Not His Type

by Canton, Chamein

  “Anything for my favorite literary agent.”

  Cathy grinned. “I told you, when you’re ready to do your book let me know. I know you have stories to tell.”

  Dahlia leaned closer to the table. “You don’t know the half of it.” She winked.

  “Well, I can’t wait to find out.”

  “I’ll send the waiter over to take your drink order. Bon appétit.”

  “Thanks again.”

  v

  Across the room Ben and Marcus were discussing a little business with a good steak lunch. While Ben had a cold beer, it was game night for Marcus and he nursed a Pellegrino with a twist.

  “So are you excited about this deal?” Ben asked as he sipped his beer.

  “Sure.”

  “You don’t sound excited.”

  “Of course I’m excited. I think signing with Abe’s dealership was a good idea.”

  “I’m glad you think so. I wasn’t sure you were paying attention.”

  He chortled. “I was paying attention. Just because…” Marcus stopped mid-sentence when he saw Cathy. Hair bouncing, she smiled at her waiter, obviously engaged in a minor flirtation. A born breast man, his eyes immediately zeroed in on her cleavage. Driven to distraction, he kept missing as he tried blindly to slice a non-existent slice of steak on his plate.

  Ben chuckled as he wiped his mouth. He’d seen this look before. “Marcus?”

  He snapped out of his trance. “You were saying, Ben?”

  Ben put his napkin down. “You haven’t heard a word I said.” He looked around. “So where are they?”

  “Where are who?”

  “The breasts that have you mesmerized. I know they have to be around here somewhere.” His eyes searched the room.

  Marcus knew he was caught. He laughed. “The hostess just seated a woman in a blue dress.”

  Ben tried not to be too obvious. “Yeah, I see the hostess.”

  “I’m not talking about the hostess. I’m talking about the woman in the blue dress.” He looked closer. “She’s almost directly across from us. I think it’s a Yankee blue dress.”

  Ben scanned the room, then spotted Cathy. “Oh, I see her.” He shook his head. “Do you have sonar or something? You always manage to scope out the biggest breasts in the room.”

  Marcus shrugged. “What can I say? It’s a gift.”

  Ben pushed his glasses off the tip of his nose. “Okay, breast man, we’d better eat and get out of here soon. You have a game tonight.”

  “I know. But there’s no law that says I can’t look.”

  “Not yet.” Ben mused.

  “Well, if they passed one, I would happily go to jail.”

  Ben conceded. “You and me both.”

  Marcus went back to his porterhouse but not before smiling in Cathy’s direction.

  v

  Completely unaware of Marcus’ presence, or interest in her, Cathy ordered lunch. Jim always ran late. She actually enjoyed the quiet, reader friendly buzz of the restaurant. However, today the quiet buzz didn’t last for long as the table of supermodels suddenly came alive with girlish giggles and chatter. Cathy knew there was only one thing that could elicit such a reaction: a man. And not just any man, a famous one.

  Cathy mustered up her cool and as nonchalantly as possible she scanned the restaurant to see who the supermodels were so worked up about. When she saw Marcus Fox she nearly broke into a giggle herself but thought better of it. After all, she was a dignified 40-year-old literary agent and mother. She’d giggle when she got home, like any other star-struck fan over 35. Gorgeous. She felt a chill down her spine but she reminded herself she wasn’t there to ogle, but to discuss business with a client. She checked her cell phone again. No message from Jim.

  Food in front of her, Cathy amused herself with a little lunch theater as the scene at Keen’s became part circus, part drama and part fashion show. Each of the supermodels sashayed in front of Marcus’s table but he ignored them all.

  v

  “Can you believe this?” he muttered.

  “Believe what? The way those girls are walking around to get your attention? Of course I believe it.” Ben sipped his water.

  “Well, I wish they would sit down already. I’ve been trying to make eye contact with the woman in the blue dress and they keep getting in my way.” He scowled.

  “You’re smiling in their direction. What else are they going to think?” Ben reasoned. “They don’t know about your obsession with breasts. If they did, they would sit down. From the looks of things I don’t think there’s a B cup in the bunch. Hell, I’m not sure if you added them all together there would be a B cup.”

  Marcus laughed in spite of himself. “I think you’re right about that.”

  “I know I’m right. Just relax. I’m sure they’ll get the hint.”

  Marcus glanced at his watch. “I hope they get the hint soon.”

  For her part Cathy was surprised the supermodels didn’t get any play from him. Every entertainment reporter in New York deemed Marcus Fox the stud of studs and a real player. Every other day one of the gossip columns reported on some aspect of his social life and the women (specifically singers, actresses and models) he dated. Yet with a virtual smorgasbord of models to choose from, he passed. The bewildered girls looked as if they’d been voted off Survivor by a tribal council of one, and they were none too happy about it.

  Fascinated, Cathy watched the latest castoff go back to the table.

  “Are you sure he’s not a down low brother?” one of the models asked.

  Cathy covered her mouth as she nearly choked on her steak.

  “He doesn’t look like a down low guy,” another answered.

  “Isn’t that the point? They never look like down low brothers. Otherwise they’d be out.”

  “I don’t think he’s interested.”

  “Isn’t he seeing that girl from that entertainment news show?”

  “I read the gossip column and it said they’re just friends.”

  “Well he’s smiling at someone over this way. If it’s not one of us, who is it?”

  “Forget about it. Let’s just pay the check and get out of here. It’s his loss.”

  As the dejected supermodels made their way out, Cathy realized she wasn’t the only one watching. If I didn’t know better I would say Marcus Fox looks relieved, she mused.

  Marcus did in fact breathe a sigh of relief.

  “Marcus, are you ready to bounce?” Ben was a little anxious about the time.

  “Not quite. I need to get the waiter.”

  Ben looked incredulous. “Are you telling me that you want something else after that porterhouse?”

  Marcus wasn’t fazed. “Yeah. Signal the waiter for me.”

  In the meantime Cathy answered her cell phone.

  “Cathy? It’s Jim. I’m so sorry about lunch.”

  She pretended to be annoyed. “You could have called me earlier, you know.”

  “I know, I just got caught up in things.”

  “By things you mean either cigars with your crew or some new young thing.”

  “I’m through chasing after young things.”

  “Spoken like a man who is nowhere near ready to give up chasing younger women no matter how much trouble they get him into,” Cathy quipped.

  “Can I get a rain check on lunch?”

  “Eventually,” she teased.

  “You know you’re the best.”

  Cathy smiled but she didn’t let on. “Yeah, sure. Yada, yada, yada. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Okay.”

  Just as Catherine put her cell phone away the waiter came over.

  “Something for dessert?”

  Dessert. What could be better? she thought as she eyed the menu.

  Her eyes widened at the very words, chocolate mousse. “I’d love the chocolate mousse.”

  “Certainly.”

  Wait a minute, Marcus Fox is still here. I can’t let him see me make a pig of myself. A li
ttle wave of guilt glided over her. “No, I changed my mind. I’ll just have a cup of coffee.”

  “Sure.”

  In an instant Cathy silently chastised herself for changing her mind about dessert. With all my talk about feeling sexy in my own skin I still didn’t want Marcus Fox to see me eat dessert. Never mind that I powered down a New York strip, baked potato, salad and steamed vegetables. I might not have pranced in front of him but I was as bad as the supermodels, she sighed. Every day was a battle in the crusade for real self acceptance of her body.

  v

  Ben signaled for Cathy’s waiter to come over. “Yes, sir?”

  “Did the lady in the blue dress order dessert?” Marcus

  asked

  “No, sir. She ordered coffee.”

  “What was she going to order?”

  “The chocolate mousse.”

  “Okay. Get it for her and put her lunch and dessert on

  my tab.” He gave the waiter a $100.00 tip. His eyes lit up. “Thank you, sir. I’ll take care of it.” The waiter went into the kitchen.

  Arms folded, Ben asked a silly question. “We’re not leaving yet, are we?”

  Marcus smiled. “Nope.”

  A few minutes later the waiter placed the chocolate mousse and coffee in front of a very puzzled Cathy.

  She took a whiff of her coffee for hallucinogens or liquor. Then she pinched her arm to make sure this wasn’t some post lunch traumatic stress thing.

  Satisfied that she wasn’t nuts, she looked up at the waiter. “I’m sorry. I changed my mind about the mousse.”

  “Yes ma’am. However, this is compliments of the gentleman.”

  He motioned towards Marcus’s table but only Ben was there.

  Cathy was confused. “I don’t think I know him.”

  The waiter glanced over and saw Ben. “That’s not him; it was the other gentleman.”

  “What other gentleman?”

  The waiter seemed genuinely surprised. “He was there a few minutes ago.” He paused to scan the room. “He wanted you to enjoy dessert and lunch is on him.”

  She was floored. “Well, tell him thank you if you see him.” She went for her bag. “At least I can get your tip.”

  “No need, he took care of that too.”

  She was dumbfounded. Who in the world would send me dessert and then pay for my lunch right down to the tip? Catherine stared at the mousse as if it were a magic eight ball but staring wasn’t going to answer her question; she decided she might as well enjoy.

  Like a little girl, Cathy slowly put a spoonful in her mouth. She closed her eyes and let the delightful whipped texture melt on her tongue.

  As Marcus approached he watched her full lips glide over the spoon and felt a sudden rush of heat under his collar.

  Unaware of her audience, Cathy leaned forward to read her magazine, which pushed her breasts further into view.

  Marcus hung back for a moment and stared at Cathy’s assets. His eyes traced her body along the v-neck opening of her dress. The little freckle on her left breast was like a cherry on the top of Marcus’s version of a sundae, perfection. He was more than hot under the collar. Another moment and the whole restaurant would know just how hot he was.

  He cleared his throat. “Now that’s what I like to see. A woman enjoying dessert.”

  The minute Cathy heard the voice she felt hot and cold at the same time. She struggled to put her thoughts together before she looked up but it was too late, she was helpless and breathless. It was as if her eyes had reached the summit of the Mount Everest of men. At 6’4 Marcus, with his light cappuccino complexion, tight body and hazel eyes was the epitome of gorgeous. Taking him in almost completely overwhelmed her senses. Cathy, usually never at a loss for words, searched for something smart to say. What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I drawing a blank?

  He grinned. “Do you mind if I join you?”

  “Sure. Be my guest,” she finally managed to respond.

  As he sat down and checked out the object of his distraction, his warm smile reflected his approval. “I’m glad I finally have your attention.”

  She was at a loss. “Finally have my attention? I didn’t know you were trying to get my attention,” she stuttered.

  Marcus struggled to keep his eyes on her face.

  “The women at the table behind you noticed.”

  Cathy was surprised. “I saw you looking in this direction but I assumed you were interested in the supermodels.” I can’t believe I said that out loud, she thought to herself.

  “I guess you read the gossip columns.” He titled his head back and laughed.

  Cathy’s face felt flushed. Look at those sexy lips. I wonder if they taste as good as they look. Cathy was grateful he couldn’t read her x-rated mind but she blushed just the same. “Sometimes.”

  He enjoyed making her blush. “You’re blushing. That’s so cute.”

  “I don’t feel cute. I feel silly. I’m too old to blush like this.”

  “Says who?”

  Her heart raced. “No one important.”

  “You know why I noticed you instead of them?”

  Cathy leaned forward, which made her cleavage more noticeable. Again her breasts put Marcus in a trance. He just stared.

  “Let me know if they answer you,” she said softly.

  He snapped out of it. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “I said let me know if they answer you.”

  Marcus was a little confused. “Who?”

  She batted her eyes. Now who’s blushing? “My boobs. You are apparently talking to them. I just want you to let me know if they answer because that would be one hell of a party trick.”

  He laughed. “I apologize.”

  Cathy smiled warmly. “Apology accepted.” She leaned back. “So was I the only woman in the restaurant actually eating and not just pushing my food around the plate?”

  He enjoyed her playful yet sardonic sense of humor. “I wasn’t going to say that, but that’s a good one.”

  She shrugged.

  “I noticed you because you were so busy working in the midst of all this noise. Nothing fazed you.”

  And here I thought it was boobs. She chuckled. “Funny, that’s the same thought I have when I see you step onto the field. How in the world do you manage to perform under such a noisy microscope?”

  “I love what I do and I owe it to our fans to do the best I can.”

  “It’s kind of the same for me except I don’t work in front of 50,000 plus fans at Yankee stadium. Not to mention God knows how many watching on television. I just do my best for my clients.”

  “What line of work are you in?” Marcus asked. “I’m a literary agent.”

  “Really?” He leaned in to listen more closely to this beautiful and smart woman. It was a nice change. She was an even better balance: brains and breasts. She could be a challenge. He decided to play devil’s advocate. “A literary agent. In your opinion what’s the difference between sports agents, talent agents and literary agents? Don’t all three basically serve the same essential purpose?”

  “Yes. We represent artists in different mediums. I’m sure I’d get an argument from sports and talent agents, but I think literary agents have the toughest job.”

  He was intrigued. “Why’s that?”

  “For one thing, with the exception of nonfiction, which we can sell based on marketing research and hard facts, it’s harder to get fiction published these days than ever before.” She paused for a moment. “Come to think of it, nonfiction’s not a picnic either.”

  “So why do you do it?”

  “Because a yes washes away hundreds of rejections and makes it all worthwhile.”

  He was impressed with her sincerity. “You really have to love what you do.”

  “Absolutely, otherwise you wouldn’t last one day. Frankly, you’re just as vested in their project as they are.”

  “You said vested in their project and not their success. Doesn’t their succ
ess mean money?”

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong, the money part is a good thing. It’s just not the only thing. I don’t know how to explain it.” Catherine reflected a moment to make sure she didn’t sound like an idiot. “Writing a book is like being pregnant, only gestation goes way beyond nine months. Fiction or nonfiction, the ideas are nurtured, fed and protected by the author. Then they turn the baby over to me, the agent, and it’s my job to find the best home for it so it can be shared with the world.”

  Cathy wasn’t sure if the look on his face meant he thought she was the craziest broad he’d ever met or not. She held her breath.

  “That’s an interesting way to describe it.”

  It was getting late so Marcus risked one more glance at her bodacious breasts. He liked that she hadn’t let him get away with it before, but he was a breast man and couldn’t keep from looking again.

  Cathy was hip to even the slickest dip of the eye but this time she decided to let it slide. After all, he was the Marcus Fox. She figured she’d enjoy the attention while it lasted.

  Marcus looked disappointed as he glanced at his watch. “I would love to talk more but I have to head over to the stadium.”

  “Of course, there’s a game tonight at seven.”

  “Do you have tickets?”

  “No. I’ll have to settle for watching it on television.”

  “At least this time. But before I leave, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  Cathy’s heart fluttered as he pulled his chair closer to her. “Can I at least get your name?”

  “How embarrassing. I’m Catherine Chambers.”

  They shook hands. “Pleasure meeting you, Catherine. By the way I’m Marcus Fox.”

  “As if I didn’t know.”

  He chuckled. “Do you have a business card, Catherine?”

  She reached into her bag and pulled out a couple of cards. “Here you go.”

  “Thank you.” He studied the card. “The ChambersStevens Literary Agency. Catherine Chambers, Managing Partner. Wow, managing partner. That’s impressive.”

  “Thanks.” It should also say head bottle washer, she thought.

  He took a pen out. “This card lists your business numbers. Would it be possible for me to get your home number?”