by Jean Stone
His eyes epoxied to the keyboard, Andrew stopped typing and leaned back in his chair. He knew all his excuses sucked. All seemed like they were veiled lies, which, of course, they were. Lesson #5, he decided, was a stupid one.
Concentrate, Andrew ordered himself. Forget you're nothing more than a horny man.
He deleted the words he'd written.
He tried to focus on Elaine and on what had happened that night. He tried to think how he could spin her actions into a revelation that his readers would enjoy, that John Benson would chuckle over, that would help secure Andrew's new career, in case Second Chances went out of business.
He started over. Lesson #5: Never underestimate the power of a wedding over the female mind.
29
DO
Expect the unexpected.
But almost everything is paid for!” Lily shrieked the next morning when Jo broke the news.
“Oh, man,” Sarah said, tossing back her hair and uncrossing her long, copper legs, “this is a bummer.” Then she stood up and grabbed her shoulder bag. “Call me if anything changes. I'm behind on my jewelry, anyway. I might as well go home and work on that.”
Jo had called Andrew early in the morning and suggested he stay home for the day. She said she'd talk to the others; that they'd have to decide what they would do next. Jo didn't know if it was possible, but she had to try to keep the others moving forward with the business, despite Elaine's decision. Jo had to keep moving forward, because if she stopped, she feared she would break, piece by piece, head to heart.
They sat alone now, Jo and Lily, staring at each other with mutual disappointment.
“Hell's bells,” Lily said. “Elaine has ruined everything.”
“Not necessarily,” Jo replied. “We can do this without her, Lily. Without her wedding.”
“But it was going to be our showcase. Our jumping-off point. How can we sell the concept of second weddings if we don't have one to flaunt?”
“I don't know yet,” Jo said. “But I don't want to quit. I think we have a real chance to make a business out of this.”
Lily sighed. “But now it will be so much . . . work. I don't know, Jo. Maybe I shouldn't throw away Reginald's money so carelessly.”
Money, Jo thought with chagrin. That chafing noose around the neck of life. “I don't think it's careless, Lily. But a business takes time to get off the ground.” Of course, Lily wouldn't know that. Things had often come too easily to her. It made sense that she would expect them to, and when they didn't . . . well, why not walk away? What was in it for Lily other than a novelty?
For one thing, there was their friendship, and the mismatched kindred spirit they finally had renewed beyond a few rushed visits and infrequent e-mails.
“Lily,” Jo continued, “I don't know about you, but I've loved what we're doing, spending time together more than just one weekend a year, working on a project. It's given me new purpose. And I didn't realize how much I've needed my friends. I didn't realize how much I needed to have fun.”
A smile traced Lily's pink lips. “Well, yes. It is fun. I love being with you girls.”
“And you love your little apartment. And there is Frank . . .”
“Yes,” Lily agreed.
Jo leaned forward. “I think we can do it, Lily. Come on, let's give it a try.”
Lily laughed. “And to think you were the one who, in the beginning, wanted no part of this.”
“Priorities change,” Jo said.
They began working with vigor—even Lily, who kept saying she had no idea what she was doing; even Sarah, who'd decided to keep on making the linden leaves that she'd been making. If nothing else, they could take pictures to show as examples.
At first Lily had wanted to dash over to Elaine's, to learn the details of the breakup, to see if she could help. Elaine was one of them; Elaine must need them now.
Andrew had disagreed. “Let her sort this out herself,” he said. “She knows you're here. She knows you love her. The best thing you can do right now is give her privacy.”
His advice, as usual, seemed sound.
“And who knows?” he added. “Elaine might change her mind again.”
With that speculation, they decided not to return the gowns or cancel the reception or the caterer or the cars. Not for a few days. They'd wait and they would see.
Still, Jo knew they needed a big commercial hook right now, a clever idea that would catapult their business into the bridal spotlight. Lily was right: How could they claim to be wedding planners, without a wedding to plan?
On Friday afternoon, Jo turned the page of her calendar to Saturday: on it was a surprising notation that read “Take Cassie shopping?” Andrew hadn't mentioned the shopping trip since he had asked. She knew he'd understand if she reneged—she was so tired, there was still so much work to do—but Jo decided that would not be fair. Andrew was turning into a top-notch employee. It wouldn't kill her to do the guy a favor. Besides, she reasoned quietly, it might help take Jo's racing mind off other things now at stake.
“Is Ms. Brouillard still the principal at West Hope Elementary?” Jo asked as they drove toward the stores in Lee.
“Yes,” Cassie answered, staring out the window, her small body strapped into the seat belt. She was, Jo suspected, shy, awkward, the way Jo had been with strangers when she'd been Cassie's age. “Did you go to West Hope?” Cassie asked.
“Yes. A long time ago.”
“Was Ms. Brouillard the principal back then?”
“No,” Jo replied, careful not to smile, for Ellen Brouillard was about five years younger than Jo was. “Mr. Williamson was the principal. He was real strict.”
“I don't like principals,” Cassie said.
“Good thing they're not teachers.”
“Yeah. Good thing.”
“Who's your teacher?”
“Miss Carroll. And Mr. Ames. I have two this year. I'm in sixth grade.”
“‘Mr. Ames'? Not the Mr. Ames? The bald guy who wears bow ties?”
Cassie turned and looked at Jo. “The old bald guy. Yeah, that's him.”
Old. Well, of course he would be now. “I can't believe it,” Jo said. “I had him thirty years ago. He had bad breath.”
“Still does,” Cassie said and they laughed, and by the time Jo parked at the outlet stores, the get-acquainted ice had broken and was well-thawed.
By noon Cassie had perused The Gap and Tommy Hilfilger and Big Dogs as if she'd been—heaven forbid!—born to shop. Thankfully, Andrew had given them a budget, or Jo could easily have helped Cassie fill a closet or maybe two.
“I love this!” Cassie squealed over and over. She especially liked jeans that were embroidered. And anything with a Yankees logo or that Cassie perceived as cool. It reminded Jo of happy times, when clothes that bore designer names were beginning to take hold; when puka necklaces and mood rings were replaced by Dorothy Hamill–hair and T-shirts of The E Street Band.
“How about a break for lunch?” Jo asked. It was after one o'clock, and she was delightfully hungry. Being with Cassie made her feel young again, happy, almost as if she'd never felt choked by the small town of West Hope or felt the push to get away. So, she thought, this is why people have kids, to provide meaning beyond mere self-serving success. She forced away thoughts of the child she never had and steered Cassie to a sandwich shop.
While waiting for a table, they sat on a bench in the front lobby, shopping bags heaped at their feet, a small smile in place on Jo's contented face.
“Thank you, Jo,” Cassie said quietly. “This has been one of the neatest days of my life.”
Jo laughed. “Mine, too, Cassie. We should do it more often.” Then her eyes fell to a wire rack that held free newspapers and flyers. While Cassie poked through her purchases, Jo picked up a flyer and scanned the contents for condos, because she could dream, couldn't she?
That's when she saw the ad that would have jumped off the page if ads could really do that; the ad that would make th
eir business an overwhelming, unequivocal triumph.
So much for unnecessary, “mere” success.
“Oh my God,” she said out loud.
Cassie stopped what she was doing and looked at Jo. “Is something wrong?”
Jo shook her head and dug into her purse. She pulled out her cell phone and quickly dialed the office. Just as it began to ring, the hostess returned and said that their table was ready.
“Go ahead, honey,” Jo said, “I'll catch up to you.”
She watched the girl struggle with bags in either hand, as Andrew answered the phone.
“I've got it!” she shrieked. “Cassie and I are going to have lunch. Then I'll come to the shop. I hope everyone is there—please don't let them leave.”
Jo felt a little guilty for cutting the shopping trip short, but Cassie seemed content. She asked to go to the office to show off her new things. As excited as Jo was to share her new idea, she couldn't take that fun away from the girl. So after gulping a hamburger (a salad, she reasoned, would have taken longer to eat), Jo tried to be patient while Cassie modeled one outfit after another, including her greatest new treasure, a pair of red cowboy boots.
“What's the matter?” Andrew asked, “don't they make them with a Yankees logo?”
“Dad,” Cassie said, rolling her eyes, and everyone laughed, because it was so cute the way she called her Uncle Andrew “Dad.”
When the bags were repacked, Cassie settled down to look through a bridal magazine, and Sarah said, “Okay, Jo, what's your bright idea?”
Jo smiled smugly, because she knew this was great. She looked from Sarah to Lily to Andrew, then said, “A sweepstakes. We're going to hold a sweepstakes.”
After a moment Lily said, “What in heavens name do you mean?”
Rubbing her hands, Jo pulled together the thoughts that had swirled in her mind since she'd seen the flyer at the restaurant. “I saw an ad for a sweepstakes. Something about sending in a coupon for a chance to win a vacation. Anyway, it got me to thinking. Why couldn't we have a sweepstakes for Elaine's wedding? Everything is in place . . . it's five weeks from now. Why can't we offer it as an introductory splash?”
“Well,” Sarah said, “I believe this certifies that Josephine is crazy.”
“I'm serious, Sarah. Think of the attention we'll get. Think of the excitement we'll create!”
Mute. They were mute!
“Look,” Jo continued. “For nearly twenty years I had a successful public relations firm. I don't know everything, but I do know how to get people to notice us. Giving away a wedding is certainly one way.”
“But how will we let everyone know?” Lily asked. “And who will want it, anyway?”
Jo shrugged. “We'll start with the Internet. It's too late for the bridal magazines, and as we found out, they're geared for the young ones anyway. I still might have a few connections in television. Maybe I could finagle us a slot on a network morning show or one of the surviving news magazines.”
“Reality TV,” Lily said with a groan. “Hasn't the world had enough of that?”
“But weddings never go out of date. Besides, even if we don't have a ton of responses, no one will be able to take away the exposure. We're creating a whole new market for the second-time-around crowd. We're showing them that it's okay to have the wedding of their new dreams, that though they've been married before, this is the first time that they've had this special person for a partner. It's a new angle, so maybe the media will bite.”
Sarah and Lily did not seem convinced. She turned to Andrew. “Andrew, please? I know you don't know anything about television or the media, but it might work, don't you think?”
But Andrew merely shrugged, stood up, and said he really should get Cassie home.
30
DO
Allow yourself to get excited, even if you're not twenty-five. This is a monumental day for you, and you're entitled to make it as big and as grand as you want, no matter what your age, no matter if this is your second or your third or fourth trip down the aisle.
The last thing Jo expected when she arrived home that night was to find another note under her door.
Okay, it read, if not dinner, then how about lunch during the week? I'm not an ax murderer and I don't drink more than one beer, and then only if the temperature rises past ninety.
She could not help but smile. He was clever enough, this neighbor named . . . what was his name? Jack. Yes, that was it.
Tossing the note onto the kitchen counter, she had a quick tug on her heart. The day had been wonderful: shopping with Cassie, the sweepstakes idea despite her coworkers' doubts, and now, a man who was showing an interest. Maybe.
She kicked off her sandals and went into the spare bedroom where stacks of boxes remained unopened. If only she could find the computer disks or the hard copies she needed, the ones with the information, the contact names, the phone numbers of the TV shows that might see the business of planning second weddings as a great gimmick, and might help promote the idea of the sweepstakes.
With the wedding scheduled for only weeks away, she'd have to work fast. Who was the misguided genius who'd said second weddings didn't require as much “lead time” as first ones? Pushing down her doubts, Jo sorted through the cartons, checking each carefully marked label:
ACCOUNTS PAYABLE
ACCOUNTS RECEIVABLE
SAMPLES
MEDIA
That was the one. Hoisting the heavy carton with a groan, Jo set it atop a stack of two others. With a thumbnail that somehow had remained strong for weeks without a manicure, she slit through the tape and pulled back the flaps. Shoebox after shoebox of computer disks were there: TV was scrawled across the top of one. She lifted the lid and extracted the disks. Good Morning America, Today, CBS This Morning, E!, Dateline, and The Edge. She removed each disk, one after another, grateful that she'd resisted dumping them in the Charles River.
Then, despite the fact that it was nearly midnight, Jo put her sandals back on and picked up the shoebox. She was happy and hopeful and filled with adrenaline, which was probably why, on her way through the kitchen, she picked up the note from the neighbor named Jack. She set down the shoebox, turned over the note, then wrote: Lunch would be fine, but I work during the week. She hesitated to ask if he had a job. Somehow the question seemed a little mean, and she supposed she'd know soon enough. No job, no second date, Jo promised herself.
With a halfhearted shake of her head, she left her apartment and took the stairs down one flight. She slid the note under the door of number 304, then continued to the garage, then on to the office, where she'd work all night if she had to in order to orchestrate the media plan of attack.
It was after midnight on Saturday night. Andrew had climbed into bed long ago, after foregoing work on his column to play Sorry! with Cassie, then watching an animated video that she had picked out. He'd pretended to be a great dad, when, in fact, he'd been totally preoccupied with Jo's latest idea: Maybe the media will bite, she'd said. Then: Andrew, I know you don't know anything about television or the media, but it might work, don't you think?
He could have agreed. He should have agreed, because, after all, it was a terrific idea. Instead, an image had leapt into his mind of his old boss, Kevin Green, who made Geraldo Rivera look as placid as Pat Sajak, and Jerry Springer as conservative as Alex Trebek.
Kevin Green was now the executive producer of Sakes Alive!—one of, as Jo had said, “the surviving news magazines,” though it was really tabloid journalism at its most tabloid. Kevin Green was also the arch-rival of John Benson, the two having once competed for a top network slot that neither of them won, and for which each blamed the other. If Kevin showcased Second Chances, he'd probably find out about Andrew. Andrew did not know how, but Kevin was like that, able to unearth dirt under concrete poured by the Romans that might have been in tact for two millenniums. It was a cultural artform that Kevin had perfected, and had moved Sakes Alive! up in the ratings race long after the other
s had fallen off the fad-wagon.
Andrew tossed and he turned, then tossed some more. He tried to focus on the yard work that needed tending to tomorrow; he tried to think about how he and Cassie would survive until the next semester if Second Chances shut down and he lost his jobs both there and at Buzz.
Columnist blew it, John Benson would write. He put all his lies in one basket.
He turned again and tried to think about Patty and when Cassie would hear from her again, and if Andrew should or would care. He tried to play out the surprise visit he and Cassie would make, and how much like crap it would make Patty feel.
But even Patty, or thoughts of Patty, could not eclipse his concern.
The tossing and turning accomplished nothing. His mind kept veering back to the same thing.
If Jo went to the media, it would jeopardize more than Andrew's job at Second Chances or his column at Buzz. As the former husband of Patty O'Shay and, in his own right, a man who'd been a major player in the theater of the media, who now needed to pretend that he was gay, he'd find himself a media joke, impeccable fodder for Leno and Letterman, front-page ha-ha's for the The Enquirer and The Star.
John Benson would be pissed. Cassie would be embarrassed. And there would go the job and the money and the new roof and the riding lessons. And the surprise trip to Australia. Andrew Kennedy would be a college professor once more, albeit with a bit more fame than he would have wanted.
That is, if Winston College didn't see his lies and deceit as a breech of the morals clause in his contract and sever his sabbatical and his job along with it. John Benson, after all, held Andrew's college strings, as well.
It would, however, be great publicity for Second Chances. They would come out the winners; Andrew would be the loser.
Staring into the darkness, Andrew realized it would be his job or theirs; his life or theirs. It was exactly the kind of mental gymnastics he thought he'd escaped when he'd left New York.