I Take This Woman

by Chamein Canton

“Okay, I see you’re choosing small talk.” She sipped her seltzer. “Justin’s fine. Thanks. How are Danielle and the girls?”

  “They’re doing well. Danielle’s been busy with a lot of fashion shoots.”

  “I know. I’ve seen her name credited in quite a few high fashion magazines. She must be thrilled.”

  “She is. She even takes the girls on some of the shoots.”

  “They must love that. A couple of teenage girls surrounded by all that glamour, exciting stuff.”

  “Wow, it’s hard to fathom that my little girls are growing up. It seems like I just brought them home and now they’re both in high school.”

  “They do grow up fast. Justin’s a junior now and he’s about to turn16.”

  “You’re lucky he’s not in the city prep schools. Don’t get me wrong, the girls are getting a great education, but the kids they go to school with aren’t your average teenagers.”

  “You’re preaching to the choir. The bluebloods at Choate are something else, too.”

  “Do they have basketball at Choate?”

  “No. Justin’s on the varsity lacrosse team and the varsity baseball team.”

  “How does J.J. feel about that?”

  “I’m sure he’d rather have his son play basketball, but it’s not up to him.”

  “How tall is Justin now?”

  “He’s almost six feet, six inches tall and weighs 164 pounds soaking wet. What kills me is that he’s still growing. He’s already taller than his father.”

  “Speaking of his father, I heard Beebe filed for divorce.”

  “You know what they say about karma.” Abby took another sip of seltzer.

  “I’ll drink to that.” He raised his glass and drank. “Now to why I asked you to dinner,” he began.

  “I’m all ears.” She leaned in.

  “Do you know my client Sam Best?”

  “Sure, I know Sam. He’s New York’s football messiah. Didn’t he just announce his retirement?”

  “Yes. He’s hung up his cleats after thirteen years in the NFL. You know he just signed a deal with…”

  Abby interrupted him. “Tandem Publishing just signed him to write his story. Congratulations. That’s quite a coup.”

  “Thanks. We’re pretty excited about it. He’s on a tight deadline.”

  “I would say so. Tandem has it listed as a late summer/early fall release to coincide with the beginning of football season.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “I read about it in Publishers Weekly. It’s the publishing industry’s bible.”

  “In light of this tight deadline I think he’s going to need some help getting his manuscript together.”

  “Oh, do you need the names of some good ghostwriters?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I’m sure you don’t need any help with PR or marketing. Sam Best is already a brand. Great sales numbers are a forgone conclusion.”

  “True. The thing is, he wants to write the book himself so he needs a great editor to work with him.”

  Abby nodded her head knowingly. “Now I know why you invited me here for dinner. You want me to work with him.”

  “You are the best in the business.”

  “Thank you, but I have laid down my weapon. No more red pens.” She thought for a moment. “Well, I can’t say that I’ve retired my red pen entirely. I just use it on pitch letters, synopses and to torture junior publicists.”

  “I was hoping that you’d make an exception.”

  “You know what happened when Stillwater wanted me to work pop culture phenoms. I couldn’t take it.”

  “I think it was more like they couldn’t take it. What did you say about that Lizzy Conway?” Reggie tapped the table. “Oh, yes, you said her sense of fiction was as interesting as a three-minute egg.”

  “I was right, wasn’t I? Stillwater signed her to a two-book deal and then proceeded to take a financial bath when sales for both books tanked. That’s what happens when you try to turn neophyte reality stars into John Steinbeck. I don’t mean any offense to Sam, but when it comes to writing, most of these pop culture icons can’t string a sentence together, let alone a whole book.”

  Reggie couldn’t help snickering. “I understand.”

  Abby continued on her little rant. “I spent the better part of a decade playing the role of the wicked witch because I cared about the work.”

  “And Stillwater had the numbers and the awards to prove it. How much did they offer you to stay?”

  “There were a lot of zeros on the check, but I was done.”

  “That was six years ago, right?”

  “Seven.”

  “So you’ve had time to detox.”

  “I guess so.” Abby shrugged. “When is his manuscript due?”

  “It’s due Memorial Day weekend.”

  Abby was floored. “It’s already February, Reggie. That’s only three months away. And if I’m not mistaken I believe I read somewhere that he’s set to get married the first weekend in June.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Reggie, I’m an editor, not a magician.”

  “But if anyone can work magic with an author, it’s you.”

  “My wand is in the shop,” she said dryly.

  “Come on, Abby. You’re the only person I know who can do this.”

  “I don’t know, Reggie. It’s a lot to take on.”

  “Fine. If I can’t appeal to your ego, can I appeal to you as my oldest and dearest friend?” Reggie gave her his best puppy dog look.

  “You’re not playing fair.”

  “Is it working?”

  Abby folded her arms and sighed. “All right, I’ll meet with him.”

  “Thanks, Abby, you’re a lifesaver.”

  “I wouldn’t thank me just yet. I’ll decide whether I’ll work with him after I meet him.”

  “That’s all I ask. You’re the best, Abby.”

  “We’ll see if you still feel that way after I order the baked lobster and the chocolate chicory for dessert.” She winked.

  ***

  Sam thought that an evening of romance would take the edge off his day. When he and Maria first got together, they would steal away to make love whenever possible. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Even more than that, they could talk to each other for hours. However, over the last two years they’d seemed to go off track in every way. Their lovemaking had grown more methodical and sporadic, and they didn’t talk to one another as they had in the past. Once they were engaged, Sam thought it would turn around, but it didn’t. Maria was singularly focused on the wedding. She obsessed over every wedding detail twenty-four hours a day.

  This evening, though, Sam was determined to turn the tide. He lit candles, chilled champagne and played soft music. The night was made for pure ecstasy. Instead, it turned out to be a means to an end when they skipped foreplay and had sex.

  Coitus achieved, Sam rolled over onto his back.

  Maria gave him a peck on the lips. “That was great, honey.” She picked up a bridal magazine from the night table.

  Sam watched her, realizing that would be all the lovemaking for the night, if it could even be called lovemaking He got out of bed and put his lounge pants on.

  “Where are you going?” Maria looked up from the magazine.

  “I’m going to get some juice. Do you want something?”

  “No. I’m good. Thanks.”

  Sam grabbed the champagne in the basket. Might as well put this to good use. One large mimosa coming right up. He headed for the kitchen.

  After he mixed a large mimosa, Sam headed for the study and sat down in front of his laptop. Seems like I get more action from my keyboard these days.

  Ten minutes later he was still staring at the blank page. It had seemed so much easier when he sighed the contract. Might as well write something I know I can handle. Sam reached into the desk, pulled out his checkbook and began writing checks to Tony Webster, Hall of Fame running back,
and Norman Green, a Hall of Fame center. Both players were suffering from debilitating health issues since their storied days on the gridiron.

  The cause of retired players had hit home for Sam when he was in the early part of his career and met Norm Green in Detroit. Always a fan, he could recite Norm’s stats from his heyday. What he didn’t know was since that his retirement he was receiving a paltry $843 a month from the NFL, which was clearly not enough to maintain his health care or pay his bills. He was shocked at what happened to the man who scored a touchdown for the Baltimore Colts in Super Bowl V. However, he was even more shocked to discover that his story wasn’t an isolated one. It bothered him that after bringing joy to the fans and money into the organization players could be summarily put out to pasture.

  From then on Sam became an anonymous benefactor for retired NFL players. He wrote monthly checks to various players to help cover their medical and living expenses.

  “What are you doing?”

  Startled, Sam slipped the checks into his portfolio and turned to face her. “Maria, I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

  “No. I was making notes for Jessica and my pen ran out.”

  “Oh.” He reached over and got a pen. “Here you go.”

  She took it from him. “Thanks. What were you doing, anyway?”

  “I was trying to work on this manuscript.”

  She glanced over at the checkbook. “Why’s the checkbook out?”

  “I moved it when I was looking for something in the drawer.”

  “Oh.” She seemed satisfied with the answer. “Are you coming back to bed soon?”

  “Yes. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “Can’t you come now? I want to show you something in this magazine. Momma and Daddy saw it and they think it would be perfect.”

  Sam’s heart sank a bit when he heard “Momma and Daddy.” Every time Maria began a sentence with them, the price of the wedding went up. “What is it?”

  “It’s a donut bar.”

  “A donut bar,” he repeated. “We already have a seven-tier cake by the best wedding cake artist in New York, a Viennese table, a chocolate fountain and a candy station. Don’t you think we’re already bordering on sending our guests into diabetic comas?”

  “No. We have four hundred and fifty people coming and they are expecting to be wowed. A donut bar is the latest trend in wedding receptions.”

  “Why not just add cupcakes?”

  “Cupcakes are so passé.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Wait a minute. Did you say four hundred and fifty guests? It was just four hundred people a week ago.”

  “Daddy had a few more people he said have to be there.”

  William “Big Bill” Carrangelo was a successful real estate developer who had furthered his family’s fortune during the real estate boom in Dallas. He was a tall, imposing man with a gregarious nature that hid his ruthlessness. No one crossed Big Bill. However, he was a soft touch when it came to his wife Kitty and their children. Maria adored her father and would never refuse a direct request.

  “Your father invited fifty more people?”

  “Give or take a few,” she answered, smiling. “Just take a look at the donut bar. I know that once you see it you’ll love it.”

  He knew she would stand there until he said yes. “Okay.” He shut down the computer and got up.

  The phone rang.

  “Who could that be at this hour?” Maria asked, annoyed.

  “It’s probably Reggie. I’ve been expecting a call from him.”

  Maria stared at him.

  “I promise this will only take a few minutes.”

  “Fine,” she huffed before she walked away.

  Sam picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Sam, it’s Reggie. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “No, I’m up. What’s the good word?”

  “Abby agreed to meet with you tomorrow at ten.”

  “She’s going to work with me?”

  “Not exactly,” he began. “She agreed to a meeting with you.”

  “That doesn’t sound promising.”

  “Perk up, kid. The point is, she’s meeting with you, and that’s a good thing, but you’re not a shoo-in. Believe me when I say that Abby doesn’t have a problem using the word no.”

  “Okay, I’ll take your word for it. Am I in for some kind of pop quiz to determine if I know the difference between a noun and a verb?”

  “No. But you do know the difference, right?”

  “You’re funny, Reggie,” he said dryly.

  “I’m sorry. Just be sure to bring whatever you’ve written with you.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Reggie assured him.

  “I hope you’re right.” Sam took a pen and pad out. “What’s the address?”

  “It’s 2145 Thompson Street, between Broome and Prince.”

  “Got it.” He jotted down the address.

  “All right, Sam, I’m on my way home now. Give me a call if you need me.”

  “I will, Reggie. Have a good night.”

  “Thanks. You, too.”

  Sam sighed. “I sure hope she grades on a curve,” he said aloud as he rose and turned off the lights.

  Chapter 4

  Finished with her morning routine, Abby was in her bedroom rummaging through her walk-in closet. What in the world am I going to wear? She stopped short. What the hell am I doing? I haven’t even decided if I’m going to work with this guy. With that she pulled her dark olive Ralph Lauren Zelma jersey dress. “This will work.” She walked out and got dressed.

  Shortly afterwards Abby was in her office reviewing Candy’s revisions and attaching Post-Its with more notes. “That should do it,” she said aloud as she placed the papers on Candy’s desk. It was time to continue playing her game of phone tag with Zach.

  She picked up the phone on Candy’s desk and punched the numbers and got the answering machine. “Hi, Zach, it’s Abby. It seems like we’re destined to play phone tag. Please give me a call so we can discuss Mollie West’s appearance on the show. Thanks. Or, in other words, tag, you’re it.” She hung up the phone and went back to her office.

  By nine-fifteen, Leo was heading for Abby’s office.

  “What can I do for you, Leo?” Abby asked without looking up from her computer.

  “I will never get used to your Spidey sense.”

  Abby laughed. “Have a seat.”

  “All the book clubs have confirmed for the Return to Romance event at the Harlem Tea Room on Madison Avenue.”

  “That’s terrific. What’s the problem?”

  “I haven’t been able to get Tanya from Willow House to send over any review copies.”

  “The event is in three weeks.”

  “Right.” He nodded.

  “Is she aware that we need to provide the book clubs with at least one review copy per title before the event?”

  “I thought she understood.”

  “There are five authors coming. So we’re only talking about thirty books.”

  “Yes.”

  Abby picked up her phone and punched numbers.

  “Good morning, Willow House Publishing. This is Dana. How may I direct your call?”

  “Good morning, Dana. It’s Abigail Carey calling. How are you?”

  “I’m well, Ms. Carey. How are you?”

  “I’m just peachy, thanks. Is Ted in?”

  “Yes. If you hold for a moment, I’ll see if he can pick up.”

  “Thanks.”

  Abby tapped her pen on the desk while she listened to the hold music.

  Theodore Tinsdale was the publisher and president of Willow House. A distinguished man of fifty-six, he was a former prosecutor for De Kalb County. His late wife, Sandra Willow Tinsdale, was a beloved English teacher who instilled her love of reading in all her students. After she died of breast cancer, her memory inspired Ted to start Willow House Publishing. It had become one of the most successful independen
t publishing houses in the country.

  “Hello, Abby. It’s good to hear from you,” Ted said in his usual jovial tone.

  “Hi, Ted. How’s it going?”

  “Something tells me I’ll be better equipped to answer that question after this phone call.” He chuckled.

  “Then I won’t keep you in suspense. You know we’re handling the Return to Romance author event, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, we haven’t received any review copies to send out to the book clubs who have confirmed their attendance, and we are now at the three week countdown. We need only about thirty books.”

  “In the economy, only is a relative term.”

  “Okay, Ted, let’s get down to brass tacks. We are talking about mass-market paperbacks, not trade paperbacks or hardcover books. It costs you pocket change to produce them and you handle your own distribution. So don’t hand me the economy line, especially since you’re poised to sell more than thirty copies at the event.”

  “You’re hitting me with the loss-leaders argument.”

  “And you know that I’m right. So when can we expect the books?”

  “I’ll have Tanya send them out to you priority today.”

  “Thank you. Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?

  “Not for you.” He laughed. “No one can get anything past you, can they?”

  “They can try, but I’ve been in the publishing business for nearly twenty years.”

  “And it shows.”

  Abby laughed. “You know, Ted, I hate to twist arms and run, but I have an appointment coming in shortly.”

  “No problem. It was good talking to you. Take care.”

  “You, too.” She hung up. “Okay, you’re all set, Leo. Tanya’s sending the books out today via priority mail.”

  Leo looked relieved as he stood up. “Thanks, Abby, you’re the best.”

  “You’re welcome.” Abby leaned back in her chair as he left. When he stands to make nearly $7,000 from this one event. I can’t believe it. She looked at her watch and saw she still had time to get more things done before dealing with what she was sure would be the NFL version of Entourage.

  ***

  Sam was sitting in the back of his Mercedes on the way to Abby’s office. He nervously kept opening and closing his portfolio. I need to stop this. The number of pages will not magically double no matter how hard I wish. He closed his portfolio for what he hoped would be the last time.