by Wendy Wax
Kendall sobbed a final sob then swiped at the hot tears littering her cheeks. Her lips twisted into what she thought was a smile. “Sticks and Stones is number ten on the New York Times list.” Kendall could hear the amazement in her own voice. “It’s going to be announced tomorrow as part of my introduction on The Kristen Calder Show.”
The light turned green but Faye was still looking at Kendall. Her foot didn’t move from the brake.
“Are you sure?” Faye asked.
Horns blared behind them. A guy in a semi leaned out of the truck’s cab to yell at them personally.
Kendall nodded her head numbly. “That was Jane Jensen. She called to tell me.”
The two of them sat and stared at each other while horns blared and irate drivers raced around them. “I feel like aliens just landed and offered to take me to their leader,” Kendall said, her tears still flowing. She sniffed and swiped. “I’m afraid to look,” she said. “Has hell frozen over?”
A policeman appeared and pounded on Kendall’s window demanding to know why they were just sitting there. “Sorry, officer.” She smiled and blubbered. “We just had some . . . shocking news. We forgot where we were.”
Without so much as a blinker, Faye made a hard right onto a side road and pulled to a stop at the first opportunity. They sat in the silence of the front seat, locked in their own little bubbles of wonder. “We made the list,” Faye said.
Kendall’s tears stopped and the fog of amazement began to dissipate. She was on the list, but she hadn’t gotten there alone. She looked into Faye’s eyes and both of them registered the truth at the same time: All four of them had written the book together. Only Kendall’s name would appear on the New York Times list.
“We have to call Tanya and Mallory right now.” Faye pulled out her cell phone. “I’ll dial you first so we can conference.”
Kendall duly answered her phone and then waited while Faye found and then connected the others. Her excitement was now tempered by worry over the others’ possible reactions. Even though they’d discussed the possibility of this happening because of Kristen Calder, not being able to claim authorship of a New York Times Bestseller couldn’t feel good.
Kendall listened quietly as Faye gave them the news.
Tanya shrieked just as she had when she heard the Kristen Calder news, and Kendall thought how surreal it was to be sitting in a car in the northern suburbs of Chicago listening to Tanya shriek in a St. Petersburg Laundromat. Mallory was noticeably silent.
“Dang it!” Tanya said. “Hold on. I’ve got a customer who’s having trouble with her spin cycle.” The phone clattered as she set it down.
Kendall looked at Faye. Faye stared back. They were still sitting on the side of the road while traffic passed by them.
“I can’t believe we’ve been put on hold for a laundry emergency,” Mallory said. “But then that seems to be so . . . us.”
Tanya came back on the line. “Lordy,” she said. “Some people should not be allowed to reproduce!” And then, “This is so incredibly . . . incredible!”
“I don’t see that we need to get all worked up,” Mallory said. “We knew when Sticks and Stones became a Kristen Calder pick that this could happen. We all agreed we were willing to take the risk.”
Mallory’s comment was yet another reminder that everything positive that had come of their collaboration was countered by a negative. The more books sold the more money they would make. And the more visible Kendall and Sticks and Stones would become.
“I just want to remind everyone to be careful tomorrow,” Faye said as they prepared to hang up. “The whole New York Times thing opens up Sticks and Stones to a whole new level of scrutiny. The last thing we want to do is give Kristen’s people the slightest reason to be suspicious.”
As they hung up, Kendall slumped in her seat. She felt as vulnerable and insubstantial as a leaf pried loose from its branch and hurled into the unknown. Somewhere she needed to find the enthusiasm and strength for this afternoon’s signing and The Kristen Calder Show taping tomorrow. Even with her “peeps” in the audience and the Scarsdale PR people on hand, Kendall would be the one in the hot seat. Faye was right: For people with so much to hide, they were venturing into a fearfully public arena.
She stared resolutely out the window, trying not to panic as Faye pulled back onto Deerfield then headed north again. She’d simply have to play things just right tomorrow. The publishing gods had put her on the list. Now she’d have to hope they didn’t intend to desert her.
At home Faye directed Kendall to a downstairs guest room and then leafed through mail in the kitchen while her friend freshened up.
Steve was out on the West Coast for a speaking engagement, so Faye had made a lunch reservation at Rosebud, where they could celebrate the news then walk around the corner to Borders for Kendall’s book signing.
They ordered glasses of chardonnay and sipped them as they dipped pieces of crusty Italian bread into a shared plate of seasoned olive oil. They had a second glass of wine with their chopped salads—just enough to calm their nerves without impairing their senses—and by the time they arrived at the bookstore, tomorrow’s taping had once again taken on the luster of an adventure rather than a visit into the fire pits of hell.
“Hello, Mrs. Truett.” Judy Winslet, the customer relations manager, greeted them as they entered the store. “I’m so glad you steered Ms. Aims to our store. There’s a lot of excitement about Sticks and Stones.”
“It’s great, isn’t it?” Faye said. “We just found out Sticks and Stones made the New York Times list.” She smiled at Kendall. She’d been a bit jealous when she’d first heard the news. Happy for Kendall, but disappointed, too. This was the second appearance on the list that Faye had been unable to claim.
There was a nice-sized crowd for the signing, lots of readers and even more aspiring writers who seemed to have adopted Kendall as their poster child of possibility. Faye stood and chatted with other Highland Park residents and the customer relations manager while Kendall signed and schmoozed, something Faye noticed she’d gotten quite good at.
When the crowd had thinned, Kendall signed remaining copies while Judy affixed autographed-copy stickers onto their covers. “I’ll put these on the end cap,” the manager said, referring to the outward-facing shelf Scarsdale had paid to have Sticks and Stones placed on. “And I’ll put a few extra on the new release table, too.”
“Great, thank you,” Kendall said. Faye could see her friend sagging from exhaustion and decided to fix a simple dinner for them at home. They could both use a good night’s sleep before the Kristen Calder taping in the morning.
The manager walked them to the front door. Through the glass window they could see a group of women walking in a tight circle outside. They carried placards raised above their heads.
“What’s going on?” Kendall asked.
The young woman sighed. “This group has been threatening to picket for a week now. They’re a great big pain in the . . .” The woman looked at Faye and stopped short. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs. Truett. I forgot they were from your husband’s church.”
Judy turned to Kendall. “They’re picketing because they heard Shannon LeSade was planning to come here on tour.”
“LeSade, the erotica author?” Kendall asked, interested.
Faye’s hands stilled.
“Yes,” Judy said. “She’s so reclusive I don’t think the whole tour thing is much more than a rumor. But they’re picketing anyway. They want us to take her books off the shelves and burn them.” She frowned. “Our manager told them they could do whatever they liked with LeSade’s books, but they’d have to buy them first.” She smiled at her boss’s one-upsmanship.
“That woman in the front is their ringleader,” Judy continued, clearly warming to her topic. “She’s been very unpleasant.”
Faye had already recognized the woman in charge. She closed her eyes and prayed for strength.
“Do you know them, Mrs. Truett?” J
udy asked.
“I’m afraid so,” Faye replied, wishing she could deny it. “The woman in front is my daughter.”
Judy’s eyes grew wide. It was clear she wasn’t sure what to say. Faye wished they could sneak out the back and pretend they’d never seen the protesters, but it was too late for that now.
“Neither her father nor I believe in book banning.” Faye felt the need to clarify that this was not a family position. “But Sara’s a grown woman and she’s very strong willed.”
“Oh, Faye!” Kendall said.
“Yes.” Faye couldn’t meet her friend’s eye. “I expect we’d better go.” Faye put her shoulder to the door and braced for combat. She nodded good-bye to Judy.
“Come on, Kendall. I’ll introduce you to Sara. And then I suspect we’re going to have to stop on the way home after all, because I’m probably going to need another drink.”
As it turned out, she needed two. One to forget about the shouting match her daughter drew her into. The second to forget the Chicago Tribune photographer who documented it and then wanted to double-check the spelling of their names to make sure he’d gotten them right.
37
If you are going to make a book end badly, it must end badly from the beginning.
—ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
The photo appeared on the front page of the morning newspaper and Kendall hoped it wasn’t an omen of things to come. When she slid into the backseat of the limo that Kristen Calder’s production company had sent to pick her up, there was a complimentary copy of the paper waiting for her. Kendall folded it facedown and stuffed it under her seat. Did this mean that Kristen’s people had already seen it? She was not going to be the one to ask.
Faye had left earlier to pick up Mallory and Tanya at O’Hare. The three of them planned to come directly to the studios, where tickets for the taping had been left under Tanya’s name. They’d all insisted they wanted to be there for Kendall and had joked about wearing disguises. This gave Kendall yet another thing to worry about—as if she needed one.
The bad feeling in the pit of her stomach grew with each mile. The local station interviews she’d done during her tour had given her a certain comfort level with the whole television experience. But comparing a local talk show to the nationally syndicated Kristen Calder Show was like comparing a glass of tap water to the Pacific Ocean. She was deathly afraid she was going to drown.
The limo’s leather interior smelled new and expensive and the Plexiglas that separated Kendall from the driver gave her quiet within which to think. But she couldn’t shake her growing unease.
She was a fraudulent New York Times Bestseller. She’d achieved her dream under false pretenses; she’d gotten there on the backs and coattails of her friends. What if Kristen took one look at her and sensed her guilt? What if she didn’t? Kendall felt swamped by fear and self-doubt. Not exactly the sort of aura one wanted to project on national television.
Before she was ready, the limo arrived at the studio. She practiced deep breathing while the driver walked around to open her door. At the building entrance, Kendall drew another great gulp of air into her lungs then slowly exhaled, taking a moment to examine the show’s marquee, which sported a life-sized photograph of the thirtysomething Kristen Calder. Kendall studied the blonde’s camera-thrilling cheekbones and burnished good looks, all of which had been toned down several notches to a nonthreatening level.
When Kendall entered the lobby, a threesome dressed in New York black awaited her as she went through security and showed ID. Lacy Samuels separated from the group and moved toward Kendall. The assistant was more attractive than Kendall had imagined and much more conservatively dressed than Kendall had painted her in Sticks and Stones. She wore black trousers with a short black vest over a black-and-white pin-striped shirt and boots that added to her long lean look.
The assistant smiled. “I left the nose ring at home.”
Before Kendall could apologize, Lacy threw her arms around Kendall, further dispelling the air of New York sophistication. “I am so excited for you!” She smiled full out, not even trying to contain her enthusiasm. “The audience is packed with book clubs. Cindy and I get to pass out copies to everyone in the audience. And Hannah back at Scarsdale just called to say that we’re already in a fifth printing.” She threw her arms around Kendall again and squeezed with all her might.
Kendall squeezed back. “I don’t know how you did it, but I appreciate you going to bat for me.” She disentangled herself gently. “I never could have imagined ending up here.”
Lacy introduced Naomi Fondren and Cindy Miller and then Kristen’s people began to appear. There were a lot of them, all of them smiling and efficient, most of them also dressed in black.
One perky blonde took the Scarsdale people back to the waiting area, which they referred to as the green room. Another female staffer, who identified herself as a segment producer, escorted Kendall to makeup. While the makeup person worked on Kendall’s face, the producer prepped Kendall for what was to come.
“Kristen’s tied up right now”—she looked away for a moment, her eyes sliding away from Kendall’s—“something’s come up—so you’ll meet her onstage. We’ve got people who’ve had surgery to look like celebrities first, then Kristen will introduce Sticks and Stones and then you’ll come out for your interview. After that there’ll be a commercial break and then she’ll open up to questions from the audience. We have a lot of book club members here today and a lot of them have already read your book. Don, our stage manager, will escort you out.”
The young woman talked pretty much nonstop as they left makeup and wound their way through a warren of dressing rooms and offices, but she had a disturbing habit of looking away whenever she mentioned Kristen. Something in the woman’s manner felt off, but Kendall had no experience with television of this magnitude and chided herself for glomming onto yet another worry.
People raced by, but underneath the apparent chaos Kendall sensed slick orchestration. Sights and sounds swirled around her, but Kendall was unable to absorb or catalogue them. The producer took note of Kendall’s reaction. “It’s a bit overwhelming,” she acknowledged. “But you don’t need to worry. We’ll get you out there and Kristen will take care of the rest,” she promised. “She cares a great deal about the book club. She’s made a point of choosing less weighty books than some of the other book clubs, but she’s still very aware of putting her name and reputation behind an author.”
Kendall swallowed uncomfortably and this time the producer made clear eye contact. “She watched Oprah, who is her absolute idol and role model, get burned by the James Frey incident and she’s very sensitive about any kind of misrepre- sentation.”
Kendall nodded dully. Millions of people were going to see her on this show. Millions more would buy her book because of it—assuming she didn’t freeze completely or blither like an idiot.
She thought longingly of the backseat of the limo and wished she was in it already heading safely back to Faye’s. She had a sense of impending doom, but chalked it up to her guilty conscience.
In the green room, which wasn’t actually green, Kendall took a bottle of water from a table full of food and drink and sat down next to the Scarsdale contingent. Lacy and her friend Cindy were practically bouncing off the walls with excitement. Naomi Fondren smiled nonstop. Despite her professional manner, Kendall had the sense the PR woman was mentally pinching herself—something with which Kendall could identify.
Then the monitors in the green room were filled with images of Chicago from the show’s opening montage. There was a shot of the cheering audience and then another camera followed Kristen as she entered the studio and walked between the audience sections to take her place on center stage.
Kendall concentrated on drawing air into her lungs, each steady “in” followed by a not-so-steady “out.” The first segment of the show featured a parade of everyday people who’d gone under the knife to resemble their favorite celebrities. There w
as a Gwyneth Paltrow, a Tom Cruise with his Katie Holmes, even a Paris Hilton. They talked and laughed about being mistaken for the real celebrities; several had signed autographs and another worked as a stand-in and body double for the star she now resembled.
Kendall found herself wondering what would move people to alter themselves so drastically and whether they ever regretted their decisions. It was hard enough to get rid of a tattoo; what did one do when one tired of having Angelina Jolie’s lips or Kyra Sedgwick’s nose?
And then the young producer came back to get her. Trying not to hyperventilate, Kendall followed her to the studio doors through which she would make her entrance. As promised, the young woman handed her over to Don, the stage manager, who had a gentle air about him.
Next to Don a TV monitor showed Kristen Calder in center stage. A projected picture of Sticks and Stones’ cover rose giant sized behind her.
“You OK?” Don asked.
Kendall nodded numbly as she heard Kristen give a brief but accurate recap of her book. And then Kendall’s stomach dropped down around her knees as Kristen Calder called out Kendall’s name.
“OK then. Here we go.” Don led her through the door into the studio.
Kristen said Kendall’s name again and with a gentle push from Don, Kendall began to walk toward the stage where Kristen stood. She got a glimpse of herself, white faced and nervous, in a monitor as she passed. After that she kept her gaze fixed on Kristen.
The applause was loud and although the studio was heavily air conditioned, she could feel the heat from the lighting grid that hung above, raining light down on stage and audience alike. A large studio camera followed her progress toward the stage, its giant box of a lens moving with her as she walked. Out of the corner of her eye she saw two other cameras pointed toward the audience, panning for reactions. Faye, Mallory, and Tanya sat somewhere in the crowd. Kendall was very careful not to look for them. She kept her gaze fixed on Kristen Calder.