Starting from Scratch

by Marie Ferrarella

  Reaching for Andrea’s water glass, Henry placed it by his own. “Emptiness?”

  “Of the page or computer screen,” she elaborated. Elisha moved her own glass next to her brother’s, then brought over Beth’s to complete the set. “There are a lot of good words inside their heads, but they swirl together like alphabet soup and they don’t think they have the wherewithal, or patience, or whatever to put it together so it makes sense.” Dropping the silverware on top of the four dishes, she smiled. “That’s where I come in.”

  He cocked his head ever so slightly, as if the information would transfer itself into his brain a little more swiftly at that angle. “You put it together for them?”

  There were times when she was sorely tempted to toss out a page and put her own words down in its stead. But that was the easier way and the more dishonest way. Although she had to admit it was personally satisfying to see her words in print, even under someone else’s name.

  “I nag,” she corrected him. “I push, I prod, I provide the encouraging word, sometimes over and over again.” For her most insecure authors, she thought. With them, bolstering their morale was very much like trying to pour a given amount of water into a pail with a gaping hole in it. “Until they get it done.”

  Henry nodded at the explanation. “You had it right the first time. You nag.” He grinned. “As I recall, you were quite good at that.”

  “I never nagged you.”

  “You most certainly did.”

  Stubbornly, she refused to give up any ground. “About what?”

  He rolled his eyes, seeming more amused than frustrated. “Everything. You thought things had to be done a certain way—your way—and you wanted me to do it just that way.”

  From her point of view, she’d been altruistic, but she supposed she could see that from his position, her behavior might have seemed a little irritating. “I just didn’t want you making my mistakes.”

  “Kids need to make their own mistakes,” he told her quietly. He got up from the table, picking up the stack of plates and silverware. “That’s how they learn.”

  He had a point and she was more than willing to concede to it. Henry was even a better father than theirs had been, and she had adored their father.

  “Which is why you’re the parent and I’m the editor. I wouldn’t have the patience to stand back and let them learn on their own,” she admitted honestly. “I’d just jump right in there and do it for them.” Holding the glasses to her to keep from dropping them, she followed Henry into the kitchen. “You really have done a great job with the girls. They’re wonderful.”

  Henry placed the dishes on the counter and opened the dishwasher. One by one, Elisha rinsed off the dinner plates and handed them to him to place on the rack.

  “Yeah, they are, aren’t they? Don’t get me wrong, there have been a few rough patches, especially with Andrea, but for the most part, I’ve been pretty blessed.” The last dish he took from her slipped through his fingers. It landed on the tile with a clatter. Because it was the everyday dinnerware, the plate didn’t shatter.

  Not looking in his direction, Elisha stooped down to pick up the dish.

  “Never knew you to drop anything,” she teased. “I’m the one who does that, usually because I’m moving faster than the speed of light.”

  When she rose back up, her grin froze, then abruptly faded the second she saw her brother’s face. Henry was struggling to mask it, but she was positive she saw a glimmer of pain flash across his features. Something squeezed her heart.

  “Henry, what’s wrong?”

  He did his best to look unaffected as he waved a hand at her question, dismissing it. “Nothing. It was just a twinge.”

  “A twinge of what?” she demanded. He made no answer, as if the question had no significance. Still looking at him, Elisha quickly pulled over a chair. “Here, sit,” she ordered.

  When Henry did as she asked, she became really concerned. Henry had never had a macho complex, but he just never showed any weakness. If he needed to sit down, something was very, very wrong.

  She looked at his color again, thinking how pale he was. She could feel the foundations of her world weakening, as if she’d just found out that they were constructed of cardboard instead of concrete.

  She placed a hand on his shoulder, trying not to feel at a loss, wishing she was that know-it-all big sister again, or at least could somehow channel her. “Maybe you need to see a doctor.”

  Henry raised his head and gave her an acquiescing smile. “I am seeing one.”

  “Seeing?” she echoed, picking up on the one telltale word. He hadn’t just gone once and gotten a clean bill of health. “As in an ongoing process?”

  This definitely didn’t sound good to her.

  “Don’t make a big deal out of this, Lise. I just went in for a checkup.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I knew you’d make a big deal out of it. I went because I haven’t been to a doctor for a while and I thought it might be a good idea to get myself checked over.”

  She wasn’t buying that, not for a moment. “Women think like that,” Elisha pointed out. “Men don’t think like that.” She was doing her best not to allow panic to cross her threshold. So far, she was succeeding. “Now, what’s wrong?”

  With the patience of Job, Henry stuck to his story. “Nothing.”

  She couldn’t very well choke the story out of him. “How serious a nothing?”

  Henry laughed, stood and reached for the dishwashing detergent. He added the appropriate amount to the machine. “You always were dramatic.” He punctuated the statement with an affectionate laugh.

  She sighed. The man was a veritable sphinx when he wanted to be. “And you were always closemouthed.”

  There was deep affection in his voice as he posed the question, “How would you have known? You were always talking. Or dictating,” he added before she could defend herself. They knew one another very well. They always had. “I couldn’t have gotten a word in edgewise. Mom and Dad wouldn’t have even known I could talk if you hadn’t had to go to kindergarten a few hours a day and leave me at home.”

  “You’re trying to divert me, Henry. All right, if you’re already seeing a doctor, what did he or she say?”

  “It’s a he. Dr. Steven Rheinhold,” he said. “And he think’s that it’s probably just an ulcer. He wants to run some tests.”

  An ulcer would be consistent with someone who kept everything inside and never displayed any anger, she thought. An ulcer could be treated and managed.

  “Tests.”

  He smiled and passed his fingertips over the furrow that had formed between her eyebrows, smoothing it out. “Don’t say it as if it’s a death sentence.”

  The second he said the forbidden word, Elisha rallied. She instantly forgot about her own reaction, her own concerns, and became the eternal cheerleader.

  “No, of course not. Tests are good. They rule out things, put your fears to rest. Tell you what you should be doing.” She looked at her brother pointedly. “Like resting.”

  He returned her look without flinching. “You’d be the one to talk.”

  With her, it was more a case of collapsing instead of resting, and she did so periodically. But this wasn’t about her, it was about him. The only really important “him” in her life.

  “Like you just said, brother dear, I always do.” She sobered slightly, turning the dishwasher on for him. “You’ll tell me the minute you find out anything?”

  “If I can get through.”

  She knew he was referring to the last time. The woman on the switchboard had placed him on hold and immediately lost the connection.

  “Call my cell,” she told him. “And the answering machine.”

  “So in other words,” he deadpanned, “you don’t want to know.”

  “I’ll answer it,” she promised. “I don’t want anything happening to you.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to me,” he
reassured her in the soft, patient voice that inspired confidence in all who heard it. “I’ve got too much to live for.”

  “Yeah, you do,” she agreed. Pausing to kiss his cheek, she ordered, “Remember that.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, then laughed.

  She loved the sound of his laugh. It made her feel better.

  CHAPTER 8

  “Okay, I quit. I quit, I quit, I QUIT!” Paula Reynolds shouted in a voice of full-blown, hair-pulling hysteria.

  She ended her ten-year career by slamming the door as she left Rockefeller Randolph’s spacious office.

  Breathing fire, the now former senior editor pushed her way past Elisha. As she hurried by, Paula’s eyes looked more than just a little possessed. “He’s a monster!”

  The pronouncement echoed in the hall, causing heads to turn and people to look out of their cubicles and small offices.

  Bemused, Elisha knocked once on Rocky’s door and then let herself in. Rocky was probably in the throes of recovering from whatever salvo Paula had fired in her wake. He did not do confrontations well and he was at his best when the good ship Randolph & Sons was sailing through tranquil waters.

  Rocky’s eyes rolled as she stepped over the threshold. The fine features of his face ceased looking so pinched.

  “Thank God it’s you.” He breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief. “I thought she was coming back to strangle me. Never knew Paula was so emotional.”

  She was here to tell him that Sinclair had called earlier from the road to announce that the book tour was going well and that he had a spot on one of the morning shows, but she tabled that news for the time being. Rocky was obviously dealing with some crisis and that took precedence over friendly chitchat.

  Elisha took a seat in his guest chair. “I take it that reference to monster she just yelled wasn’t meant to describe you.”

  Rocky shook his head, then mentioned the name of the most famous and most difficult star in their stable. “She was talking about Ryan Sutherland.”

  A smile played across her lips. “Thought as much.” The day was windy. From her window, she watched a bird in the distance struggling to fly to his intended destination. “What does that make now, three editors he’s chewed his way through since Parks retired?”

  Taking a deep breath, Rocky let it slowly out before answering, “Four. Milo Benson lasted a week.”

  “Right, Milo. I forgot about him.” The young Harvard graduate had been Jason Parks’s heir apparent, trained by the older man to eventually take his place. No one, however, had thought that “eventually” would turn into “immediately,” but heart attacks don’t follow timetables. Jason’s had been entirely unexpected, considering how well the man cared for his health. In comparison to most, it had been a minor attack, but Jason felt it was a sign that he needed to retire to do something less stressful than deal with deadlines and prima donnas.

  Left in the lurch, Rocky had handed the jewel of the Randolph lineup to Milo. The thinking had been that Milo would see to the demanding author while arrangements were made to transition the blockbuster author to another senior editor. The best-laid plans of mice and men and publishers often went awry. As in this case. Milo had left after a week to take a more lucrative offer with another firm. Or so he had said. Elisha had a feeling that the young man had said what he had in order to cover his pride and allow himself to make a quick getaway.

  Because Rocky looked as if he needed to unwind and because she possessed more than a healthy share of curiosity, Elisha asked, “So what’s the complaint this time?”

  “Paula called Sutherland a male chauvinist pig.”

  Elisha pretended to wince, not at the accusation, but at the term Paula had used. She struggled to keep the amused look off her face. She knew that at the moment Rocky wouldn’t appreciate it. “Haven’t heard that one in a long time. You would have thought that someone as modern and forward thinking as Paula would have come up with a more up-to-date term.”

  Rocky shrugged. “Sometimes the old standards work best.” The comment was said more into his shirt than to her.

  Elisha was instantly on her guard. “You’re mumbling, Rocky. Does that mean you’re going to ask me to do something I won’t like?”

  He sighed and shook his head. “You know me too well.”

  Elisha frowned. “And apparently you don’t know me at all. Hello.” Moving forward on her seat, she put her hand out to him. “I’m Elisha Reed. Perhaps you’ve seen my office. It’s the one with the overflowing paper leaking out through the cracks and beneath the door.” She slid back on her seat, her eyes never leaving Rocky’s face. Surely he was kidding about what she thought he was going to ask her to do. “I already work a twenty-six-hour day.”

  “Twenty-four,” Rocky corrected automatically. “There are twenty-four hours in a day.”

  “I know.” She shot the zinger at him with the accuracy of a mischievous child with an old-fashioned slingshot. “I’ve been borrowing hours against the future. I’m up to the year 2025.”

  He did his best to sound upbeat as he tried to move forward. “Look, Elisha, I know that you’re overworked…”

  When he used her given name, she knew that the deck was stacked against her and that she’d lost before the game had ever begun. “I’ve always loved your flair for understatement, Rocky.”

  “I can give the newer authors to Edlestein, free you up a little.”

  “To do what?”

  Rocky sighed, a man between a rock and a hard place with no promise of a pillow anywhere in sight. “Don’t make this hard, Elisha.”

  She looked at him sweetly. “Then don’t say the words, Rocky.”

  “What words?”

  She’d heard all the rumors and each time she did, she gave up a quick, silent prayer that she wasn’t the one dealing with Sutherland. Now, apparently, she would be.

  “The words condemning me to dance in attendance to a man who could serve as the poster boy for anger–management classes—the ‘before’ side.”

  “Lise, the man writes tremendous blockbusters for us. We need to keep him happy.”

  The stories about working with Sutherland were legion. None was uplifting. “From what I’d heard, I don’t think the man is capable of ‘happy.’ Unless you mean allowing him to toss vestal virgins into a volcano. That might bring a smile to his face.”

  “Women find him charming.”

  Rocky was referring to cocktail parties. Sutherland had attended Sinclair’s launch party. And had been mobbed as she recalled. “Women who don’t have to be working with him.”

  Rocky tried to recall all the kind comments he’d heard leveled at the writer. “He’s a man’s man—”

  “Fine, give him to some man.” Her eyes widened as she thought of the perfect solution. Or at least a solution that would keep her off the hook for a while. “You, for instance.”

  The thought clearly horrified Rocky. He turned ash white. “He’d break me in two—verbally. The guy’s an ex–Navy SEAL among other things. I think he was also a mercenary for a while.”

  “Take a bodyguard and have him frisked before you start working together.” Not that Sutherland liked or welcomed any input from anyone but himself. As far as she was concerned, that made him a walking ego.

  Rocky rose from behind his desk and came to stand in front of her. Apparently begging was easier for him at closer quarters. “Lise, please, you’re my only hope.”

  She hated when he looked so sad. “Don’t give me those puppy-dog eyes, Rocky—”

  “Rumor has it that he’s thinking of leaving us, of going to Horizon Publishing. If I lose him, my father might decide to really come out of retirement and take over. That means he’ll be looking over everyone’s shoulder again.”

  The older Randolph showed up once or twice a week as it was, haunting the halls, nosing into people’s progress and schedules. “To ‘come out of retirement,’ your father would have had to fully ‘go into retirement.’”

  Ro
cky fixed Elisha with a long, forlorn look. “Please?”

  She sighed. “You’ve got nobody else?”

  Rocky shook his head solemnly. “Nobody.”

  She thought of her assistant. This, she believed, would be perfect payback. The conniving woman wouldn’t even know what hit her.

  “How about Carole Chambers?” Elisha asked sweetly. “She’s dying to sink her teeth into someone of renown and she’s terrific at kissing up.”

  “She’s very competent,” he said seriously, “but she’s not ready for someone of Sutherland’s stature. She doesn’t have your background or your expertise.”

  Elisha eyed him, her expression never changing. “And this is the part where I’m supposed to jump to my feet and declare, “Give him to me, Rocky. I can do it.”

  “A little hammy but yes.”

  “You’ve been watching too many Mickey Rooney, Judy Garland movies.” The man said nothing, he merely continued looking at her with eyes that silently pleaded for her understanding and compliance. After a beat, knowing she couldn’t find it in her heart to turn him down, she sighed and shook her head. “Oh, all right. I don’t have a life, anyway. And he is the biggest draw we have.”

  “The biggest,” Rocky agreed.

  “You know, for a man who runs a publishing house, you’re not very eloquent.”

  For the first time since he’d made the request, he smiled. “I don’t have to be, I have you.”

  “That remains to be seen.”