“Do you still love him?” Ruth Ann burrowed ahead.
“No. I mean, I love him. He was very dear to me. I will always love him.”
“Kate,” the doctor began, “why did you break up with Nick?”
Kate looked away and then said, “I’d really rather not talk about that today.”
The therapist nodded, “Kate, we’re at the end of our hour. I’d like to see you again next week. In between now and then, I want you to think about something.”
Homework? She really wasn’t coming back here, that was for sure. This hour had done nothing to help her. She could already feel the hundreds of emails sitting on her phone just screaming for attention.
“I want you to think about why you haven’t married Mac yet.”
Jesus, really? She had been busy. That’s all there was to it.
“I want you to dig deep for this answer, and you may not find it right away. But that’s what we’re here to figure out.”
Wait. What? No we’re not.
“I know you came in to figure out some coping mechanisms for the ex-wife situation, but there is a deeper need here, I feel.” Then Ruth Ann smiled. “And I’m rarely wrong m’dear.” She winked.
Lovely.
“Sometimes the mind takes a while to catch up to the heart, and often the mind is so set on its own ideas of how life is supposed to be it shuts down the heart altogether. For the next week, I want you to just listen to your heart. Go with your heart, and keep a journal about what comes up for you.”
More homework. Just what she needed. Kate didn’t respond. She just sat on the button sofa and listened.
“I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking this is all bullshit and you don’t have time for this, but Kate, you don’t have time not to. From the little I’ve known of you it seems like your life has been on this perpetual spin cycle. It’s time to turn off the machine and get out. It’s time to live your life without tumbling around from one situation, man, or author to another.”
Kate swallowed. She was not in a spin cycle! Life happens. Sometimes it’s crazy. You’d think a good therapist would know that.
When Kate didn’t respond, Ruth Ann forged ahead. “And I will see you next week, Kate. Andrew has prepaid for six sessions for you. When you leave, please have Jenny make you an appointment.”
Christ.
. . . .
Kate almost stormed into the elevator, ignoring the other three people who were already in it. She grabbed her phone and tapped out Andrew’s number.
“Hello, Love!” His voice was chipper. It made Kate want to hit someone.
“I’m going to kill you.” One person in the elevator slanted an uneasy look in her direction; the other two kept looking in front of them, fidgeting.
“So, you’ve seen Ruth Ann, I take it? Isn’t she a hoot?”
“Andrew, ‘hoot’ isn’t exactly how I’d describe her. She’s psycho.” The elevator doors opened in the lobby and the other occupants scrambled out.
“She’s odd, Katie. I warned you about that.”
Kate let out a puff of air. “Andrew, she’s not odd. She’s nuts. She had me talking about stuff that wasn’t even related to the reason I went. You should get your money back; I am not returning to this psycho den.” Kate thought back to the time-warp office décor and Ruth Ann, sitting in her sixties-style chair.
She could hear Andrew laugh, and while she loved him, his humor about this was starting to piss her off.
“Katie, listen, Ruth Ann is…eh,” Andrew searched for the right words. “Well, she’s not your usual therapist, but to say she’s the best is an understatement. She’s impossibly good, really. Unorthodox perhaps, but good nonetheless. It’s probably the reason why no one has sued her. She works magic.”
Kate groaned, “Magic? Andrew, I sort of doubt that.”
“Listen, Love, just give it three sessions. That’s two more hours of your time. Trust me, if Ruth Ann is digging somewhere, she’s onto something you hadn’t even considered. You’ll be much better off if you let her do her work.”
“Andrew, she gave me homework. Like I have time for journaling and stuff. Seriously.”
The laugh again; if Kate didn’t love Andrew so much, she’d hang up.
“Katie, my love, take some time to work on yourself. Won’t you?”
Kate actually didn’t know she needed fixing. Granted, she was far from perfect, but fixing herself had never dawned on her. Fixing yourself was for people who actually needed it, like women in abusive relationships or children from broken homes. They needed fixing. Kate’s life had been normal. Well, normal if you consider that she dealt with more over-the-top people than any one person should in a lifetime. But it was all in a day’s work, and she certainly never let it bother her.
“Fine,” she said finally. “Two more sessions and then that’s it. And Andrew, if you’re wrong about this, I am going to invite all of your exes to your next book signing.”
Andrew let out a roar of laughter. Before admitting he was gay, Andrew had a truckload of women and failed relationships to his credit. Most of them had landed him on page one of the tabloids.
Kate hung up and headed for her office, checking on all the emails that had come in during her time on Dr. Frankenstein’s couch.
CHAPTER 40
When Kate arrived back at the office, Annabelle was fidgeting in the lobby.
“Kate, oh my gosh. I’m so glad you’re here.” Kate had seen her texts and had chosen not to respond. The girl really needed to start figuring things out on her own.
“Estella Travers is here.” Annabelle was almost breathless.
“I know,” Kate nodded, “I saw your texts. I was in a meeting. What’s the problem?”
Annabelle twisted her hands together and threw a tentative look at the receptionist, who pretended to focus on her work.
“She’s not happy,” Annabelle said simply.
“Okay.” Kate said simply. She was getting annoyed now. An unhappy author was not a reason to text, and sadly it wasn’t out of the usual daily routine of a publicist to have an unhappy author, or several. There were days when she was a full-time publicist when all she did was ferret through unhappy author emails.
I’m not selling enough books!
What are you doing to make this book a bestseller?
Annabelle leaned into her, as if she were going to divulge her deepest, darkest secret. “Kate, she wants to cancel her contract.”
Kate laughed, a deep throw-your-head-back kind of laughter. First the therapist from hell, then an author who wants to cancel her contract three months before her book comes out. Yeah, that’ll happen.
Annabelle frowned, “Kate, she’s really pissed.”
Kate could see how worried Annabelle was. The girl needed more backbone or she’d never survive as a full-time publicist.
“I’ll deal with it. Where is she?”
“In your office,” she replied meekly.
Of course, dump her in my office, Kate thought. “Fine,” her voice was hard. Kate walked through the office and smiled at Lulu, who seemed equally nervous. No doubt Estella had thrown quite a fit to send the entire office into such a tizzy.
Estella was a cookbook author, and it was a project she hadn’t wanted to take. Estella’s following was all over the board. As a publicist, Kate always liked authors with a strong following, but Mac insisted this gal could be another Ree Drummond who, through her blog called The Pioneer Woman, won over the hearts and minds of women everywhere with her honest prose and glimpse inside what it was like to go from a high powered job to driving a tractor on a farm miles from any city. Estella was not without her own goals—she wanted a TV show, her own cooking show, of course, and was desperate to reach her after she found out Mac had left to make sure her project was still on track.
“So, you’re finally here!” Estella stood up from the leather chair when she spotted Kate. Her blond, wavy hair bounced around her. She wore a formfitting red dress and
a pair of Weitzman pumps that added a good three inches to her five-foot-six frame. Estella was beautiful and spoke with a sweet, Southern accent that Kate assumed was fake since Estella had been born and raised in Chicago and still lives there. You would think the accent would make her seem sweet and approachable. There was, however, nothing particularly sweet about Estella.
“Hello, Estella. Good to see you,” Kate lied as she walked behind her desk and set down her briefcase and purse. She was unfazed by Estella’s demeanor. After you’ve had someone stand in your office with a gun, everything else pales in comparison.
“I’ve been waiting for an hour.” Estella continued standing, her arms crossed.
Without making eye contact, Kate pulled her laptop out of her bag, opened it, and flicked on the screen. Her nonchalant demeanor was starting to work the author’s last nerve. She could tell. To some degree, it was a bit of a game that Kate liked to play. If you think you can make me shiver in my shoes because you’re pissed, think again.
“I was at a meeting. What can I help you with?”
“What’s going on with my U.S. tour?” Estella slammed Kate’s door shut. It rattled the windows. Kate hated door slamming; it always felt unnecessarily emotional. She was certain, however, that Ruth Ann would love that.
Kate leaned further into her chair. “We’ve had this discussion; there is no tour for this book. And for that matter, no one tours anymore.”
“I want to tour. I insisted on it.”
Kate shrugged and remained calm.
“We discussed this. Several times in fact. The marketing details of each book are clearly outlined in your contract, Estella. You should discuss this with your agent. You are free to do a U.S. tour if you want to—on your own dime.” Kate added quickly.
Estella rolled her eyes and jutted out her chin, ignoring Kate’s suggestion that she fund her own tour. “What’s the status of my TV show?”
Kate suppressed a laugh; Estella had wanted it written into her contract that Lavigne House would help her get a TV show, because every good cook had one, right? Kate made sure that they were very clear that there would be no TV show unless by some fluke of nature someone decided that having a hundred cooking shows on the air wasn’t enough and they needed one more.
“Estella, we aren’t a TV production company. We do books, not TV.”
“That jackass Hermann Von den Broeck has a TV show, and now he’s opening a restaurant in New York.”
A restaurant. Of course, that was the next thing on her author wish list. Kate knew Hermann, well sort of. Mac had initially pursued him for a book deal, but Hermann had already been picked up by another publisher. Kate had met him a couple of times; he was a warm and kind man, unlike the spoiled brat who sat in her office.
“I want to cancel my contract,” she spat.
Kate suppressed another laugh. “That’s not possible.”
“I insist. In fact, I’ll speak with my agent. I’m sure she will agree.”
Kate pinned her with a stare. “Estella, you should feel free to do that. Just know that we were very clear right up front what you were and weren’t getting. It’s all in writing, and you agreed to it.”
“You should be more flexible,” she said flatly. “I’m a star author. I deserve better.”
Christ. Of course, how could she not see that? Kate wanted to slap her. Estella was talented, but she was not a star author.
“Estella, we are taking very good care of you. We have an online tour booked for your book. We have dozens of early book requests that have come in. Presales into bookstores look great. We’re confirming two signings in New York. You don’t need a tour to make this book successful.”
Estella huffed, “I should have never left my previous publisher. You people have no idea what you are doing.”
That was all Kate could take. No one questioned the ability of her publishing house or her team. Kate stood up and leaned on her desk.
“Estella, if you feel you’ve made a mistake, then you should feel free to spend however many thousands of dollars you need to break the contract with us. But know this: In an industry that’s crumbing around us, we are your best bet. No one would give you the kind of attention that we do, and the reason you left the publisher in the first place is because they had stopped giving your books any kind of publishing other than the batch work they did for all of their books. You know the score out there. I know you and your agent negotiated with a dozen editors and that we consistently offered you the best deal and the best marketing of any of them. But if you think you can do better elsewhere, you should feel free to try.”
Kate knew her contracts were ironclad. Estella was their author for the next several years, and she hoped, secretly, that Estella would hire an attorney who would find a way to get her out of the contract—maybe putting this whole thing to rest.
“I want to talk to Mac. He and I have an understanding.” Estella looked at her with that look that women got when they talked about Mac. Most days Kate just ignored it, but today it made her want to scream.
“Mac isn’t here, but feel free to email him.”
Estella picked up her Kate Spade bag. Relief flooded Kate. She could finally get to work.
“I will email him. Mac-y understands this better than you do, and he’ll make me happy.” Estella almost purred the words. The last time Kate had heard someone call him Mac-y was two years ago at a writers’ conference in Los Angeles. The agent was Delia. Smart, talented, but could never keep her dress zipped. She was rumored to have slept with every male editor worth her time. Except of course Mac, or Mac-y as she liked to call him. Kate felt her skin crawl. It was a time she’d rather not think about.
Kate sat back down. Her author was still in her office. “Estella, can I help you with anything else?”
Estella did not respond, but turned and yanked open her door. She stomped through the cubicle area and out of their office. Kate listened for the front door to close and then summoned Annabelle into her office.
“Annabelle, look,” the girl seemed to want to cry. If she was going to be a good publicist, she needed to lose her emotional swing and toughen up. This job wasn’t for the faint of heart; Kate knew that all too well. Kate watched her. Annabelle seemed genuinely scared. Kate thought that maybe she needed to take a lighter tone with her. Not everyone was born with a thick skin. Most of it was acquired after a lot author battles. Perhaps Annabelle had been shielded from much of that in her last job.
“I’m s-sorry, Kate,” Annabelle almost sniffed. Was she crying? Just what she needed. God, what a day it had been already, and it wasn’t even noon.
“Annabelle, listen, I just need you to know that you can’t let these angry or otherwise upset authors get to you. In the end, most of them aren’t driven by anything other than their own desire to succeed, and to some degree I do get that. But you can’t let that faze you.”
Annabelle only nodded.
“You should know from your time at Random House that this happens. Authors get pissed, and unless it’s something you did wrong, you sort of just have to let it go. If you let all of this bother you, you’ll end up crazy or so burnt out on this industry that you’ll leave and never come back.”
Kate thought briefly back to an old friend of hers, Merilee. She loved books and loved authors, but the whole industry-ego-thing finally got to her. One day Merilee decided that she could not take it anymore and left. The last Kate heard, she was working as a bank teller in a small community bank in Des Moines.
A far cry from being a publicist in New York.
“Don’t take it personally,” Kate said, turning her attention back to Annabelle.
The young publicist nodded, “I promise I will do my best for you, Kate.”
After Annabelle left the office, Kate thought about her own words. “Don’t take it anything personally.”
It was easier said than done, but it’s generally not personal, not ever.
Though most days it feels exactly that way.
Kate texted Mac to update him on Estella and encouraged him to reach out to the author directly. He texted back shortly after.
I hope everything is okay out there. I miss you. I’m sorry you’re dealing with this on your own.
So am I, she thought. But now a “few day trips” had turned into more than two weeks. She was here. She was on her own, and she was running everything. However, she wasn’t sure if she was doing anything well.
CHAPTER 41
Mac looked at Kate’s text. I miss you. He missed her, too. A lot. He’d been in California too long. Much longer than he’d anticipated. When Mac realized that this trip would last more than just a few days, he went house hunting for the boys, and to some degree for himself. Staying in a hotel for weeks on end wouldn’t be good for them, so he found a summer rental on the beach in Santa Monica. During times they weren’t at the hospital, Mac would carry his laptop out to the porch, which overlooked the beach, and work on his current and future projects. His sons spent time getting to know the area, which was good for them both.
Being stuck in a hospital 24/7 was not healthy at all. He knew that from his mother who’d been a nurse. “You have to have a break,” she used to tell him after watching parents of sick children eat and sleep in the hospital and end up weakening their own immune systems and often getting sick. So Mac made sure that there was enough diversity to their day, and to some degree, he relished this time with them.
After all the years of turmoil, after all the pain, he was here in Southern California with his grown boys, and it was bringing them together in an oddly comforting and poignant way. Their mother was deathly ill, and Mac hadn’t missed a step to help them. It felt good and bad at the same time. Good because after so many years, he was finally able to be the man he’d always wanted to be—father, protector, and to some degree, husband. But, it was even harder because he wished that Kate had come with him. However, he understood why she couldn’t.
“I miss you, Baby,” he said to no one in particular while staring at the waves, a mom, dad, and three small children who had walked onto the beach and sat down their blankets. The small children were fidgeting with obvious excitement. A woman did her best to cover them with sunscreen, and then Mac watched as she attached floaties to their arms. The children were squirming the entire time, which made Mac smile. When she was finished, they all ran to the sea. Mac could almost hear their laughter over the sound of the waves. Despite his love of New York, Mac understood why Kate had loved it here so much. There was something very easygoing about being in California. No one really worried about planning anything around the weather. It was always sunny and warm. The traffic was hideous, but the life was easy and uncomplicated.
Climax: The Publicist, Book Three Page 15