Her knees were feeling weak. Carolyn crawled into her bed. “So you’re the pitcher in the analogy, not the batter.”
“No, I ain’t the — No! Would you please listen to me?”
She pulled a pillow over her head. Of course, Rick. Tell me all about it. “Go ahead.”
“Okay, this chick in the bar, she be all wrong, you know? I mean, first of all, she’s a redhead. Second, she’s coming on to me.”
Carolyn closed her eyes. “And that’s bad.”
Rick laughed. “I forgot, you don’t read that Internet shit. No, I don’t like that. But she knew it, see? Said she wasn’t playing my games. It ain’t a game, but whatever. And I’m thinking, man this bitch must be hiding some balls under that miniskirt. And she acting like I don’t say yes, then it’s my loss, you know?”
She couldn’t take this. “Was it?”
“She seem pretty sure of it. Confident, you know? I don’t know nothing about baseball, but I’m thinking here’s a pitcher who’s damn sure she going strike me out.”
His voice was incredulous. Almost impressed. Carolyn squeezed her eyes closed. It was on the tip of her tongue — did she? Did you have enough time?
“This making any sense to you?”
She couldn’t ask. “No.” And I do not care. “It’s not.”
“It don’t make sense to me either. Forget the damn baseball — it’s what you said — about pressure. You asked me if it was the pressure, remember?”
Carolyn forced the images of flame-haired pitchers in miniskirts from her mind. “You said you’re a battle rapper.”
“No, I said I was a battle rapper. It ain’t the pressure, it’s the walks. Ain’t no pressure when you’re getting walked, is there? You just take the base, right?”
“What does that have to do with — ”
“The next album, the contract. Always before, there wasn’t no doubt whether I was getting another one. For five years. You know how long that is? Without worrying about whether you going get the next contract?”
He sounded like it was forever. “But you’re worried now.”
“Hell, yeah. It’s like being in a room full of women you can’t have. No walks.”
She shouldn’t have laughed, but he sounded so dumbfounded. “You probably wouldn’t know how to act.”
“No doubt,” he said, easily. “And I was writing it off, what you said. When you ain’t been living under that kinda pressure for so long … I think I forgot what it felt like. When you really could strike out and get sent back to the bench.”
Carolyn fingered the satin edge of the blanket. His career would be over, as far as he could tell. He’d sounded earlier the way he did now, as if that just couldn’t happen, and she felt the weight in her own heart again.
“When she said that,” Rick said, his voice quieter, the words slower. “Octavia Butler. About having to go back to find out where she went wrong?”
Her eyes widened. “That’s what she said.”
After a long silence, he asked, “She say how far back you might have to go?”
“She said sometimes all the way back to the beginning.”
“Yeah. That’s what I was thinking.”
His tone had shifted, so deadly serious that Carolyn sat up. “What are you thinking?”
Instead of an answer, she heard a banging that sent her heart pounding to match. Rick muttered for her to hold on.
She heard a door open, then Terrance’s voice. “Tomorrow. Eleven o’clock.”
“Tomorrow?” Rick hadn’t moved the phone, his words were clear. Tomorrow didn’t sound like his first choice, for whatever it was.
“He’s doing you a favor, asshole. You in or out?”
“Shit. What are you doing tomorrow night?”
That was to Carolyn. “I’m having dinner.”
“Later than that. It’s at eleven.”
“I’m not … nothing. Why?”
He didn’t answer her. He said, “In.”
She heard Terrance repeat the word, then the door closed.
“What’s going on?”
“Pressure,” he said. “Back to the beginning. Because I ain’t got time to figure out where I went wrong, so I thought maybe I’d just start over.”
“What do you mean, start over?”
“Terrance knows this guy, got this club in Brooklyn. I was there once, long time ago.”
In or out. “You mean a battle?”
“Thought it was Thursdays. I never been good at keeping track of time. You coming with me?”
“Me?”
“Your idea. Or was you planning on staying overnight with your dinner date?”
“No!”
“Didn’t think so,” he said, and she almost felt insulted.
The feeling disappeared on the flow of his next words:
“You gotta come with me, Carolyn.”
Even with all the names, or the ones without names, hearing her own pierced her heart.
She still couldn’t say yes.
“Why?”
* * *
Why not?
Rick bit the words back because that wasn’t a real answer to a real question. He fought it, sucked in a breath, and gave up. The truth came out on his exhale. “Because it ain’t gonna be a walk.”
Then he was holding his breath again. Can you feel me, Carolyn? Don’t make me say more — I’m at the wall already.
Her silence seemed to last forever. Finally, soft words broke through. “Then I’ll be there.”
He slid down the wall, thanking God she couldn’t see him right then. “A’ight.”
He couldn’t help smiling when he heard her voice again.
“A’ight.”
She said it the way he’d meant to. Like it didn’t matter one way or the other.
22: Predictable Behavior
The next morning, Carolyn had to compromise between dressing for The Business Meeting and The Personal Lunch, but the moment she’d awakened, her thoughts had turned to Rick, so she’d dressed for lunch with Peter. The day was clear and new, and she had to get back on track. She had no illusions about when and where she’d veered off.
When Liz picked her up at nine, Carolyn noted her agent’s plum suit, hair swept up to expose gold necklaces against the dark graceful lines of her neck. She felt underdressed in her short-sleeved teal blouse shirred across her belly, fitted over a straight cotton skirt.
In the car, Liz reached into the bag at her feet. “I have a surprise.” She withdrew a spiral notebook, a broad smile playing across her face.
“They’re finished?” Silly question, Liz placed the answer in her hands. The success of her book had pulled her publisher’s ‘let’s keep the money coming’ trigger. But with Walter’s full-court press in publicity, Carolyn only had time to sketch out an idea. Dr. Elaine Sanderson co-authored the workbook; her name and lettered credentials appeared in smaller type.
“Yesterday. Amazing how fast the publishing world can move when it wants to,” Liz said. “What do you think?”
Carolyn paged through the evidence that the next phase was actually coming. “It doesn’t seem right. Dr. Sanderson wrote most of this.”
“And Jamie Foxx had more screen time in Collateral. But Tom Cruise got top billing.”
Carolyn laughed. “I’m Tom Cruise?”
“It’s your show. Wonderful, isn’t it?”
Carolyn nodded, but she felt distant from Liz’s enthusiasm. She’d kissed a startled FedEx man on the cheek when he delivered the finished copy of Fighting the Pheromone Factor to her apartment door before she’d even opened the box. She’d collapsed on the cheap carpet once the actual book was in her hands.
Carolyn turned another page of the workbook, which wasn’t making her want to kiss Liz, her personal champion of both books. Three days ago, it felt harmless.
“Here.” She planted a finger at the type that seared through her. “This part about history?”
“What about it?”
�
��She makes it sound like a deal-breaker.”
Liz studied her. “And?”
“I don’t think the way she puts it, as if any man with any kind of … past … ” She flinched on the word. ‘Any’ man. No man in particular, just a random man.
“You disagree?”
“Yes. Well, no. Not entirely. But this part set out in the quotes? ‘The single most reliable predictor of future behavior is past behavior.’ It seems so … absolute.”
“Carolyn, that’s exactly what you wrote yourself.”
“No, I — ”
“Not those words, but this was in your first proposal. The best line of defense against the pheromones is to have a firm idea of what your standards are to begin with.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“So you don’t want to be with someone relapsing into a drug habit? Don’t date someone who’s ever had one.”
Yes she had written that. Such good advice.
“And a man who’s slept with a string of women?” Liz asked. “Probably isn’t going to end the line with you?”
Carolyn cleared her throat. “I know.”
“It’s history. Just like you said. Someone who’s been involved with the same person on and off for years, the odds are … not good.”
Almost five years since his first album. Five months since the last. Hardly a mention, just one line. But Mary was still there.
“It’s all past behavior, Carolyn.” Liz frowned. “You read the galleys, why are you questioning the wording now?”
“I’m not. I’m … I’m overwhelmed.” She held up the workbook. “The speed of this?”
“I understand.” Liz patted her knee. “It’s a new world.”
The car stopped, and Carolyn glanced up at the skyscraper that housed Walter Landrieu & Associates. It was definitely a new world. The driver opened her door, and she swallowed hard.
Her father’s often-repeated words followed her into the lobby.
Sooner or later, you will have to be brave.
* * *
Walter Landrieu’s offices operated in a subdued hush, belying the urgency that churned beneath the calm. Working against media deadlines, trying to draw attention to a single person or book or anything at all was no small task in twenty-first century America.
The receptionist led them back to a conference room. Before she cleared the oak door, Carolyn’s eyes widened at the sight of the materials, stacked on every surface. Full-color brochures, flyers and posters. Her own face smiled out from every piece of paper.
“Carolyn Coffman.” Walter’s voice still carried the warm tinge of his native Georgia. He was almost sixty, but when he smiled only a few faintly darker creases appeared at the corners of his eyes. “My favorite client.”
The gold nugget ring on his left hand sparkled as he enveloped Carolyn’s right hand in both of his. Just like every time Carolyn had seen him, he was dressed in a three-piece suit.
“My publicity magician,” Carolyn said.
Walter chuckled, though she’d said it before. “Let’s get started shall we?”
She nodded and slid into the seat he indicated at his round table. A woman took the seat beside her with a warm smile.
“Natalie,” Carolyn whispered under the voices already flying.
Natalie reached for her hand. “Don’t worry. I got your back.”
Once Liz and Walter decided that the next move would be to enlist speakers’ agencies, Natalie was their choice of image consultant. She’d flown to Spokane to videotape Carolyn at an Evening with the Author event — post Presentation S.O.S. — and pronounced her a natural. Carolyn had confessed her secret over drinks that evening; Natalie promised she’d never tell.
It seemed the speakers’ agencies were interested. The discussion flew over the table, though Walter’s female assistant spoke rarely and softly. His other assistant, a handsome dark-skinned man in his mid-twenties, was more vocal. The older man’s demeanor toward him clarified his station. The protégé’s last number lodged in the quadrant of Carolyn’s brain that held the capacity for real fear. She swallowed and leaned closer to Natalie. “Did he just say … ”
She couldn’t repeat the number of requests for bookings.
Natalie’s smile was huge. “Didn’t I say they’d want you?”
Carolyn tried to will her heart back to its normal rhythm. And she’d been bothered about a few lines of type on a workbook page.
23: Cash Rules Everything Around Me
“Carolyn?” Concern filled Peter’s face. “Are you feeling all right?”
Carolyn nodded, but all right wasn’t even close. Not by a long shot. She settled into the white patio chair and glanced around.
“Nice place,” she said. Facetiously. The patio chair was in the Tavern on the Green’s outdoor garden, which bustled with well-off patrons and tourists. Flowers bloomed from hanging pots. Overhead, fabric lanterns dangled between the trees, unlit but still beautiful. Three people attended each table; one appeared responsible only for water.
“Really,” she said. “This is nice.”
Peter lifted a hand. “It’s only lunch.”
As if to prove the point, the waiter approached. Peter asked if she minded him ordering for both of them. She didn’t. Her stomach flipped and reading the menu felt like grocery shopping on a full stomach, going home with chocolate milk and animal crackers because nothing else looked good.
“How was the meeting?” Peter asked when the waiter left.
“Unbelievable. They said I was going to have to determine how much I can handle.” She leaned forward. “The requests are coming in so fast that I’d be booked solid if I accepted them all. I thought this was going to be an occasional … ”
Peter had leaned back, his gaze flicking to the wine steward approaching their table. When he glanced back to her, Carolyn realized she’d planted her elbows firmly on the table.
I’d a said McDonald’s. Peter nodded, as if her smile were an apology for her faux pas. She waited through the wine-tasting ritual with her hands in her lap.
Compared to Rick, she’d been raised rich. Assessed against Peter’s family, hers was a large step down. She watched Peter pronounce the wine acceptable and remembered buying wine with her college roommate. At Kroger. By the price.
Peter took a sip. “So this is why you appear to be shell-shocked?”
“Wouldn’t you be?” She tasted the wine, its flavor surely wasted on her $5.99-a-bottle taste buds. “I can’t even process this. There are groups out there who are ready to pay cash money to hear talks that I haven’t even written yet.”
“That’s a good thing, Carolyn.”
“You should have heard the numbers they were throwing around. All this money invested — just the advance on the workbook is — ”
“Trust me, people like this know whose shoulders are strong enough to bear the weight of their financial investments.” Peter’s smile was warm, teeth straight and perfect.
But it wasn’t supposed to be about money, it was supposed to be about relationships. She was drowning in a sea of expectations that hadn’t seemed so deep until today.
“It’s just a new ballgame,” she said. “And I’m wishing there was a relief pitcher back in the bullpen.”
“Speaking of ball games … ”
Baseball metaphors. Damn.
“ … I caught the last part of your show this morning.”
The guilt was annoying, because she hadn’t done anything wrong. She forced a smile. “He’s good, isn’t he?”
“I suppose.”
The waiter returned with Caesar salads. Peter smiled again. Straightened by braces, most likely. Possibly even capped. Rick’s teeth were crowded on the bottom, the way they’d grown in. Carolyn retrieved the correct fork, not a small achievement in light of the fact that she was overwhelmed, not by excess silverware, but an urge to defend his talent.
She quashed the impulse. “Not your cup of tea, I take it?”
“So w
ho is he?”
Carolyn shrugged. “He was a battle rapper in Cleveland.”
Peter lifted his eyebrows. “Looking to be another Eminem?”
The dressing turned sour on her tongue. Carolyn swallowed the mouthful of greens carefully and took a sip of wine.
“I suppose,” she said, “that would imply a couple of things. One, that Rick had such a goal. And two, that even God himself could ever create another — ”
She cut herself off too late. She’d meant to sound far more casual.
“I’m sorry,” Peter said, holding her gaze. “It seems I’ve offended you. But on whose behalf?”
The disdain she couldn’t see on the phone last night was clear on Peter’s face now. Carolyn held her voice steady. “Is there a problem?”
His warm smile returned. “Of course not. Like you said, not my cup of tea. I suppose I was a bit taken aback to discover it’s yours.”
She’d had enough of that from Eve. “I guess we never got around to talking about music.”
“There did always seem to be more important things.”
Hang up, Carolyn. It’s important.
Peter appeared to take her silence as agreement. “Where did his name come from anyway?”
Rick told that hysterical woman on the street yesterday that it wasn’t his idea.
Call me Rain cuz I’m all wet? / That don’t feel like a compliment /Now hold up, Eesha, you can’t go yet / I ain’t had time to pay the debt!
Aiesha. In light of her name, and Rick’s semi-twisted revelation of his three criteria for women — down to two, now — Carolyn realized she’d been mistaken. She was just a friend. Who’d meant something extraordinary.
“Probably just an old school play on his real name.” She handed her still-full plate to the returning waiter and waved off his raised eyebrows. The quality of the salad wasn’t bothering her stomach. “So, are you still planning that trip to Alaska?”
He didn’t seem to mind the change in the subject. It had been a while since he’d even mentioned the trip. When they’d first started writing, fashion photography was how he paid the bills. Nature was his passion, Alaska was his dream. But all through the main course, Peter steered the conversation away from it. Carolyn listened as she picked her way through roasted chicken that had lost all its taste.
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