Whole Lotta Trouble

by Stephanie Bond

  Phil’s dark eyes danced. “Suze is getting restless.”

  “Then let’s get started,” Felicia said, sweeping an arm toward the couch and chairs in front of her desk. “Grab a seat and I’ll get Suze.” She walked out into the reception area. Suze, dressed in red head to toe, including a flamboyant hat, sat in a chair, smoking a cigarette with a cell phone pressed to her ear and looking surprisingly happy. Either she had just received good news or she was talking to someone she liked…a lot. When she glanced up to see Felicia, her expression changed to guilt, reinforcing Felicia’s thought that the woman was talking to her lover.

  “I’ll call you back,” Suze said into the phone, then snapped it shut and stood. “Hello, Felicia.”

  “Hi, Suze.” She spoke with as much warmth as she could inject into her voice. Suze Dannon was a very attractive woman, but she was so abrasive that Felicia couldn’t imagine how she and easygoing Phil had gotten together in the first place, and more so, how another man would find her approachable enough to even suggest an affair. The woman emanated a chill lower than the temperature clinging to her voluminous coat. They hugged briefly and Felicia murmured, “I’m sorry to keep you waiting—it’s been a busy morning.”

  Suze sniffed and took another drag from her cigarette.

  Felicia cringed. “I’m sorry, Suze, but this office is a non-smoking environment.”

  Suze rolled her eyes, took another drag, and leaned over to stub out the cigarette in a potted plant. “Can’t smoke anywhere in New York anymore. What about my rights? Where’s the goddamned ACLU when I need them?”

  Felicia tried to smile past her headache as she turned back toward her office. “How was your drive in?”

  “Miserable,” Suze said, picking up her red leather briefcase. “Traffic was a nightmare. I hope this won’t take long, I need to be somewhere.”

  Felicia squashed her irritation at the woman’s implication that her time was more important than anyone else’s. “I hope we can reach a consensus quickly.”

  “Fat chance,” Suze said.

  When they reached Felicia’s office, Suze marched in and settled herself on the couch, purposely ignoring Phil, who was sitting in one of the chairs. Felicia closed the door, marveling how two people who had once been so happy could scarcely stand to be in the same room.

  “Is Jerry coming?” Phil asked.

  “Something came up,” Felicia improvised. “But he might call me if he has a chance, and perhaps we can conference him in on the speaker phone.”

  Suze made a scoffing noise. “I suddenly feel outnumbered.”

  “You aren’t,” Felicia assured her smoothly, claiming her own desk chair. “We’re all on the same side here, we all want this book to be the best it can be.”

  “It’s fine just the way it is,” Suze said, her eyes growing hard.

  “You always say that,” Phil said patiently, “until you have time to think about my suggestions, and then you realize that the story can be improved.”

  “This time it can’t,” Suze snapped. “Besides, by the time I incorporate all the changes you suggested, I could write a new book!”

  “It’s not that many changes,” Phil said, his tone more heated. “You’re just being difficult, as usual.”

  Felicia leaned forward. “Why don’t we—”

  “Not that many changes?” Suze cut in, snorting. “Spoken like someone who doesn’t know the first thing about writing! You have no respect for how hard it is to do what I do! You just sit back and criticize.”

  “—talk about this—”

  “They’re my ideas,” Phil said, his face coloring. “My characters, my setting, my stories, my complexities—you’re little more than a ghost writer!”

  “—like reasonable, calm adults.”

  Suze leaped up from the couch. “Ghost writer? How dare you! You’re afraid that when I get rid of you, I’ll go on to be just as successful…maybe even more so.”

  “I’ve had a chance to review the changes in question—” Felicia said, rattling the papers in front of her.

  Phil laughed harshly. “Suze, without me, you won’t be able to get past the first page! You wouldn’t know a plot if it were floating in your vodka!”

  “—and I think we can reach a compromise—” Felicia continued.

  Suze walked closer, her hat bobbing frantically. “You’ll see—I’m going to make the name Suzanne Phillipo a worldwide commodity.”

  “—by all of us working together,” Felicia finished cheerfully.

  Phil stood and faced his angry wife. “No, you’re not, because if you try to write another book under the name that I helped to build, I’ll sue the pants off you.” Then he gave her a disdainful look. “Assuming that you don’t already have your pants off for someone else.”

  “Okay,” Felicia said, standing. Her uncharacteristic sternness got their attention, at least. In the ensuing silence, her phone beeped—Tamara. She sighed and punched a button. “Yes, Tamara?”

  “Jerry Key is on the line.”

  “I’ll take it,” she said, then picked up the receiver so their conversation wouldn’t be broadcast. “Jerry?”

  “Felicia, how’s it going?” His voice was the languid song of a man facedown on a massage table, being plied with oily female hands.

  “Fine,” she said tightly. “The Dannons are here.”

  His sexy laugh rumbled into her ear. “So if I tell you that I’ve been thinking about you all day, you can’t chew me out, can you?”

  Heat climbed her neck, and she tried to steer the conversation back to business. “We were expecting you, Jerry.”

  “Felicia, haven’t you punished me enough? I’m dying to have you back. You know how good we are together.”

  She gripped the phone tighter. “So are you going to be able to join us later?”

  “Maybe we can make a little trade. I’ll cancel what I’m doing and drop by the meeting if you’ll agree to have dinner with me this evening.”

  She set her jaw. “That’s impossible.”

  “Nothing is impossible,” he said, then sighed dramatically. “Felicia, I’m going to wear you down eventually. The sooner you give in, the sooner we can go back to the way things were.”

  Her gaze flew to the Dannons, who were staring at her expectantly. Her head pounded and her hairline felt damp. “Um, no,” she said into the phone, her tone casual. “No, Jerry, that’s okay. We’ll get through this alone,” she said pointedly. “Good-bye.” She set down the receiver before he could respond and offered a shaky smile to the Dannons. “Now…where were we?”

  Suze’s eyes narrowed. “This asshole just threatened to sue me if I keep writing under the name that I invented!”

  “It’s a pseudonym we both came up with,” Phil said, crossing his arms. “Using both of our names. And I helped to make it what it is today.” He lifted his finger to Suze. “You can write whatever the hell you want to write, but you won’t be doing it under the name Suzanne Phillipo.”

  Suze jerked her head toward Felicia. “He can’t do that! Can he?”

  Felicia sighed. “Phil has a point, Suze. The manuscripts were submitted with both of your names on the cover page, and you both signed the contracts.”

  The woman’s face turned scarlet. “Of course you would take his side! You two are in cahoots!”

  “No one is in cahoots,” Felicia said calmly. “Please, Suze, let’s sit down and talk about this like rational adults.”

  “Oh, and now you’re saying I’m irrational?” Suze shouted, her eyes wild.

  People outside Felicia’s office turned to stare.

  Phil touched Suze’s arm. “That’s not what Felicia said.”

  “Don’t touch me!” she screamed, recoiling. She stumbled backward and snatched up her briefcase. “This meeting is over.” She glared at Phil. “Just like this marriage!”

  “And all of it your fault,” Phil said calmly.

  Suze stalked to the door, flung it open, walked through, and slam
med it with enough force to shake the mini-blinds on the windows.

  Felicia gave Phil an apologetic look. “I didn’t handle that very well.”

  He made a rueful noise. “Give her a chance to cool off. You looked over the changes I suggested—what do you think?”

  Felicia sighed. “It’ll mean the difference between it being a good book and a great book. The basic idea of a serial killer murdering people through their e-book reading device is really intriguing, but the scenes seem forced.”

  He nodded. “That was Suze’s idea, which is unusual. And it’s a great commercial concept, but I can’t get her to see that it isn’t smooth.” He emitted a long-suffering sigh. “For the record, I’m not going to sue her for the name, but if I have to, I’ll use it to pressure her to make these changes. I want this last book to be our best.”

  “We’re running out of time, Phil. If I don’t get the manuscript into production in the next couple of weeks, the book will lose its fall spot.”

  “I understand,” he said, nodding. “I’ll call her later and try to smooth things over. I guess I’d better be going.”

  “Are you driving back today?”

  “Actually, I’m staying in town for a couple of days, doing a little research.”

  She smiled. “For a book?”

  He shrugged. “Something like that.”

  Felicia perked up, intrigued. “Promise you’ll tell me about it.”

  Phil gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Someday, Felicia, I’ll tell you all about it.”

  She watched him leave her office, his stride confident, his broad shoulders back, and thought with a start that perhaps Suze had underestimated Phil. Perhaps he was, at this very moment, working on a blockbuster. And heaven help her, she wouldn’t want to miss the look on Suze’s face if Phil struck gold on his own.

  Her throbbing head necessitated slow movement back to her desk, where she downed another pill. Her mind slid back to the phone call from Jerry, and a slow burn started in her stomach. He was making it impossible to work with him. Not only did she need to set him straight but she also wanted him to know that she was on to him regarding the photo.

  She shrugged into her coat and picked up her bag. When she walked out into the reception area, Tamara looked up from her desk. “Going out?”

  Felicia nodded and gritted her teeth against the pain. “I need to see a chiropractor.”

  Chapter 8

  When Tallie returned to the office, she was still reeling from her hair-raising coffee date. She almost walked right past Jane Glass, who was standing in the reception area.

  “Hi, Jane—er, Jané. This is a nice surprise.”

  Sans the beret, Jané’s wiry hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail that left the spiky ends to fan around her head like a peacock tail. She was draped in yards of dark fabric, conjuring up images of séances and pots of boiling brew.

  “Hi, Tallie.” She smiled and held up a thick manila envelope. “I know I said I’d have this manuscript couriered over, but I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop in to see how things have changed around here.” She scanned the dated décor and the dingy carpet, and her grimace said it all.

  “Things haven’t changed,” they said in unison, then laughed.

  “Come on in my office,” Tallie invited, although Felicia’s words about Jané playing her revolved through her head. Still, she owed her former colleague a certain amount of professional courtesy. “I have a few minutes to talk.”

  “Did you go somewhere fun for lunch?” Jané asked.

  Tallie hung her coat behind the door, frowning at the large coffee stain. “Suspicious Grounds coffeehouse—and someone tried to rob the place while I was there.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah—shots were fired, the whole bit.”

  Jané’s black eyes widened. “Was anyone hurt?”

  “No.” Tallie shook her head. “Believe it or not, I was there with a cop, and he handled everything.”

  “Why were you there with a cop? Are you in trouble?”

  Tallie laughed. “No. It was a blind date. Sort of.” Pushing the episode from her mind, she sat down and invited Jané to do the same.

  Jané nodded to Tallie’s cluttered desk. “Slush pile reading?”

  “A necessary evil,” Tallie said, her mind momentarily flitting back to the partially-read-murdering-IRS-cost-

  accountant’s manuscript. No murder yet, but either the man had led an extraordinary life or he’d dreamed up quite an imaginary existence while sitting behind a desk for forty years. Tallie sat back in her chair. “So tell me about this manuscript.”

  Jané slid the envelope across her desk. “It’s a great story,” she said, lapsing into sales mode. “This e-book is going to hit big, and I’d like to see Parkbench get in on the print rights.”

  Tallie lifted an eyebrow, removed the manuscript, and glanced at the cover sheet. “Daymares by J. P. Ames.”

  “An unknown,” Jané admitted. “But not for long. It’s a fantasy murder mystery, and it’s great.”

  “So you said.” Tallie tapped the manuscript. “Why are you shopping it instead of the agent?”

  “A few agents have seen it, but no takers yet.” She shrugged. “But we both know that good projects get overlooked all the time, especially if they can’t be easily categorized.”

  “Okay, I’ll take a look at it.”

  Jané glanced at Tallie’s slush pile. “Can I get some priority?”

  Tallie gave her a wry smile. “I’ll get to it as soon as I can.”

  “Good enough,” Jané said, standing. “Listen, Tallie…I’ve been having second thoughts about telling Felicia what Jerry Key said about her. Do you think I did the right thing?”

  Tallie hesitated, studying Jané for signs of insincerity. The woman and Felicia had butted heads more than once when they had all interned together, with Jané’s impulsiveness always being trumped by Felicia’s level-headedness. But Jané’s black eyes were unreadable, her full mouth set in a wince…or a half-smile?

  A finger of unease tickled Tallie’s spine, but she attributed the reaction to her recent brush with trouble. Shrugging lightly, she pushed to her feet. “Felicia can’t defend herself if she doesn’t know she’s being maligned. Wouldn’t you want to know if someone was spreading lies about you behind your back?”

  Jané’s demeanor changed almost instantly—for the worse. “Are you trying to tell me that someone is spreading lies about me?”

  Tallie blinked. “No. It was hypothetical.”

  The woman recovered, then attempted a laugh. “Of course. Well, thanks for making me feel better about it.”

  With eyebrows raised, Tallie followed Jané to the door, suddenly eager for her to be gone; she felt almost disloyal to Felicia by simply talking to the woman.

  “Call me when you’ve had a chance to read the manuscript.”

  “I will.” Tallie watched Jané leave, wondering if the woman had any idea that some people thought she was…weird. Just the kind of person to edit the paranormal stories that were more popular among e-book readers. At least she’d found her niche. Tallie was about to close her office door when Kara Hatteras floated by, sporting a gloating smile.

  “Tallie, everyone’s gathered in the boardroom to see my spot on CNN. Chop, chop or you’ll miss it.”

  She pranced on her way and Tallie murmured, “I’d like to chop, chop something of yours, Kara.”

  Her phone rang, and she gladly took the opportunity to answer it. The thought that Keith Wages was calling flitted through her head. She scoffed aloud, but she acknowledged a spike in her pulse. “Tallie Blankenship.”

  “Tallie…it’s Ron.”

  A smile curved her mouth to hear her boss’s voice. “Hi, Ron. How are you?”

  “I’m okay,” he said, his voice a little unsteady. “Are you okay?”

  She laughed. “Sure, Ron—well, other than the fact that Kara is corralling us all to watch her CNN segment.”
r />   The line clicked.

  “Ron?”

  “—cell phone…dying…be careful…Gaylord’s manuscript…fortune—”

  She pushed the phone closer to her mouth. “Ron? Ron, if you can hear me, don’t worry about the manuscript. I’ll take care of everything. Are you there?”

  Static sounded, then dead air.

  She frowned at the phone, then replaced the receiver. He must be driving, perhaps on his way to his family in Maine—or was it New Hampshire? She shook her head. Poor Ron. Whatever the reason for his leave of absence, he was still concerned about the company. His anxiety was pushing hers higher, as if she wasn’t already nervous about tomorrow’s meeting with Gaylord Cooper and Jerry Key. Especially now that she knew Jerry was spreading gossip about her best friend.

  When she slipped into the boardroom to join the crowd gathered around the television mounted in the far corner, the CNN segment was underway. Kara tore her gaze away from her toothy self on the screen to glare in Tallie’s direction, presumably for being late. In the news piece about the popularity of diet books, Kara gushed to the reporter that when she had read the submission for The Soup to Nuts Diet, she had been savvy enough to recognize a best-selling book in the making. There was little mention of the author or the medical merits of the diet itself—just emphasis on the price point and the marketing push. Tallie took solace in the fact that everyone standing in the room looked as uninterested as she felt.

  At the end, Kara beamed at the halfhearted applause and, in typical Kara style, wheeled in a sheet cake she had ordered herself, featuring the cover of the book in edible icing. Tallie felt a stab of remorse that she or someone else hadn’t thought to arrange refreshments—the woman’s lack of friends was really very sad. Tallie suspected her pang of compassion was actually a misfired signal from her brain meant to be a pang of hunger, considering the fact that she hadn’t yet eaten lunch. Still, she hung back purposely to be the last served so she could work up some enthusiasm before she faced Kara, who was doling out wedges of yellow cake as if she had made it herself.