She saw all this in the minute it took Charlie to get up from behind his desk and meet her in the center of the room.
“Beautiful suit, Rebecca. Martha would love it. Yes, indeed, she would.”
“Beautiful office!” Rebecca said. “Quite frankly, I’ve never seen anything like it.”
He looked around, a proud smile splitting his round, ruddy face. “I spend most of my days here. Needs to feel like home. I told you, we’re family here at the Courier. Are you hungry?”
“Starving,” she lied. Her nerves were strangling her at the magnitude of what she was about to do.
She sat down at the table, placed the portfolio on the floor beside her, and gripped her fingers tightly together on her lap to hold herself together.
Two waiters walked in carrying plates covered with silver domes. One was set in front of her. She looked up and smiled. “Thank you.”
With a timed flourish, the waiters lifted the domes.
Feeling slightly queasy, she gazed down at two over-medium eggs, asparagus spears, half a grilled tomato sprinkled with Parmesan, and breakfast potatoes.
“Hope you enjoy your breakfast, Rebecca. To me it’s the most important meal of the day.” Charlie tucked the huge white linen napkin under his chin and spread it across his heavily starched shirt and conservative striped tie.
Since she started writing about food, she’d spent more time than ever in her life eating, buying, and thinking about food. Now she had to wait in agony over her professional life while Charlie ate his breakfast with gusto and she picked at hers.
Her heart was already broken. She honestly didn’t know if she could stand up under another nearly lethal blow should Charlie withdraw his offer.
“What do you have in your portfolio, Rebecca?”
She nearly fell off her chair in shock at Charlie’s abrupt switch to business. She was still pretending to enjoy her asparagus.
He pressed his napkin to his lips, his white beard still pristine, while she fumbled for her portfolio.
This is it. Do or die.
She handed the scrapbook across the table. “Here are copies of an advice column called ‘Ask Becky’ I did for my college newspaper. If I join the Courier family, I won’t be bringing ‘Rebecca Covington’s World.’ I want to do four advice columns a week. There’s been a void since Ann Landers passed away. I believe I can fill that niche.”
Charlie looked at her long and hard and then opened the portfolio.
Since she had nothing to lose, she felt oddly reckless. “I think the columns have a certain grit and spunk to them. Isn’t that how you’ve described me the last few times we talked?”
Not looking up, he nodded. She couldn’t see his eyes, so couldn’t gauge his reaction as he shuffled the pages, reading.
Stress. I need to feed it. She took another bite of cold asparagus.
He glanced up, and she dropped her fork. It clattered on the edge of the plate and landed in her congealing eggs.
All traces of the good ol’ boy persona wiped away, he looked her steadily in the eyes. “These advice columns would need to reflect your unique style.”
“Of course.” She was trembling with excitement. “It will be me imparting my worldly wisdom with humor. My Rebecca Covington philosophy that we’re all on this journey together. We need to deal with one another with as much grace, humor, and compassion as we can muster.”
“Five days a week.”
She’d planned for five but hesitated for effect before nodding.
“Sunday you’ll do a big gossip page like ‘Suzy’ in W, or ‘Page Six.’”
She could taste victory. “More like ‘Suzy’ than ‘Page Six.’ I want to give good press to the movers and shakers who are making the arts and charities work in Chicago. I’ll need at least two pages of colored photos. Readers like to see their pictures in the paper. They clip them. Send them to family and friends. Often they need to buy extra copies of the paper. Advertisers like that.”
“We need to agree on the television segments. It has to be both gossip and advice.”
“Of course. Advice and gossip. Plus guests. I have some ideas that will put Oprah on alert.”
He rubbed his hands together. “Should those fine gals on The View be worried?”
“You never know.” She met him eyeball to eyeball, exhilaration coursing through her veins. “Do we have a deal?”
“Three-year contract. I’ll match your salary from the Daily Mail. Plus a ten percent signing bonus.”
I need to show some grit. “Six years. My present salary. Plus fifty percent more for the television spots and the Sunday feature. Twenty percent signing bonus.”
He lifted his bushy white eyebrows and crossed his arms across his barrel chest. “You put a mighty high price tag on yourself, Rebecca.”
He wants spunky, I’ll give him spunky. “We both know I’m worth it, Charlie.”
His belly laugh echoed off the thick crown moldings of the high ceiling as he spread out his arms. “Welcome to the family, Rebecca.”
After three hours filled with a tour of the newspaper, seeing her new truly spectacular office, and talking to Martha, who was ecstatic at the news, Rebecca finally arrived at Kate’s. She still hadn’t decided how to tell her friends.
They were all sitting in the dining room, laughing and playing poker. Most of the chips were in front of Pauline.
Pauline looked up and smiled. “Beginner’s luck. Kate is teaching us how to play.”
Rebecca gazed around, noticing the town house felt warmer and looked more inviting. Green plants, a ficus tree, and several large poinsettias were now placed artfully in all the rooms she could see. In the long hallway, two electricians were working on new larger light fixtures.
“The place looks great.” She slid into the empty chair at the table.
Kate nodded. “Harry believes I need to add brighter lights and vegetation into my environment. It’s a holistic approach to dealing with my condition. I rather like the greenery.”
They were all studying Rebecca, which made her try harder to be upbeat. “Love it!” She smiled around the table.
“You look feverish, sweet pea.” Harry reached across the table, and before she could stop him, he was feeling her pulse. “Racing.”
“Oh, I knew you called this meeting to tell us the good news! You and Mr. Sumner are getting married! Right?”
Pauline’s enthusiastic outburst kicked in Rebecca’s protective wall with one shout of joy. All the primal feelings rushed out to swallow her.
How will I ever get through this? The ache of loss again scalded her throat. “No . . .” she squeezed the word through the burn. “We . . . we . . . actually . . . it’s over.” She rushed the last words out while she could.
Thank God, no one spoke. Before she lost control and starting wailing again, she needed to tell them. “I’ve left the paper. I’m moving to the Journal and Courier.” She stared into Kate’s shocked face. “I feel like the worst friend in the world leaving you right now, but I desperately need you to understand. This is a tremendous opportunity for me. I know the timing is appalling. Please forgive me.”
Her mouth firm and hard, Kate shook her head. “I can’t tell you this isn’t a blow.”
Harry lowered his eyebrows, watching her. And Pauline’s lip began to quiver.
Wanting them all to understand, she stared pleadingly into each of their faces. “I’d like you all to understand that this change is good for me.” She smiled hopefully around the table. “I may not be at the paper, but I’ll still be here for you, even when you don’t need or want it. Kate, you should have celebrity chefs do the food columns, starting with Harry. He’s a great cook. Plus he has a huge fan base.”
Tears of relief pooled at the back of her throat when Harry’s frown curved into a cocky smile worthy of his hero, Rupert Everett.
“It’s true. I have freshened the faces of much of Chicago.”
Rebecca turned to Pauline. “Sweetheart, I’m not de
serting you. We can do secret dinners where you can tell me what the competition is doing.”
“Mr. Porter will die when he finds out Mr. Bartholomew stole you away. So will Maybella and Shannon.” At that, a smile brightened Pauline’s face. “The place will go to Hades without you. We’ll miss you so much, won’t we, Kate?”
Knowing she was burdening Kate when she was so vulnerable made Rebecca feel small. She wished there had been another way out.
“Don’t look like you failed, Rebecca,” Kate said briskly. “You’ve seized your personal power. As I must retrieve mine. I have your Christmas recipe scheduled for next Sunday’s edition. I’m still running it. Moving forward, I believe I will take your excellent advice and use celebrity food columnists. Harry, are you interested?”
He bowed his head. “It will be my pleasure. I can’t imagine why you’d ever want another celebrity besides me.”
Their laughter broke something free inside Rebecca. Their worlds were spinning in new, exciting ways. New challenges. New choices. Fresh beginnings. Good at any age.
“Sweet pea, now tell us what happened with David?” Harry asked in his kindest voice.
She didn’t want to think about David. She wanted to think about her new job. Moving into her new office. Christmas shopping. Anything and everything except David.
“I really, truly don’t want to talk about him,” she said at last.
They looked at her with such compassion she was afraid in another few minutes she’d start crying on all their shoulders.
“I will say I’m now ready to embrace a real relationship if I get the chance. Even though David isn’t ‘the one’ for me, he did open my heart to the possibility there may be someone out there. I realize my chances of this happening at forty-five are slim, but you never know.” She shrugged, struggling before their pointed silence. “Of course we all know there’s not just one person for anyone. I’m talking about someone I connect with. Not someone I think might complete me. Because God knows I have to be a whole person to even know how to really love. But someone who complements me. Together we’re more powerful, more alive than apart.” Realizing she was babbling, she shut her mouth.
“Are you sure Mr. Sumner isn’t ‘the one’?” Pauline asked softly.
Desperate not to answer so she wouldn’t be forced to lie, Rebecca looked wildly to Harry for support.
“I wonder the same thing, sweet pea.”
Kate nodded. “I must agree with them, Rebecca. What I observed between you and David seemed real.”
Looking into their determined faces, she knew the time for hiding was done. Only the truth would end this. “All right! The truth. I love you all to death and know you love me. But David doesn’t. Told me so in his own inimitable way. End of story. Satisfied?”
It was strangely comforting in her fragile state to see the disbelief on their faces. She’d felt the same way last night.
But they were all wrong.
CHICAGO DAILY MAIL SUNDAY FOOD
GROT (A FAMILY HOLIDAY TRADITION)
1 quart whole milk
½ cup long-grain rice
Salt to taste
In a double boiler, add milk and rice. Keep on low heat and cover. Stir occasionally and add more milk when necessary. Heat must be kept very low so it does not burn at bottom. Cook for about 3 hours so that rice is very tender. Add salt to taste. Serve with cinnamon and sugar and cream. Serves 8.
A Note from Rebecca Covington
This incredibly rich, sinfully delicious rice dessert was served every December 24 at my grandmother’s house, when the entire family of cousins, aunts, and uncles, plus friends, was present.
A faux gold ring was placed in one bowl. The lucky recipient was destined to be the next bride or groom in the coming year.
My cousin Brandon was so enchanted with the legend that he arranged to place the diamond engagement ring for his beloved in her bowl.
Unfortunately, she swallowed the small gem with her first spoonful of grot.
Never fear, all ended happily with a beautiful wedding. Although the ring had to be retrieved in a way that does not bear mentioning.
May your holidays be as happy.
Enjoy!
Xo Rebecca
Chapter 23
The next day, Rebecca sent her letter of resignation to the newspaper by courier.
Later in the afternoon she received back all her personal belongings from the office and a formal severance letter signed by David. The letter and the mementoes represented the end of another life stage. Should she label the last fifteen years at the Daily Mail the “maturing stage”? Getting her to the point she wasn’t afraid to take a chance on a new life?
She looked down at David’s small, neat handwriting and remembered the last memo from him.
She cried for ten minutes.
Her mood had been shifting back and forth since the lunch at Kate’s. One minute she felt happy with her choices. The next moment guilty and scared. Then the next, eager to start her new job on January 1. New year. New life.
Now, as she looked down at David’s signature, the bright future dissolved into a barren stretch of meaningless days for the rest of her life.
She felt hot. Cold. Happy. Sad. Who would have thought a broken heart would have the same symptoms as a midlife crisis and perimenopause?
She was saved from utter misery by the rapidly approaching Christmas holidays. She indulged in an orgy of shopping every day for everyone she knew. Butcher, baker, gourmet food maker, all benefited from her burning need to stay super busy so she wouldn’t have time to think. Every night she arrived home laden with packages to fall exhausted into bed.
Three days before the Chicago Media annual black-tie holiday dinner, she treated herself to a long strapless gold silk beaded gown she’d admired in the window at Luca Luca, thus keeping her promise given so long ago to Simone, the manager, that they could dress her for her television show. That day on Oak Street, she’d been spinning stories to save face. Now it had come true. This media party was to be her unofficial launch as “Ask Rebecca” and Sunday’s “Talk of the Town” for the Journal and Courier and the television segments. She wanted to dazzle. She needed to dazzle to keep her courage up. After all, David was invited to the party.
For the last few weeks she’d lived in constant anticipation of running into him. In some ways, Chicago was a small town at heart. Often the same people went to the same places at the same time.
Whenever the phone rang, she felt a rush of fearful excitement. Was it David? If he called, would she answer?
But his call never came.
At the end of every day while David pored over balance sheets, stock reports, and legal documents, he was wracked by such a need to hear Rebecca’s voice he had to get up and pace the room to keep from picking up the phone. His mind froze in panic. How could he hang on to his protective armor when he searched for her face everywhere he went?
Then the need would pass and he’d go back to work with speed and diligence, using it like he always had to cover his pain.
Tonight, staring at himself in the mirror, fumbling, trying to adjust his tux tie, the pain was razor sharp again.
For weeks he’d beaten himself up with the knowledge that there was no future for them. But tonight was the true test.
Tonight, he’d see her.
It scared the hell out of him.
The night of the media party she had her glossy and elegant look down pat, her cool and in-control attitude in place.
The Ritz Carlton at the holidays shone like a gaily trimmed Christmas tree. Lights. Flowers. An array of beautifully wrapped partygoers.
The split-level ballroom was one of the smaller ones in the pecking order of hotels vying for social events, making it perfect for this more intimate party. There couldn’t have been more than a hundred people drinking and talking and milling around when she walked in.
As she stood on the wide upper level, Rebecca’s gaze immediately found David, dressed in
a tux and standing across the floor in front of the orchestra. She looked away, feeling dizzy, terrified, excited, confused, and guilty all at the same time.
She sneaked another peek at David’s face. At some point in her life she would have to apologize for slapping him, but she didn’t have the strength to do it now.
Watching David talking and laughing, she was reminded of every kiss those smooth lips had given her.
I’m not sure I can do this tonight. She turned to walk out and get some fresh air or hide in the ladies’ lounge for a while.
In her rush to leave, she nearly stepped on the hem of Martha Bartholomew’s purple gown. She and Charlie were blocking Rebecca’s escape.
“You look lovely, Rebecca. Doesn’t she, Charlie?” Martha gushed.
The red plaid vest barely containing Charlie’s stomach shook with his chuckle. “As befittin’ our new star. Everyone here tonight already knows our news. Big things start happenin’ tonight for you, Rebecca.”
Charlie, who was known to never look away from the person he had engaged in conversation, shifted his eyes to a point over Rebecca’s shoulder. “David, my boy, how are you?”
They were standing in the middle of the landing, so there was no way for David to pass them unnoticed or ignore Charlie’s greeting.
Rebecca’s knees began to shake under her gown. She pressed her thighs together to keep her body still. She struggled to appear cool and confident. With a last hope she could get through this with her pride intact, she turned to him.
“Good evening, Charlie. Martha.” David’s voice was as formal as his expression. He glanced briefly at her. “Rebecca.”
“Hello, David,” she said softly. She was holding herself together so tightly she trembled from the effort.
Could he tell?
Martha’s sharp, small eyes darted from her to David.
Charlie clasped David’s shoulder. “No hard feelings that I snatched Rebecca away, is there, my boy? You understand good business.”
Talk of the Town Page 24