“Excruciatingly bad. Another two days and I'd have had an ulcer or killed Harvey. That son of a bitch has been driving me nuts for weeks. The client hasn't liked a single storyboard we've shown them, they think it all looks too prissy, too sissy, too clean.”
“Didn't you use my horse theme?”
“Hell yes, we've seen every horsey model there is this side of the Mississippi, auditioned every female jockey, every trainer, every—”
“No, no, for chrissake, Charlie. They're right if that's what you're doing. I meant horses. Cowboys. You know, macho, sunsets, as in riding into the sunset on a big beautiful stallion.…” As she said it her mind went instantly to Black Beauty and, of course, Tate. “That's what you need for those cars. You're not selling a little woman's car, you're selling a low-cost sports car, and they want to give an impression of power and speed.”
“And you don't think a racehorse can do that?”
“Hell no.” She sounded adamant, and at” his end he grinned.
“I guess that's why this one's your baby.”
“I'll take a look at what you've got tomorrow.”
“See you then, kid.”
“Give my love to Mellie, Charlie, and thanks for calling.” She hung up and looked around again and sighed, whispering to herself, “Oh, Tate—why?”
Bit by bit she unpacked her suitcase, dusted things off, tidied up, looked around, and tried to convince herself that this was her home. At ten o'clock she was grateful to climb into bed with a notepad and some memos from Harvey. She wanted to get a head start on what she had to do the next day. It was after twelve o'clock when she set down the notepad, turned off the light, and tried to go to sleep. In the end it took her another two hours, as she lay thinking of the ranch and waiting to hear the familiar sounds that never came.
Samantha's return to the office the next morning felt, to her, like a strange trip backward in time toward a point that seemed totally foreign, her desk and her office and her colleagues suddenly seemed like part of another life. She could barely imagine a time when she had spent ten hours a day there, when the workings of Crane, Harper, and Laub had preoccupied her every waking hour. Now the problems they dealt with seemed so childish, the clients they talked about so foolish and tyrannical, the concepts and the presentations and the ideas all seemed like child's play to her. She couldn't somehow bring herself to be truly frightened that they might lose a client, to care if someone were going to be angry, or the meeting might go awry. She listened with a serious expression all morning and when it was over, she felt as though she had wasted her time. Only Harvey Maxwell, the creative director, seemed vaguely to sense her feelings and he looked at her sharply after everyone else had left the conference room on the twenty-fourth floor.
“Well, Sam, how does it feel?” He eyed her closely, his brows knit, his pipe in his hand.
“Strange.” She had always tried to be honest with him.
“That's to be expected. You've been gone for a long time.”
She nodded slowly. “Longer than I should have been maybe.” She looked up at him, her eyes hooked into his. “It's hard to come back after such a long time. I feel—” She hesitated and then decided to say it. “As though I've left a big part of me there.”
He sighed, nodded, and attempted to relight his pipe. “I feel that too. Any special reason?” His eyes sought hers. “Anything I ought to know about? You fall in love with a cowboy, Sam, and plan to go back?” But he was asking her more than she wanted to tell him, so she only shook her head.
“Not really.”
“I'm not sure I like your answer, Sam.” He put down his pipe. “It's a little vague.”
But Sam spoke to him quietly. “I came back. You asked me to and I did, maybe that's all we both need to know for now. You let me go away at a time when I needed to do that desperately, much more than I realized at the time. And now you need me, so here I am. I'm here for as long as you need me. I won't run out on you, Harvey. I promise.” She smiled but Harvey Maxwell did not.
“But you think you might go back, Sam?”
“Maybe. I don't know what will happen.” And then with a small sigh she gathered up her things. “Why don't we just worry about our client right now? What do you think about my ranch themes for the commercials, a cowboy riding along in the twilight or at sunrise, with a herd of cattle behind him … a man mounted on a splendid horse, emerging from the landscape, yet at one with his surroundings—”
“Stop!” He held up a hand and grinned. “You'll make me buy the car. I like it. Work up some storyboards with Charlie and let's see if we can get this show on the road.”
The storyboards she worked up over the next three weeks with Charlie were the best that any of them had ever seen. What they had on their hands was not only a series of powerful commercials, they had another award-winning campaign. As Sam sat back in her chair after the first client meeting, she looked happy and proud.
“Well, kiddo, you did it.” Charlie threw his arms around her as they waited for Harvey to join them. He had walked the client out to the elevator while Sam and Charlie talked. “They loved it!”
“They should. Your artwork was stupendous, Charlie.”
“My pleasure.” He grinned and stroked his beard, and a moment later Harvey joined them, beaming for once and waving toward the boards set up around the room. There were four commercials they had presented, in the hopes of talking the client into one or two. The client had accepted all four.
“Well, children, did we make a successful presentation or did we make a successful presentation?” Harvey couldn't get the grin off his face and Samantha smiled back happily at him. It was one of the first times she had looked happy since she'd come back, but it felt good to be doing something constructive, and to have done it so well.
“When do we start?”
“They want to go into production on it immediately. How soon can you start, Sam? Do we have any locations lined up? Christ, you must know enough ranches to get things rolling. What about the one you've been living on for the last six months?”
“I'll call. But we're going to need three more. And I think”—she mused about it while gnawing her pencil—“I think we're going to want some entirely different locations. Each ranch should be different, special, set apart from the others. We don't just want repeats of the one we shot before.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“The Northwest, the Southwest, the Midwest, California … maybe even Hawaii… Argentina?”
“Oh, Jesus. I knew it. Well, figure it all out and work it into the budget. We still have to get that past them, but I don't really think we'll have a problem with it. Just do me a favor, start finding locations. It sounds like this may take a little time. And call your friend out at your ranch. At least that will give us one. If we have to, we can start there.” Sam nodded. She knew that this shoot, like countless others, was going to be entirely hers. Now that she was back, Harvey was already talking about retiring again, and she knew that he would leave all the location work to her.
“I may have to fly out and look at some places next week, Harvey. Sound okay to you?”
“That sounds fine.” He left them then, still with a broad smile on his face, and Samantha and Charlie went back to their offices, Samantha to her white-on-white office with chrome and glass desk, beige leather couch and chairs, and lithographs all coordinated in the same white and beige. Charlie's office looked more like an artsy-craftsy attic, cluttered and colorful and amusing, with odd-shaped boxes, huge plants, and funny signs. It looked exactly like an art director's office, one wall was white, one yellow, two were a deep heather blue, and the rug on the floor was dark brown. He had, of course, chosen his own decor. Sam's was part of the general scheme of the whole CHL office, all of it done in soft sand colors and cool textures with modern lines, and not a great deal of soul. But it was restful to work there. She never even saw the decor when she was working, and when she saw clients, she usually met them in one
of the conference rooms, or at The Four Seasons for lunch.
She knew when she looked at her watch that it was the wrong time to call Caroline to ask if they could film there. At noon in California Caroline would be out in the hills with Bill and the other men. But she got out the list she had already glanced at that morning in anticipation and began to make phone calls to see what she could do. She knew damn well that she couldn't just pick up the phone and call ranches where she knew no one. She would have to fly out to the areas, then drive around and make her pitch to them in person, asking them if they would allow a commercial to be filmed on the ranch. It usually took weeks to find locations, but she was going to do it right, because she was going to produce the best damn commercials that anyone had ever seen. She was doing it as much for the client now as for herself. It meant a great deal to her to make everything perfect, to make it special and important and striking and effective—and maybe even to find Tate. That was a possibility that hadn't escaped her. It wasn't why she had pushed for the concept. The cowboy-on-horseback theme was perfect for the product, but it also could be that while she was traveling and looking for locations, and maybe even while she was out there again for the shooting, maybe then someone on one of the ranches might have heard of Tate. The prospect of finding him was a goal she never lost sight of, and now it loomed larger than ever as she called the travel department and asked them to book her on flights to Phoenix, Albuquerque, Omaha, and Denver, and all during the following week.
“Looking for a location?” the voice asked.
“Yeah.” Sam was already deeply engrossed in the notes on her desk. She had a list of places she wanted to see, most of them concentrated in those four areas, and then of course there was Aunt Caro's ranch.
“Sounds like fun.”
“It should be.” And Sam's eyes began to dance.
The phone rang at the Lord ranch at six o'clock that evening as Sam sat in her apartment in a bathrobe, once again looking around at the lifeless decor. She decided as she waited for the phone to be answered that she was going to have to do something about the way the place looked, if she stayed there.
“Hello?” It was Caroline, and Sam immediately broke into a smile.
“Boy, it's good to hear your voice.”
“Sam?” Caroline smiled in answer. “Are you all right?”
“I'm fine. I'm just working on a crazy project. And aside from wanting to know how you all are, I wanted to ask you a favor, but you have to say no if that's what you want.”
“First tell me how you are, and how it feels to be back.” Samantha noticed that Caroline sounded tired, but she put it down to a long day's work and reported in full on her return, how grim the apartment looked, what it felt like to go back to the office, and then her voice came alive with excitement as she explained about the commercials and her search the following week for other ranches.
“And you know what that means, don't you?” Her voice fairly flew. “It means that maybe, just maybe, if I get lucky”—she barely dared to do more than whisper—“I could just find Tate. Hell, I'm going to be all over this country.” For a moment, Caroline said nothing.
“Is that why you're doing it, Sam?” Caroline sounded sad for her. She wanted Sam just to forget him. It would be better for her in the end.
“No, it isn't.” She withdrew a little. She had heard the dismay in the older woman's voice. “But it's why I'm so excited about it. This is a great opportunity for me.”
“I'd say so professionally, in any case. This could be very important for you, if the commercials come out as well as you seem to think they will.”
“I'm hoping they do, which is part of why I called. Aunt Caro, how would you feel about our shooting at the ranch?” It was a candid, open question but there was a moment of silence at the other end.
“Normally, Sam, I'd have loved it. If nothing else, it would give us an excuse to see you. But I'm afraid that right now it's out of the question.” There was a catch in her voice as she said it, and Sam frowned, is something wrong, Aunt Caro?”
“Yes.” A little sob shook her, but she pulled herself together quickly. “No, really, I'm all right. Bill had a little heart attack last week. Nothing major. He's already back from the hospital, and the doctor says that it's nothing to be unduly alarmed about, but…” Suddenly fresh sobs shook her. “Oh, Sam, I thought if something happened … I don't know what I'd do. I couldn't live without him.” It was the first time that they had faced that, and she was terrified now that she'd lose him. “I just couldn't go on if something happened to Bill.” She sobbed softly into the phone.
“My God, why didn't you call me?” Samantha looked stunned.
“I don't know, it all happened so quickly. And I stayed at the hospital with him, and I've been awfully busy since he got home. He was only there for a week, and the doctor says it's nothing.…” She was repeating herself in her anxiety and Sam could feel tears sting her eyes too.
“Do you want me to come out there?”
“Don't be silly.”
“I'm serious. I don't have to be here. They lived without me all winter, they can manage fine. Especially now that I've done all the groundwork for them, all they have to do is find the locations and then have a production house do the film. I could be out there tomorrow, Aunt Caro. Do you want me?”
“I always want you, darling.” The older woman smiled through her tears. “And I love you very much. But we're fine really. You take care of your commercials and I'll take care of Bill and he'll be fine. I just didn't think that right now the disruption—”
“Of course not. I'm sorry I asked you, but I'm not really. If I hadn't asked, I would never have known about Bill. You're a rat not to have called me! You're sure you can manage?”
“Positive. And if I need you, I'll call you.”
“Promise?”
“Solemnly.” Caroline smiled again.
And then Sam asked the next question gently. “Is he staying at the house?” She hoped so, it would be a lot easier for Aunt Caro, and a lot more agreeable for him.
But Caroline sighed and shook her head. “No, of course not. He's so stubborn, Sam. He's staying at his old cabin. Now I'm the one sneaking in and out all night long.”
“That's ridiculous. Can't you pretend to put him up in the guest room? Hell, he's been the foreman there for almost thirty years, would that be so shocking?”
“He thinks so, and I'm not supposed to upset him so I let him have his way.”
“Men!” Sam snorted as she said it and Caroline laughed.
“I completely agree.”
“Well, give him my love and tell him to take it easy, and I'll call you in a few days to see how he is.” And then just before she hung up, she called out to her old friend, “I love you, Aunt Caro.”
“I love you too, Sam dear.” And now they were bound in a common secret, the lives of women who loved ranch hands, who had to live shackled by the insane rules of courtship peculiar to ranch hands and ranchers. And now that Caroline had almost lost her beloved foreman, she suddenly knew how great was Sam's pain.
For ten days Sam flew from the Midwest to the Southwest, and then up north again, and only Caroline's insistence that Bill was so much better kept her away from California as well. In each place she stopped she rented cars, stayed at small motels, drove hundreds of miles, and spoke to every conceivable rancher she could lay her hands on, and for her own purposes she spoke to the ranch hands as well. For the purposes of Crane, Harper, and Laub, at the end of ten days she had just what she needed, four splendid ranches, each one totally different, surrounded by varied but always majestic countryside. They were all settings that would make extravagantly beautiful commercials. But for her own purposes, again and again Sam struck out. And as she flew back to New York her sense of victory at having found what she had wanted was vastly outweighed by her depression over not finding Tate. She had called Caroline from her hotel room every evening, inquired about Bill, and then told her who she h
ad talked to, what they had said, and pondered for another hundred times what might have happened to Tate, where he might have gone, which direction he might have taken. By now she had spoken to so many ranchers since he had vanished three months before that she felt certain that if someone found him, saw him, met him, or hired him they would surely drop her a note. She had left her card at all the ranches she had visited, and surely some of that effort would pay off. Maybe he was just taking time to visit relatives along the way and was headed for a specific destination. But again Caroline reminded her that he could be anywhere, on any ranch, and there was always the possibility that he would never surface in Sam's life again. She felt that, for Sam's sake, it had to be faced.
“I'll never give up completely,” Sam had said stubbornly only the night before.
“No, but you can't spend the rest of your life waiting either.” She didn't say it, but Sam had thought quickly “Why not?” Instead they had turned the conversation back to Bill and his health. Caroline thought he was much improved, but still weak.
And now, as the plane landed in New York, Sam thought of him again, and inevitably of Tate. She knew also that for the next month she would think of him every day, every moment, as she interviewed actor after actor after actor to play the role in the commercials. They had already agreed with the client that what they wanted was not four cowboys, but one man. One man who would embody all that was powerful and masculine and good and true and sexy in this country. And all Sam could think of was someone who looked like Tate.
In the ensuing weeks, as she spent hours meeting the actors sent over by the city's biggest modeling agencies, she compared them all to him. She wanted someone tall, broad shouldered, in his early forties, with a deep mellifluous voice, kind, with interesting eyes and strong hands, a good seat in the saddle … what she really wanted was Tate. It was as though each time her secretary announced another group of actors to audition, Sam went to meet them expecting to see him. What she saw instead were dazzling blondes with broad shoulders; tall, dark, handsome men; ex-football-players, and even an ex-hockey-goalie; men with rugged faces, deep-set eyes, and strong chins; but most of them seemed too plastic, some had bad voices, faces that were too pretty, one looked more like a ballet dancer than a cowboy. In the end, after four weeks of looking, she found her man, and it was a good thing. The shoot was only two weeks away, scheduled for July fifteenth.
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