The Accidental Bestseller

by Wendy Wax

  Lacy smiled to herself, but managed not to speak.

  “Look, Lacy,” Cash said. “I’ll read it, but I’m not promising anything. If the book doesn’t warrant it, I’m not going to stick my neck out.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “But I just want to warn you one more time. This is overstepping. And if you don’t achieve your goal, you’ll be out.” He snorted. “Hell, you could be out anyway. Jane’s not stupid, and as you know, she’s not particularly kind or understanding.”

  “Point taken,” Lacy said. But in truth, despite her fear, she’d already made up her mind. “I’ll have a copy waiting on your desk when you get back.” She lowered her voice and added a teasing tone, unwilling to dwell on the danger of her actions. “I’ll make sure it’s wrapped in plain brown paper.”

  She hung up, satisfied. Hurriedly, because she was already over her thirty minutes and still had to walk back, she pulled a crumpled piece of paper from her purse and made a list of who she knew in the various departments Cash had mentioned.

  Cash was the only really influential person at Scarsdale that she knew well. But she had a good rapport with Hannah Sutcliff, who was a staunch enemy of Jane’s. And Cindy Miller in publicity might have enough experience to work up a plan that made sense. The art director, Simon Rothwell, had declared himself eternally grateful for the candy bars she’d been supplying. Maybe she could cobble together enough of a team to make something happen.

  As Lacy walked briskly back to Scarsdale’s building, she planned her line of attack. She’d spend today and tomorrow making copies of the manuscript while she contacted everyone she thought might be willing to help. The next day, while she made the rounds doing all of Jane’s grunt work, she’d drop copies with the people she’d recruited. And she’d stay on top of everyone to make sure those copies got read or passed upward.

  Lacy felt almost giddy with excitement as she neared the publishing house. But she also felt a serious sense of intent and purpose, like a general preparing to marshal his troops for an assault. She, Lacy Samuels, was about to unleash her version of “shock and awe.” All over Jane Jensen’s head.

  31

  Pen names are masks that allow us to unmask ourselves.

  —C. ASTRID WEBER

  For the first few days after her conversation with Lacy Samuels, Kendall walked around in a daze. There was the utter relief of being done with the manuscript and fulfilling her contractual obligations. And her surprise at the young assistant’s reaction and response to it.

  Now that the manuscript was literally out of her hands, she tried to put it out of her mind as well. It was time to regroup and face the future. And although that included a divorce from Calvin, in the meantime it needed to include some sort of Christmas for the twins.

  She reached Calvin at the office, bullying her way past the secretary, who was apparently new and who seemed not to have been informed that Calvin Aims still had a wife.

  “Hello, Kendall.” His tone was neither hostile nor welcoming; she might have been a stranger he’d once sat next to on a plane. Or a second cousin on his mother’s side twice removed.

  “Hello, Cal.” She made a point of matching his level of disinterest. “I’m calling to discuss Christmas.”

  “Oh.” It was clear that despite this being the beginning of December the idea of the upcoming holiday had not penetrated his consciousness. Not too surprising since she’d always handled the holidays and just about everything else that required any thought or planning. Or emotional investment.

  “I think we need to come up with a plan for the holidays.”

  “A plan?”

  “Cal, Christmas is only three and a half weeks away. The kids went elsewhere for Thanksgiving, but they’re bound to expect to come home for the holiday.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  Kendall closed her eyes as she sought to hold on to her patience. “I think we should book a trip,” she said. “Maybe to a ski resort. Or a beach somewhere. It would be a lot easier for us to pretend there’s nothing wrong in another environment where there are lots of things for the kids to do.” She paused. “In fact, I think we should include Todd and Dee for that very reason.”

  “Todd and Dee?”

  “Melissa and Jeffrey’s boyfriend and girlfriend. You remember that they invited the twins to their homes for Thanksgiving?”

  “Right,” Calvin said, though Kendall doubted he remembered. “But this might not be the best time to be spending that kind of money.”

  Kendall suspected Calvin was reluctant to display any portion of his net worth for fear it might lead a judge to question Calvin’s recent assertions of poverty, but that was too damned bad.

  “Maybe there’s a better way to handle this. . . .” he began.

  “Well,” Kendall said. “Although I don’t personally think the kids are ready for it, we could just go ahead and tell them about Laura and your plans to start a new life now. You know, as a kind of an early Christmas present.”

  She paused to let him envision it as she had so many times. “Then you could explain your rationale for breaking up our family.” This was said calmly and was followed by another pause to let it sink all the way in. “Then there’d be no need to keep up the charade over Christmas. We could just have separate celebrations—maybe you and Laura could host the kids on Christmas Eve. And then they could drive up here to spend Christmas Day with me.”

  She didn’t push either scenario, but just let them hang in the air. He was the one who had to make the choice: confessing and upsetting the kids right before the holiday. Or taking everyone, except Laura, on a vacation and sidestepping the whole confession.

  Despite his bluster, Calvin was a coward at heart. And although he obviously no longer cared about her opinion of him, he did want his children’s love and approval, something he was going to forfeit as soon as they found out that he’d not only had an affair, but was planning to bail out on their family.

  “All right,” he said finally, sighing. “A ski resort is probably the best idea. Will you see if we can get a condo in Beaver Creek or, I don’t know, maybe Park City?” He named two places they’d been before, assuming, as always, that she’d take care of the details of their life. “Try to use frequent flyer miles for the flight though, will you?”

  Kendall felt her eyes narrow at his assumption that despite all that he’d done, she would simply drop what she was doing to make his life easier. “I’ll e-mail you our frequent flyer numbers and the name of the hotel in Park City. I’ve been arranging our lives for the last twenty-three years, Cal. I think it’s your turn.”

  “Laura’s not going to like this at all,” he muttered.

  A potent mixture of hurt and anger bubbled in the pit of her stomach. “That’s such a shame,” she said, her smile grim. She’d pushed for this vacation to protect her children from some of the pain she was feeling; upsetting Laura Wiles was just a happy by-product. “I can’t imagine how I’ll live with the knowledge.”

  Kendall ended the call. Phone still in hand, she dialed Mallory’s number.

  “Kendall?” Mallory sounded much too happy to hear from her.

  “It’s little ole me, all right,” she said, wanting to entertain. “Little ole Machiavellian me.” And then she launched into the details of her conversation with Calvin.

  “But won’t that be awkward for you, too?” Mallory asked. “I mean the kids’ll expect you to share a room and actually speak to each other whether you’re in Atlanta or somewhere else.”

  “Nope,” Kendall replied, with assurance.

  “Because?”

  “Because I’m not actually going to be there.”

  “Obviously I’m missing something,” Mallory said.

  “I’m not going,” Kendall explained. “Oh, I’ll let Calvin make a reservation for me and I’ll be in the conversation right up until it’s time to go. But then I’m going to have this horrible, unbearable sinus infection. Or bronchitis. Or some other yucky contagious so
mething that simply won’t allow me to fly.”

  “OK, I get it,” Mallory said. “But I still don’t get it.”

  “Well, I figure that way Calvin and the kids will have the holiday together. Maybe they’ll forge some sort of something without me in the picture that’ll help them make it through what lies ahead. You know I’m completely pissed off at Calvin for what he’s done, but it has occurred to me that part of the reason he’s done so little on his own with the kids is because I’ve always been there to do it for him.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Yeah. We just sort of fell into a pattern when the kids were little and it never occurred to me to try to change it. He made money and I raised the children and ran our life. Calvin participated when he felt like it or I made him.” It was funny how clear it had all become to her now that it was about to end. Why hadn’t she complained or at least asked for what she wanted?

  “Hopefully something good can start between them.” Kendall smiled. “And my plan has the added benefit of leaving Laura Wiles out in the cold over Christmas. And not the good, ski-resort kind of cold.”

  “You’re right. Very Machiavellian,” Mallory said. “I’m proud of you. You stopped being a victim some time ago. And now you’re becoming proactive. Good for you.”

  “Thanks,” Kendall said. “It’s funny how much better I feel. I’m even kind of charged about starting a new project. I mean, I know we just wrote Sticks and Stones to fulfill my contract. But I have this idea for a sequel. I may use the holiday to try to get a proposal down on paper.”

  Kendall stopped, realizing how she’d been going on. “And now, as they say, ‘enough about me.’ How’s everything with you?”

  “Well,” Mallory said. “The writing is good. I’m flying through Safe Haven and the news is good about Hidden Assets. I’m thinking about calling Paris Hilton’s mother and thanking her for teaching her to read.”

  Kendall laughed. “And how are things with Chris?”

  There was a silence on the other end of the line.

  “Not quite so great,” Mallory finally admitted.

  There was another pause and Kendall thought Mallory was going to change the subject. But the normally closed book of Mallory’s personal life had apparently fallen open a crack.

  “It seems as if I can only have one or the other: my career or Chris.” She cleared her throat. “He’s waiting for me to prove that ‘we’ come first, but I have no idea how I’m supposed to do that. I think I can write less than I have, slide my deadlines back a bit, but it’s such a fluky business, Kendall. You really have to take advantage of your opportunities while you’re hot. I love Chris and I miss him more than I can say. But I’m not going to give up financial security or jeopardize my career just to prove my love to him. I don’t really think it’s fair for him to ask me to.”

  At home in Chicago, Faye was absolutely dying to tell the truth. She’d been feeling the weight of her secret for far too long now and there was something about the approach of Christmas and its miraculous story of Jesus’ birth that made Faye want to unburden herself and start anew.

  As she’d decorated the Christmas tree, when she’d taken Becky to Macy’s to sit on Santa’s lap, when she’d shopped for gifts for the Rainbow House moms and kids, and gotten the spare rooms ready for her sons and their families’ arrival, the certainty that now was the time had grown. No matter what she was doing to prepare for the holiday, the imagined relief of unburdening herself was never far from her thoughts.

  On a Thursday morning two weeks before Christmas she decided she couldn’t let another day go by without telling Steve. Whatever his reaction, however surprised or hurt he might be that she hadn’t confided in him sooner, she would tell him today.

  Quickly before she could lose her nerve, she put on a skirt and blouse that he’d commented on favorably then applied her makeup and smoothed her hair with extra care. A last glance in the mirror confirmed what she knew: She looked like a well-kept sixty-year-old wife and mother; no one looking at her would ever suspect that she’d helped fund the Clearview Church of God writing erotica. Too bad What’s My Line? was no longer on television; she doubted Bennett Cerf or Arlene Francis could guess her secret occupation in a bazillion years.

  She took a few extra minutes in front of the mirror to rehearse what she wanted to say then continued to rehearse mentally as she gathered her coat and purse in the kitchen and as she slid behind the wheel of her car. Over and over she told herself that if she just explained it clearly enough everything would be OK. Maybe she’d just start with, “Hello, dear. Have I mentioned that I’ve been writing erotica under the name of Shannon LeSade?”

  The sky was a pewter gray and the air thick with the promise of snow as Faye traveled west on Central, which ultimately became Deerfield, and then continued to wind her way south and west. Some thirty minutes later she was in South Barrington where land had been more plentiful and less expensive when they’d first begun purchasing land for what would one day be the Clearview Church of God. Spotting the church’s spire in the distance, Faye marveled, as she always did, at what the years and Steve’s faith and determination had wrought. Like the area around it, the church had mushroomed over the last two decades, growing from one simple structure with a broadcast antennae into a hundred-thousand-square-foot star-shaped complex.

  She continued to rehearse what she would say, using the calm, rational tone she intended to use to say it, as she pulled into the massive parking lot that surrounded the complex, parked behind the administrative wing, and walked into the reception area. She was still mentally rehearsing as she approached the front desk.

  “Hello, Mrs. Truett,” the church receptionist said. “Are you ready for the holidays?”

  “Almost, Evelyn. The boys and their families are due in on the twenty-third, right after the kids are out of school. How about you?” Evelyn Holloway had been manning the desk almost since Clearview Church and Steve’s mission had existed. She had permanent-waved steel gray hair and Coke-bottle glasses, which gave her a somewhat quizzical air, as if she were peering at the world from a great distance.

  “Oh, Harry and I don’t fuss too much anymore. I already sent out the kids’ and grandkids’ gifts. I always get Harry something golf related. And he gets me a gift certificate for Barnes and Noble.” She shrugged surprisingly hefty shoulders. “We’ve become awfully predictable. Sometimes I wish he’d surprise me with, oh I don’t know, maybe a little black lace nightie.” She winked. “Or even a big black lace nightie.”

  Faye smiled, wishing, not for the first time, that Evelyn Holloway’s open-mindedness was more prevalent among the Clearview congregants. “Is he in?” She nodded toward Steve’s closed office door.

  “The pastor’s on the phone, but there’s no one waiting. He’s probably still trying to get his bearings after his meeting with the delegation that stormed his office a little while ago,” she said.

  Before Faye could question the receptionist further, Evelyn asked, “Do you want me to hold his calls?” Evelyn raised her eyebrow suggestively and Faye had to bite back a smile. Despite Evelyn’s apparently wild imagination, Faye wasn’t planning to seduce her husband on the office couch. Although, now that she thought about it, she did, in fact, plan to ambush him.

  Please, God, she prayed silently, as she moved toward Steve’s office, help me find the right words to explain. She stopped in front of the closed door but didn’t yet knock as she framed her second request. And please help him understand.

  She knocked lightly on the door, hoping that God was in fact not only on her side, but ready to answer her prayers. When there was no answer, she pushed open the door and entered the room.

  Pastor Steve was seated behind his desk, the phone pressed to his ear. His face registered surprise at seeing her and then transformed into a welcoming smile. He motioned her closer and held up a finger to indicate he’d be off the phone momentarily. Trying to remain calm, she perched on the side of his desk, facing him.
For a few moments she just watched him talk while she gathered her nerve. She’d brought one of her books, hoping it would help her ease into her explanation, and she drew it out of her oversized bag and began to leaf through it. She was still flipping pages when he hung up and half rose from his chair to give her a kiss.

  Faye kept a finger wedged in the paperback to hold her place as she leaned down to accept his kiss. His lips were firmly familiar, his scent, which mingled with the light lemony flavor of the cologne she’d been buying him forever, was subtly masculine.

  He scooted his chair closer and looked up into her face. “Did I forget lunch?”

  “No,” she said, pushing back her nervousness. She had planned to just plunge into the topic without too much preamble, but now she found herself once again reluctant—make that afraid—to begin.

  “I just stopped by to see if we could talk about . . . something.” Her voice trailed off uncertainly under his regard. So much for all the mental rehearsal.

  “Is something wrong? Are you ill?” He sat up straighter, his expression turning to one of alarm.

  So far nothing had gone at all as she’d practiced or planned.

  “No!” She hated that her cowardice had sent his thoughts in a completely wrong direction.

  “Are you sure?” He’d lowered his voice, but she could still read panic in his eyes. His tone carried a touch of suspicion that she was keeping something from him. Boy, did he have that right. She only hoped that when she finally spit out what she’d come to tell him, they’d be able to laugh over her secret’s insignificance in comparison to the life-threatening illness he was now imagining.

  “I’m positive.” She spoke with all the certainty she could muster given how uncertain she felt. “There’s nothing wrong with me.” She smiled down at him as she emphasized her words with her hands, one of which still clutched the book she’d brought.