table approximately a
kilometer long. They looked frowningly powerful.

"Sit down, Lisa." Calvin Carter inclined his silver bullet
head graciously.

Lisa sat. She smoothed back her caramel-colored hair,
showing her free honey-colored highlights to their best
advantage. Free because she kept plugging the salon in
the "Ones to Watch" section of the magazine.

Settling herself in the chair, she tucked her Patrick Cox-
shod feet neatly around each other.

The shoes were a size too small -- no matter how many
times she asked the Patrick Cox press office to send a
size six, they always sent a five. But free Patrick Cox
shoes were free Patrick Cox shoes. What did an unimportant
detail like excruciating agony matter?

"Thank you for coming up.' Calvin smiled. Lisa decided
she'd better smile back. Smiles were a commodity like
everything else, only given in exchange for something
useful, but she reckoned in this case it was worth her
while. After all, it wasn't every day that a girl was
seconded to New York and made deputy editor of Manhattan
magazine. So she curled her mouth and bared her pearly-
white teeth. (Kept that way from the year's supply of
Rembrandt toothpaste that had been donated for a reader
competition, but which Lisa had thought would be more
appreciated in her own bathroom.)

"You've been at Femme for" -- Calvin looked at the stapled
pages in front of him -- "four years?"

"Four years next month," Lisa murmured, with an expertly
judged mix of deference and confidence.

"And you've been editor for nearly two years?"

"Two wonderful years," Lisa confirmed, fighting back the
urge to stick her fingers down her throat and gag.

"And youre only twenty-nine," Calvin marveled. "Well, as
you know, here at Randolph Media we reward hard work.'

Lisa twinkled prettily at this patent lie. Like many
companies in the Western world, Randolph Media rewarded
hard work with poor pay, increasing workloads, demotions,
and on-a-second's-notice redundancies.

But Lisa was different. She'd paid her dues at Femme, and
made sacrifices that even she'd never intended to make:
starting at seven-thirty most mornings, doing twelve-,
thirteen-, fourteen-hour days, then going to evening press
do's when she finally switched off her computer. Often she
came to work on Saturdays, Sundays, even bank-holiday
Mondays. The porters loathed her because it meant that
whenever she wanted to come to the office one of them had
to come in and open up and thereby forgo their Saturday
football or their bank-holiday family outing to Brent
Cross.

"We have a vacancy at Randolph Media, " Calvin said
importantly. "it would be a wonderful challenge, Lisa."

I know, she thought irritably. Just cut to the chase.

"It will involve moving overseas, which can sometimes be a
problem for one's partner."

"I'm single." Lisa was brusque.

Barry wrinkled his forehead in surprise and thought of the
termer he'd had to hand over for someone's wedding present
a few years before. He could have sworn it was for Lisa
here, but maybe not, perhaps he wasn't as on the ball as
he once used to be ...

"We're looking for an editor for a new magazine," Calvin
went on.

A new magazine? Lisa was jotted off course. But Manhattan
has been published for seventy years.

While she was still grappling with the implications of
that, Calvin delivered the whammy. "It would involve your
relocating to Dublin."

The shock set up a smothered buzzing in her head, as if
her ears needed to pop. A numb, fuzzy sensation of
alienation. The only reality was the sudden agony of her
crumpled toes.

"Dublin?" She heard her muffled voice ask. Perhaps ...
perhaps ... perhaps they meant Dublin, New York.

"Dublin, Ireland," Calvin Carter said, down a long, echoey
tunnel, destroying the last of her hope.

I can't believe this is happening to me.

"Ireland?"

"Small wet place across the Irish Sea," Barry offered
kindly.

"Where they drink a lot?" Lisa said faintly.

"And they never stop talking. That's the place. Booming
economy, huge population of young folk. Market research
indicates the place is ripe for a new feisty women's
magazine. And we want you to set it up for us, Lisa."