Small Town / Big Dreams
By Cindy Bartolotta
©2014 by Cindy Bartolotta
Peering over a pair of glasses perched on the tip of her nose, the woman stared at the computer screen. Three whole paragraphs in an hour. It’s a good thing I’m not paid by the word. She was trying hard to work, really trying hard, but it wasn’t happening. Normally, the words flowed. Just not tonight. She glanced at the clock on the wall in her home office. I may as well pack it in. She looked up as an older woman tapped on her doorframe.
“Excuse me, Jillian? More of your guests are arriving.”
Jillian DeRosa leaned forward and glanced out her office door as people walked by. “Thanks, Diana. I’m almost finished here. The words just aren’t coming. Will you—“
“Yes, I’ll let you know when Jay and Irving arrive.” Diana finished the sentence. “By the way, several more flower arrangements were just delivered, including a huge vase of yellow roses. Here are all the message cards. I jotted down what was sent by whom.”
“Thanks.” Jillian mumbled, setting the cards aside.
Nodding, the woman left the office.
Finding and hiring Diana McCoy was one of the luckiest days in her life. She was a godsend, the perfect personal assistant, anticipating Jillian’s every need. She was an expert proofreader and on the road to becoming a great editor, too.
Jillian glanced out the window. She loved the view from her Manhattan apartment. The setting sun made the west-facing windows of other buildings sparkle like diamonds. The apartment wasn’t grandiose by New York standards, but it was home.
She looked back at her monitor. Giving up, she saved the doc and shut down. Her muses were way too excited to create. Jillian won the Antoinette Perry Award for Best Play at the Tony Award ceremony last night. Her small entourage celebrated at Salvatore’s after the show.
Tonight’s party was her agent’s idea. She wasn’t hosting dinner and it wasn’t anything exceptionally fancy. It was more of a networking get-together: just an assortment of wines and hors d’oeuvres for friends and new contacts—all there to enjoy and share her ‘moment.’ She stood and smoothed the short black cocktail dress. Checking her make-up in the mirror on the wall, she slid out of her slippers into a glittery pair of black heels sitting by the door.
On the way out, she glanced at an array of framed photos on the wall, photos from another time—another place. Her eyes stopped on an 8x10 of her and her best friend from a dress rehearsal years earlier. As she touched the frame, she whispered. “Thank you, Jake. Wish you could have been here to take the bow with me. Where did you go? Why didn’t you keep in touch?”
My Life Would Suck Without You Page 18
