Lacy left the building for her thirty-minute lunch break. She picked up a hot dog and Coke from a vendor then wandered up Fifth Avenue looking into shop windows, heading, as she so often did, toward the New York Public Library and Bry ant Park behind it.
The sun shone above the skyscrapers and filtered down through the concrete and glass, diminished, to the street. People streamed around her, all of them apparently in a hurry, their hands crammed in their pockets or clutched around their cell phones. Like her, they were warmly dressed but not yet bundled against the coming frigid temperatures.
As she walked and ate, the questions circled in Lacy’s mind. What could she do on Kendall’s behalf? Was there any way to get around Jane Jensen? And, if so, was there any way to salvage her job at the same time?
In front of the library, she paused to contemplate the Beaux Arts building’s grand Corinthian columns and its three immense archways. Two majestic marble lions served as bookends. Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia had named them Patience and Fortitude during the depths of the Great Depression in an effort to inspire his beleaguered New Yorkers, and Lacy had adopted them as her personal mascots. She looked to them now for the answers she sought, but Patience and Fortitude weren’t talking.
In the park she threw her crumpled wrapper and empty drink cup in a trash can and ambled along a walkway that took her past the French-styled carousel then headed toward The Pond to see who might be twirling across the ice.
Her cell phone rang and she saw Cash Simpson’s cell number appear on her caller ID. He was somewhere in the South-east on business and wouldn’t be back until the weekend. She answered, holding the phone to her ear as she approached the skating rink, entering easily into their normal opening banter, realizing as they spoke that Cash had much of the experience she lacked. He’d know how things worked and, unlike Jane Jensen, might be willing to explain them to her.
“Cash, I need to understand how to get a book noticed. You know, how to get it the right kind of cover and in-house backing.”
“Well, that would start with the editor who wanted to purchase it. You were at that editorial meeting when the books got pitched. The editor starts building excitement for the book then. By the time they get to the sales meeting, if they’ve done their job right, they can get the sales force pumped, too, along with the publisher.”
Lacy stopped near a vacant table that overlooked the rink and plopped down onto its chair. “Well, what if the editor wasn’t at all excited about the book, maybe had passed it off to some underling who knows it’s fabulous but can’t even get the editor to read it. What if this editor is whacked out and erratic and has told the underling to drop the whole thing or she’ll make sure the underling never works in the business again?”
“Then the underling should listen,” Cash said.
“But what if the underling would like to listen, but her conscience won’t let her? What if she knows the book is incredible and that it’s a moneymaker. And she just can’t let it die. What then?”
“Lacy, you’re a very bright girl. And I think you need to use your very bright brain to do what your editor told you.”
“Well, I’d like to,” she admitted. “But I can’t. I owe this book—and its author—my best shot. I mean, that’s why we’re here isn’t it? To publish the best possible books?”
He groaned. “This is what happens when you hire children. They think they’re invincible and that they don’t have to follow the rules.”
“Just tell me how I can get around her,” Lacy said with a wheedling tone. “I won’t drag you into it if you don’t want to be involved.”
There was a silence in which she could feel his internal debate, could practically feel him weighing what his chances of sleeping with her might be if he turned her down. She should be heading back to the office, but she just sat and waited him out.
She was about to speak when he said, “You’d have to get other people within the publishing house to read it before the sales meeting that’s scheduled for two weeks from now. I’d find another editor—someone who’s not a fan of Jane would be best. Someone from PR, who could work up some ideas about its promotability, should read it. And maybe a marketing person. Then I’d see if I could get someone from the art department who could bring in some rough cover sketches.” He paused. “And of course you’d need somebody relatively high up in sales to speak for it.”
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 something 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?”