“As am I, about the woman who will be editing me.”
“What, exactly, would you like to know?”
“Who are your other authors? Your favorites? Which of their books have pleased you?”
A bit flustered, Leigh said, “I think you probably know the answer to your own questions.”
“Meaning?”
Leigh paused for a moment and considered the ramifications of complete honesty. She certainly didn’t feel any moral compulsion to tell the whole truth; it just felt silly at this point to keep up the charade, so she looked him in the eye and said, “Meaning that I have no doubt you’ve done your homework, and you know full well that you will be my most-selling author to date—and admittedly, by a great deal—and you also must know that my boss, my colleagues, and probably the entire publishing community think I’m much too inexperienced to handle your book.”
Jesse downed his espresso. “And what do you think, dear Leigh?” he asked, a half-smile playing at his mouth.
“I think that you’re sick of all the bullshit. I don’t know why you vanished the last six years, but I suspect it was something more than too much partying, or whatever else the gossip hounds claim. I think you’re looking for a fresh start and an editor who has nothing to lose. Someone young and hungry and willing to take a few risks.” She paused. “How am I doing?”
“Very well.”
“Thank you.” She felt almost high with adrenaline, anxious and on edge, but in a good way.
“And at the risk of sounding like a patronizing asshole,” he said, “I am quite certain I made the right decision.”
“You have,” she nodded.
Jesse motioned to the waiter for their check and handed it directly to Leigh when it arrived. “This is on Brook Harris, I assume?”
“Of course.” She placed her brand-new American Express Corporate Card in the little folder and sat back. “So, Jesse,” she said, pulling her red leather planner from her bag, “when are we going to see each other again? I’m free for lunch Tuesday and Friday of next week, although Tuesday’s probably better. Of course, you’re welcome to come into the office and meet—”
“Next week isn’t good for me.”
“Oh. Okay, then. The week after that. How about you—”
“No, that won’t work, either.”
Her company had just spent three million dollars to purchase what was little more than a name and a promise, and he didn’t think it enough of a priority to make himself available for a proper editorial conversation? “You didn’t even let me finish,” she said quietly.
“I’m sorry,” he said with a barely suppressed smile. “It’s just that I’ve no plans to come to the city again for the next few weeks. This morning’s train debacle guaranteed that. Now, we can either wait until I do return, or if you’re inclined, I’d be happy to host you in the Hamptons.”
“Well, I’ll have to check my schedule and get back to you,” she said coolly.
“He’ll tell you to come,” Jesse said.
“Pardon me?”
“Henry. He’ll tell you to come. Don’t worry, Leigh, it’s not so very far away, and I promise to take good care of you. There’s even a Starbucks.”
The waiter returned her card and receipt. She carefully placed each in its own compartment in her wallet and gathered her things.
“I haven’t upset you, have I?” Jesse asked.
Leigh got the distinct feeling that he couldn’t care less.
“Of course not. I’m just late for another appointment. I’ll call you later today or tomorrow and set up our next meeting.”
He grinned and stepped aside so she could walk ahead of him. “Sounds good to me. And Leigh? Try not to panic, okay? We’re going to work just fine together.”
It was raining when they stepped outside, and as Leigh fumbled in her gigantic tote for an umbrella, Jesse began jogging toward Sixth Avenue. “Talk later,” he called without turning around.
Leigh seethed. He really was a conceited, pompous prick. He hadn’t even bothered to ask if she needed a cab or offered to walk her back to the office—he hadn’t even thanked her for lunch! She didn’t know how she was going to coddle a man with such a mammoth-sized ego. She could be diplomatic and lead with the carrot, but the gentle, wide-eyed, I’m-so-impressed-with-your-brilliance–Mr. Bestseller approach just wasn’t her. Not now, not ever, and certainly not for someone as obnoxious as Jesse Chapman. Hell, Adriana could probably do a better job with him, never having edited—or possibly even read—a single book in her entire life. This thought plagued her for the eight-block walk back to the office, a walk made even more miserable by her now-soaking-wet three-inch heels. By the time she stepped into her building, she was ready to call the entire thing off—a fact that she didn’t exactly hide from Henry.
“Eisner, get in here,” he called to her as she walked by his door. There was no way to get from the elevator to her office without passing Henry’s, a maddening design he’d no doubt orchestrated deliberately.
Leigh would have liked a few minutes to compose herself and, truth be told, maybe tone down her outfit by adding a cardigan or a pair of flip-flops, but she knew Henry had cleared his entire afternoon in anticipation of her return.
“Hello,” she said brightly and arranged herself as modestly as possible on his love seat.
“Well?” he asked. Henry looked her up and down but, blessedly, remained expressionless.
“Well, he certainly is a handful,” she said before realizing how positively asinine that sounded.
“A handful?”
“He’s arrogant—just like you warned—but I’m sure it’s nothing we won’t be able to work through. When I tried to set up our next meeting, he blatantly refused to come back to Manhattan.”
Henry looked up. “Doesn’t he live in the West Village?”
“Yes, but he claims he can’t concentrate here, so he bought a place in the Hamptons. He just assumed that I’d go there….” Leigh trailed off with a laugh.
“Of course you will,” Henry snapped, something he didn’t do often.
“I will?” Leigh asked, surprised more at Henry’s vehemence than anything else.
“Yes. I’ll reassign your other projects if necessary. From now until his pub date, you’ll make this your only priority. If that means meeting at the Bronx Zoo because he’s inspired by baby lion cubs, so be it. So long as that manuscript is in by deadline and it’s publishable, I don’t care if you spend the next six months in Tanzania. Just make it happen.”
“I understand, Henry. I really do. You can count on me. And reassigning my authors isn’t necessary,” Leigh said, thinking of the memoirist with chronic fatigue, the novelist whose book was out for endorsements, and the stand-up comedian turned writer who called with new jokes no fewer than three times a week.
Henry’s phone rang and a moment later his assistant announced over the intercom that it was his wife. “Think about what I said, Leigh,” he said, his hand over the mouthpiece.
She nodded and scurried out of his office, barely even noticing the searing pain she felt in both heels. Her own assistant, clutching a fistful of messages and memos, pounced on Leigh the moment she collapsed into her desk chair.
“This contract needs to be signed immediately so I can FedEx it before close of business, and Pablo from the art department said he needed any cover notes for the Mathison memoir as soon as humanly possible. Oh, and—”
“Annette, can we hold off on this stuff for a minute? I need to make a call. Will you close the door on your way out? I’ll only be a moment.” Leigh tried to keep her voice calm and even, but she felt like screaming.
Annette, bless her heart, merely nodded and quietly pulled the door closed behind her. Not sure she would ever again have the strength to make the call if she didn’t do it that second, Leigh picked up the receiver and dialed.
“Well, that was fast,” Jesse answered. It sounded like a taunt. “What can I do for you, Ms. Eisner?”
> “I’ve checked my schedule, and I’ll see you in the Hamptons.”
He demonstrated enough restraint not to gloat, but Leigh could feel him grinning. “I appreciate that, Leigh. I’ll be out of town for the next couple weeks doing research. Would the second weekend in August work?”
Leigh didn’t bother looking at her planner or the calendar she kept open on her computer screen. What did it matter? Henry had made it clear enough: If it worked for Jesse, it worked for her.
She took a deep breath and bit down on her thumb hard enough to leave a tooth mark. “I’ll be there,” she said.
mommy drinks because i cry
Izzie led the way to the elevator in her building and punched the number eleven. “So you’re telling me that some gorgeous Australian took you for a walk on the beach late at night after hours of drinking and dancing and that—despite your solemn pledge to yourself and your friends that you’d, pardon my French, fuck anyone in possession of a foreign passport—you still didn’t sleep with him?”
“Yes.”
“Emmy, Emmy, Emmy.”
“I couldn’t, okay? I just couldn’t! We were rolling around in the sand, making out like crazy. He was such a good kisser. He took off his shirt, and my god—” Emmy groaned audibly and closed her eyes.
“And? I’m not hearing anything bad so far.”
“And the second he went to unbutton my jeans, I freaked out. I don’t know why, I just did. It was so…so surreal to see this guy on top of me, about to enter me, and I didn’t even know his last name. I couldn’t do it.”
Izzie unlocked the apartment door and Emmy followed her into the small marble-floored foyer. “Did you really just say that he was about to ‘enter’ you?”
“Izzie,” Emmy warned. “Can we stay focused here? I wanted to do it, I really did. I was so attracted to him. He was totally sweet and non-threatening and Australian, and it would’ve been the perfect vacation fling. But I still made him stop.”
Kevin looked up from the desk where he was sitting across the living room and smiled. “This conversation sounds significantly more interesting than my patient who just e-mailed to describe the consistency of her discharge.” He closed the laptop and crossed the living room, kissing Emmy on the cheek and then enveloping Izzie in a warm, welcoming bear hug. “I missed you, baby,” he murmured quietly into her ear.
Izzie pressed her lips to his and stroked his face with the back of her hand. “Mmm. I missed you, too. How was the shift?”
“Um, excuse me?” Emmy interrupted their private exchange. “I hate to break up this sweet reunion, but as you two are already married and I have no one to confide in, I’d like to focus on me for a little while….”
Kevin laughed and patted his wife on the ass. “Fair enough. I’ll throw your stuff in the second bedroom and get some drinks. You girls wait outside.” He headed toward the kitchen and Izzie looked after him wistfully.
“He’s nauseatingly amazing,” Emmy said.
“I know.” Izzie sighed with a barely suppressed smile. “He’s so fucking nice. It would probably be unbearable if I didn’t love him so much. Come on, let’s sit on the balcony.”
Emmy could envision places she’d rather sit than at the balcony’s wrought-iron table in a wrought-iron chair under the blazing South Florida sun, the air thick with humidity. Like on the carpet directly in front of the air-conditioning vents, for one.
“Does one ever stop sweating here?” Emmy asked Izzie, who appeared completely unaffected by the swelter.
Izzie shrugged. “You get used to it after a while. Although I have to say, not many people choose August for a visit to Miami.” She turned to catch the sun, but only after winking at Emmy. “Okay, so we were at the part where he was about to enter you….”
The sliding glass door opened and Kevin, a tray full of drinks and accessories in his hands, shook his head in dismay. “I can’t seem to escape this conversation. Seriously, Em, can we fast-forward a little?”
As Izzie jumped up to help Kevin, Emmy wondered where the girl found her energy. The unrelenting heat and humidity made Emmy feel like her entire body was liquefying.
“There’s not much more to say,” Emmy said, grabbing a handful of grapes from Kevin’s tray. She plucked a bottle of water from a small ice bucket he had set down and said, “Are we not boozing? I thought neither of you was on call.”
Izzie and Kevin exchanged a quick look. “Yeah, we’ll open something in a minute. But first”—he handed Izzie a canvas tote bag—“we have something for you.”
“For me?” Emmy asked, confused. “I should be bringing you guys something…. I’m the guest.”
Izzie opened the canvas bag and handed Emmy a small box, festively adorned in yellow paper and rainbow-colored ribbons. “For you,” she said.
“This is really very sweet, but I think it’s only fair to warn you guys: If this is some sort of gift certificate for Match.com or a dating handbook or any sort of information on freezing my eggs, there’s going to be trouble.”
Izzie must have known she was only kidding, so Emmy was surprised to see her smile fade a little. “Just open it,” she urged.
Never one to open a gift delicately—was it really worthwhile to stockpile used wrapping paper and bows?—Emmy ripped it open with relish. She was unsurprised to find a folded white T-shirt nestled among the yellow tissue paper. She and Izzie had been doing this for years, since they were old enough to earn their own money and responsible enough to post boxes on a regular basis: sending each other T-shirts with funny, obnoxious, clever, or just plain stupid sayings, always hoping to one-up the last contribution. Just a couple weeks earlier Emmy had sent Izzie a wife-beater that read TRUST ME, I’M A DOCTAH and Emmy had responded by FedExing a doggie T-shirt—intended for a cute toy breed but addressed to Otis—that read I ONLY BITE WHEN UGLY PEOPLE PET ME.
Emmy held the baby tee up. “WORLD’S BEST AUNTIE?” she read aloud. “I don’t get it. What’s so clever about—” The look Izzie and Kevin exchanged stopped her midsentence. “Ohmigod.”
Izzie just grinned and nodded. Kevin squeezed her hand across the table.
“Ohmigod,” Emmy murmured again.
“We’re pregnant!” Izzie shouted, knocking over two bottles of water as she jumped up to hug Emmy.
“Ohmigod.”
“Em, seriously, say something else,” Kevin advised, his brow furrowing in concern for his wife.
Emmy was aware that her arms were wrapped around Izzie, that she was holding on to her sister with a fierce determination, but she was unable to formulate any words. Her mind raced to the places it always did when someone first references a pregnancy: the day, just a year or so earlier, when she’d witnessed her first live birth. Izzie had dressed Emmy in scrubs, instructed her how to behave like a med student, and brought her into the delivery room to watch a totally ordinary vaginal delivery with no complications. None of the sixth-grade health videos or gory tales she’d heard from friends or Izzie prepared her for what she witnessed that day, and now it all came rushing back. Only the stranger on the table was now her sister, and she couldn’t shake the mental image of a little bald baby head emerging from her sister’s private parts.
But before she could even begin to process that, her mind switched tracks entirely. Next up was a mental inventory of all the baby boutiques and Web sites she had spent so many years visiting, cooing over fuzzy booties and monogrammed burp cloths, filling her imaginary shopping cart with all the cutest things. Now she would have a real reason to shop—for her very own niece or nephew!—but how would she ever decide? Of course she would have to buy the little one onesies with clever sayings like NOBODY PUTS BABY IN THE CORNER and MOMMY DRINKS BECAUSE I CRY, but what about that darling little cashmere roll-neck sweater, or the sheepskin-lined infant Uggs, or the limited-edition Bugaboo in the lime plaid print? All those little socks that look like Mary Janes were essential, as was a mini terrycloth robe. She would skip anything too functional or precious—let othe
r people buy the Boppy nursing pillows or the bottle warmers or the engraved Tiffany spoons. She would make sure that Izzie’s baby had all the Manhattan essentials. If she didn’t, who would? Certainly not this baby’s future parents, who would surely be too busy delivering other people’s babies to seek out the newest, coolest, cutest stuff. Yes, there really was no choice. If ever there was a time to rise to the occasion, this was it. She would live up to the T-shirt’s moniker and be the best aunt imaginable. And who knew? Perhaps she would get to use these things for her own baby one day; her kids and Izzie’s kids could share their clothes and toys, just as their mothers had their whole lives. They’d be more like siblings than first cousins! In fact, now that she thought it through, she realized that Izzie could wait to time her second with Emmy’s first, and then they’d both be pregnant together. They could go to prenatal yoga classes and Izzie could explain what was happening every step of the way in that calm, professional voice she used with her patients, and when it finally came time to give birth, they would do so a few weeks apart, so each sister could be there for the other. Yes, this really was a good plan, especially considering that—
“Em? Are you okay? Say something!” Izzie cried.
“Oh, Izzie, I’m so happy for you guys!” Emmy said, standing up. She hugged her sister again and then threw herself at Kevin. “I’m sorry, I was just so shocked.”
“It’s crazy, isn’t it?” Izzie asked. “We’re barely used to it ourselves. I thought it wouldn’t be such a big thing since pregnancies and babies are, well, are our life, but it’s so different when it happens to you, you know?”
Well, technically speaking, she didn’t know. If things kept up the way they were going, she might never know. But she also knew that Izzie hadn’t meant it that way at all. “How far along are you?”
Izzie reached into Emmy’s lap and held both her sister’s hands. “Don’t be mad, Em….”
“What? Are you, like, due next month? Are you one of those freaks who can be nine months pregnant and everyone thinks you’ve just had a few too many Krispy Kremes? Come to think of it, I had noticed your face looking a little puffier.”