Meg sat down on the floor next to the pile of loose manuscripts. The top one belonged to Mrs. Wilson. Meg felt like she really knew this woman. A nice old lady who wrote one book a year about her cats’ adventures. She knew she’d miss talking to gentle hearted folks like her. Mrs. Wilson had never been published and would probably never be published, but the retired school teacher was a lesson in perseverance. She loved her cats, loved writing, and loved sharing her stories with her friends. No matter how many rejection letters she might get from heaven knows how many different publishing houses, Meg knew that every August, she could count on a new cat manuscript hitting her desk.
She shuffled through the pile and pulled out another manuscript, laying it on top. This one was from a veteran, a handicapped soldier back from Iraq who’d written a good story, but one that was just too close to a book that had hit the stands less than a month ago.
She picked up a thinner manuscript. She had started reading this one the other night when she couldn’t push Evan out of her mind. This one was about a woman who had suffered multiple miscarriages and was now finding her marriage on the rocks.
She put the manuscript down and stared across the room toward the open window.
She would still answer these people. Even though she was now out of a job, she promised herself she’d take the time and tell each one the truth about their work...as she saw it. These people had finished a book--two books--many books. They deserved to get an answer, and she’d give it to them...padlock on the door or not.
There were parts of her job that she knew she’d miss, and looking for good, new writers was one of them. Despite working for a small publishing house that had had no budget to speak of for the past two or three years, Meg still considered herself a good judge of talent.
Robert had always told her that, while he’d been around. But even after his death, she’d seen a good number of her writers--people that she’d gotten started--go on to become big names.
She continued going through the rest of manuscripts in the pile. She truly loved this. The feel of the paper against the tips of her fingers. The enticing dance of the words on the page. To look at a passage and know exactly where the author should add a word, revise a phrase. To watch the novel become a master work, a story with the power to ensnare a reader with its magic.
She leaned her head back against the bed and gave out a quiet laugh. In truth, work had been changing dramatically since Robert’s death. For so long now, everyone in the place had been more worried about how to charm and pacify their dwindling number of steady writers, so that they wouldn’t abandon ship and go after the fame and fortune that they deserved.
But all through these last years, she still had continued to dream. She’d never once given up hope or cast aside the talent that she knew she possessed. More than once, she’d offered editorial input to some author’s work, only to see him or her go and sign with some other house. For Meg, the work itself held the gratification that she needed. That, and knowing she’d been able to help someone else achieve their dream.
She looked down at her watch and then piled up the manuscripts again. By letting her read his work, Evan was giving her the chance of perhaps doing the same for him. And that gave her a deep and heartfelt sense of satisfaction.
Sure, she was out of job. Sure, she was left with only enough money in her checking account to pay her rent for a maximum of two months. Maybe she was hanging out with a cab driver-slash-philanthropist-slash-philanderer that she didn’t really know a thing about.
But what the heck. She was happy.
Getting to her feet, Meg took a cotton sundress out of the closet and headed for the bathroom. She kept repeating Robert’s words in her head. The old has to give away to the new. The dead to the living.
*****
Evan hammered away on the keyboard at about a hundred miles an hour. He was in a frenzy. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have enough of a story drafted for Meg to read, but knowing that she’d be up here shortly, and reading, and more than likely tearing apart his work, pumped him with adrenaline and creative energy. Sure, he was a glutton for punishment. He wanted it bad! The truth was, he couldn’t wait to sit across from her and argue against whatever she said.
This was the best work he’d done in a long time. He could tell the difference, himself. Since their talk yesterday, he’d looked hard at his characters and their motives. Hell, he really felt like he was getting to know these people. Really understanding what made them tick.
He continued to attack the computer with a vengeance. But his fingers couldn’t keep up with his brain. The words and ideas were washing over him, flooding around him. He was trying to stay above water while at the same time forcing himself to push ahead. To cover as much distance as he could.
“Bastard!” he cursed his computer as a pop up screen came up.
“What the hell’s the matter now?”
Evan whirled in his chair.
“Oh. I didn’t hear you come in.” Looking at his friend, he figured Phil must have been watching him for a while, since he’d already helped himself to a beer and was leaning against the divider to the kitchen, dipping his graham crackers in Evan’s favorite pilsner glass.
“Hey, it’s so rare these days to see you so fired up, I hated to interrupt.”
Evan started to respond, but decided against it. Of all people, Phil was one friend who had been through it all with him--good and bad--and there was no denying his struggle to write over the past few months.
Evan closed the file before coming to his feet.
“What took you so long? I told you that wanted to talk to you.”
“I figured I’d give you enough time to cool your jets.”
Evan chuckled. “Yeah. Since when are you afraid of my temper.”
“I’m not. The truth of it is, I wanted to give you enough time to get yourself kicked out of Meg’s room first.”
Evan moved around the counter and got himself a beer out of the fridge as well. “And how the hell did you know I was there? By the way, don’t worry yourself, I can drink my beer out of a juice glass.”
“Hey, everybody in Newport heard you two yelling. I called the Daily News and gave them the exclusive on the story. I even gave them the headline.” Phil dipped another cracker into the beer and popped it into his mouth. “Bestselling author gets ass kicked by gorgeous tourist.”
“You’ve got a real future writing headlines, let me tell you.” Evan snatched the package of graham crackers out of Phil’s hand and marched back across the room to the sofa. “But it really was shitty of you to take Meg sailing this morning. You had me genuinely ticked off.”
“Good!” Phil followed behind. “It’s about time you got it where it hurts. After all the stupid jokes you’ve been making about me...”
“She is different, Phil.” He didn’t like it a bit, but even to himself, he was suddenly sounding too serious. “She is not like the usual suspects you and I seem to attract.”
“I know!” Phil nodded. “That’s why I intend to ask her out again.”
“Forget it, asshole. She’s mine.”
Phil put on one of his innocent smiles, but Evan knew it was solely because his friend knew how much that irritated him.
“I don’t know what you mean. Are you telling me that you two have already achieved something deep, something meaningful, something...etc., etc., bullshit, bullshit, etc.?”
“Yes! That’s exactly what I’m saying. Minus the bullshit, etc..”
“Then why the hell haven’t you told her who you are? You are a piece of work. Don’t you think she has a right to know? What if she happens to be the one in the million who just hates Drew King and his arrogant public persona?”
Evan laughed scoffingly and then subsided with a thoughtful frown. He glanced at his friend. “She does hate my books!”
Phil chortled with amusement. “Ha! At last! There is justice. And how did you get her to admit that?”
“That is none of you
r business.” Evan started to prop his legs on the table but the ring of the phone sent him bolting across the apartment for it.
“I can’t believe this!” Phil muttered incredulously. “Since when do you actually answer the...”
“Shut up. This is important.”
Just as Evan had suspected, John Peck was on the line.
“What did you find out?” he demanded, grabbing for a pencil and a pad.
“Let’s see,” Evan heard the rustle of papers on the other end. “Meg Murphy is thirty-five and a widow!”
“Tell me what I don’t know.”
“Okay. She’s been living in the same apartment building for the past fifteen years. A very good tenant. Quiet. Always pays the rent on time. The lease still has her dead husband’s name listed on it.”
“Any boyfriends?”
“Not that she takes back to her apartment. She’s got some friends, but from all accounts, she is pretty much a loner.”
“What does she do for a living?”
“You mean, did for a living! She has been officially out of a job since yesterday. From what I was able to gather, the creditors closed the door of the place she used to work.”
“What did she do?”
There was a long pause before John said, “You’re not going to like it.”
“No!” Evan ran an angry hand through his hair. “Just don’t tell me she’s a goddamn editor.”
“She’s a senior editor.” There was another pause. “But not like the ones that you’re used to. The company she worked for was pretty small. Unknown authors. Nothing too fancy.”
“I can’t frigging believe this.”
“Before you jump to any conclusions, there’s something else you should know.”
Throwing down his pencil and pad, Evan started pacing back and forth. “Let me guess, she’s really a frigging Drew King fan and has a history of violent mental disorders.”
“No! Nothing like that.”
“What is it?” Evan snapped shortly.
“She was married to Robert Luckenbrager.”
Suddenly, Evan was at a loss for words. Moving to the closest chair and sitting down, he stared blankly ahead. There had been no one in his life--no one--whom he’d ever felt indebted to.
No one but Robert. He was the editor who discovered him first. He was the only one with enough patience and insight to give him a chance. Robert Luckenbrager had believed in his work and had laid out a path for him to succeed.
Evan had been hurt when Robert decided to leave the Big Apple and take his chances with a small publishing house in Boston. He’d felt lost. He’d been ready to change publishers and go with him, but Robert wouldn’t have it. He’d told him that the place he was going to work for was hardly ready to handle someone as big as he was getting to be.
So they’d lost touch over the years, and Evan had started going through a parade of editors who could never match up to Robert Luckenbrager. No one had his talent. His honesty. His courage. No one...but his wife.
“Are you still there?”
Evan stared at his laptop sitting across the room. “Yeah! I’m still here.”
“Evan, I don’t believe...I mean there is nothing about this Meg Murphy that I’ve learned so far that gives me any reason to believe that she cares a bit about Drew King. I mean, I remember even when her husband died five years ago or so, you weren’t in the country. So it couldn’t been that she saw you at his funeral.”
“I know!” Evan said simply.
“She’s pretty straightforward,” John continued. “Clean living! Lives for her work! No personal life, but very well liked and respected by everyone that I spoke to. But as far as her financial situation and all that, I can’t get any of those things until Monday, but...”
“That’s fine,” he said quietly. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
Evan hung up the phone and continued to stare numbly across the room. All of a sudden everything was becoming quite clear. Meg’s talent in dissecting his work, her style of attack, even her attempts to compromise reminded him so much of Robert. Without knowing the truth, he’d been very excited to have her read his work and now he knew why. In the back of his mind, all along he’d been comparing her to Robert--of the way he would have acted reading some of the shit he’d written for the past couple of years. And it was scary to think how close to the truth he’d been.
“Hey, if you’ve lost interest, I don’t happen to have anything against editors!”
Evan glared at his friend.
“She is different, Evan. You told me so, yourself!”
“And in more ways than you think.” He ran a hand down his face and stalked back to the sofa. “She’s Robert Luckenbrager’s widow.”
“Your first editor? The guy you went to Rome to have canonized?”
“Don’t joke about him. He was a good man.”
Phil paused thoughtfully. “You know, it’s strange, but I really don’t think she knows who you are.”
“I believe you’re right about that.”
Phil looked at him questioningly. “But with all the time you two have been spending together, how come you never learned the truth about who she was, or even what she did for a living?”
Evan shook his head. “I guess that was partly my fault. I was so wrapped up in not letting her know I’m Drew King, that when she started kidding about her job, I let her get away with it.”
Evan started pacing the room.
“So what are you going to do with her?”
“Nothing different than what I originally planned.”
“Bullshit!” Phil snorted. “You can’t fool me! Knowing you and the sense of loyalty you felt toward the husband...”
“He’s been dead for five years. And I got to know Meg as herself first.”
“I still don’t believe you.”
“What the hell do you want from me?” Even felt his temper slipping out of control. “Do you think I should just pretend we never met? Do you think I should just stop seeing her just because of who she was married to years ago?”
“No, but I do think you should put an end to this stupid game, and tell her who the hell you are. I think you should put the decision of whether she wants to go out with you or not, in her hands.”
“It has always been in her hands.”
“Yes...but she thinks you’re Evan Knight.”
“I am Evan Knight.”
“She thinks you’re penniless, devil-may-care, cab driver with endless charm and bottomless generosity.”
Evan turned on his friend. “I still don’t know what the hell you are getting at with all this?”
“Just think this through. I know you, Evan. You are like a bouncing ball. One minute, you are going to feel like a million bucks being with her. The next thing you know, you’re going to be so bummed out--because of who she is--that you are going to ask her to marry you out of some ridiculous sense of duty.” Phil’s deep frown showed the depth of his concern. “Think this through, Evan. Don’t let something like this mess up your life.”
This was no messing, as far as Evan could tell. And what was wrong if things did work out that way. Meg had told him herself that she hadn’t gone out with anybody since Robert’s death. Maybe this was just meant to be. For the two of them to pick up where he and Robert had left off professionally and she and Robert had left off personally.
There was nothing wrong with any of that, though putting it in those terms didn’t sound all that normal. Ah, what the hell was normal in his life, anyway?
“I already told Sarah to get me another ticket. I’m taking Meg to the Heart Ball tomorrow night.”
“After you tell her the truth,” Phil stressed. “There is going to be more than one person at that ball who knows your true identity.”
“But you’re still planning to come. Right?”
“No! I hate those things.”
“Well. You’ll love this one. I need you there, Phil.”
“Why? To play
the chaperone for the two of you?”
“No! To act as my bodyguard.”
Phil gave a snort of laughter. “Since when...”
“Look, I just want you to be your charming, handsome self and attract the attention of every available female in the place.”
“I assume that’s so long as I don’t come close to Meg.”
“Right! And so long as you keep every other woman we know away from me.”
“Oh, great! I get to be the blocking dummy!”
“Right.”
“I don’t know. That’s a tall order.”
“Well, you’ll have to try!”
“And will you tell her? The whole bit? Your identity? Your working relationship with Robert?”
“I will. When the time is right, I will.”
CHAPTER 19
“Are you sure you don’t need me?”
“I’m sure, Meg.” Jada seemed quite determined. “They’re already done with all the tests, but I won’t get results until Monday. The baby is not due to wake up for a while, and even my doctor’s already gone for the weekend. There’s nothing happening here.”
Meg felt something tearing inside her. As much as she wanted to start reading Evan’s work, she was still worried about Jada.
“How about if I just come over just for couple of hours? Just to keep you company.”
“Thanks, Meg. But not today. Maybe tomorrow. I’m just kind of really beat. As soon as the baby wakes up, I’m going to feed him. When he goes back to sleep, I’m heading back to the apartment and catch some z’s myself. How about if I call you tomorrow?”
Resigning herself to Jada’s wishes, Meg reluctantly told her young friend good night.
She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something in the tone of her voice that felt wrong. It wasn’t the denial and melancholy that she’d witnessed when Ted had just been born. This seemed a lot more refined. It seemed to be the hint of a deeper pain--of something that the young mother was trying to hide behind the voice of a mature woman.
********
Evan was busy.
He made a pot of coffee. Called Mrs. Jeffers about Jada. Walked around the apartment. Made a printout of the first four chapters. Called Sarah to make sure everything was on schedule for tomorrow night. Walked around the apartment. Straightened things out in the apartment. Called Doug, his accountant, about looking into the financial difficulties of Elgin Publishing Company. Went around and strategically messed up what he’d just straightened in the apartment. Answered the phone on the first ring. Read the riot act to some poor woman who wanted to have him do a phone survey. Walked around the apartment. Cursed out aloud for not getting herbal tea. Walked. Sat. Jumped at the soft knock on his door.
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