‘Smile’ by DP Snyder

Maintaining Appearances

In Pulp Literature Issue 49, take a trip back to 1987 with ‘Smile’ by DP Snyder. Read an excerpt of this story below, and be sure to pick up a copy of Issue 49, Winter 2026 to find out what happens next!

Smile

by DP Snyder

“Less than fifty minutes’ warning! Fuckety-fuck-fuck!” muttered Jane. I had no answer for that.

We stepped out of the elevator, crossed the cavernous marble lobby of the Rockefeller Center skyscraper, and took the escalator down to the concourse, where small stores lined the tunnel to the subway. I caught the heel of my right pump in a crack and almost pitched forward onto my face. Jane didn’t seem to notice.

The boutique was tiny and ugly — white plaster mannequins with blank expressions under cold fluorescent lighting. A saleswoman with big red hair bustled out from behind the counter to greet us. The readers hanging on a chain around her neck bounced on her shelf-like bosom.

“May I help you, ladies?” She looked only at Jane. My boss had that effect on people. Jane scanned the three walls of beige, white, and black garments.

“Outfit. Her size.” She jabbed at the air in my direction. “Corporate event. Support staff.” She talked like Morse code. The woman sized me up.

“Skirt? Dress? Pants?”

“Slacks, black. Blouse,” said Jane.

I was giving myself an internal pep talk. This was my first big event at the magazine, and I didn’t want to screw up. The ad sales guys would be celebrating their windfall. The top execs, selected staff, and a sprinkling of A- and B-listers would prowl around the models. I might meet someone. I might get noticed.

The clerk pulled an armload of clothes off the racks. Jane leaned in and talked to me behind her hand as if she were telling me secrets.

“Champagne, Caribbean trio, hors d’œuvres, all the muckety-mucks. A real shindig,” she said, surprising me again with her eclectic vocabulary. “The models make nice with the guests. They announce the cover girl. She signs copies of the magazine. Honey, there’ll be so much testosterone in there it’s gonna be hard to breathe.” Jane snorted. “Just stick close to Eve.” The 1987 cover model was what they called ‘a fresh face’. They were already calling her the new Christie Brinkley.

The saleswoman thrust a pile of fabric into my arms.

“Chop-chop,” said Jane.

Unsure who was footing the bill, I put on the cheapest black slacks and an off-white blouse with absurdly large shoulder pads. The acrylic fabric felt like parchment on my skin. I stepped out of the dressing room and, in a narrow, full-length mirror, the blouse looked like a lampshade on my torso and the wide-legged pants transformed my slender legs into a thick black column.

“Perfect!” shouted Jane.

“You think?” I said.

“Clip her tags. Chop-chop.”

Find the full story in Pulp Literature Issue 49, Winter 2026

DP Snyder is a bilingual writer and translator from Spanish. Her work has appeared in Ploughshares, The Sewanee Review, The Massachusetts Review, and The Southern Review, among others. She is a regular contributor to Reading in Translation, World Literature Today, and Review: Literature and Arts of the Americas. She lives in Hillsborough, NC.