The Marriage List

by Jean Joachim

  "Hi, Carrie. He's waiting for you, go in," the chubby, brunette with the biggest, bluest eyes she'd ever seen said.

  Carrie took a deep breath and walked in.

  "Carrie, sit down," Nathan Goodhue, graying at the temples, dressed in a perfectly tailored custom-made Italian charcoal gray suit, motioned her to a chair. He sported the white shirt and red tie that senior management was often required to wear, company colors.

  She took a seat and tried, unsuccessfully, to smile.

  "Something wrong?" he asked, looking down at her from his full six feet two inches.

  She shook her head, crossed and uncrossed her legs.

  "You're not afraid of me, are you?" He asked, trying to hide a grin.

  "Are you going to fire me, Mr. Goodhue?" Carrie blurted out.

  "Goodness, no!" He laughed and sat down behind his desk.

  Leaning forward, he eyed the beautiful young woman, took a sip of coffee from the Limoges china cup on his desk, and cleared his throat.

  "You've done an excellent job her at HWB. I want to thank you by giving you a chance to show your stuff," Goodhue said then leaned back in his chair.

  A sigh of relief escaped from Carrie, then she waited for him to continue.

  "You know that the fastest way to become a creative director here is to bring in new business."

  She nodded.

  "I'm giving you a shot at it by putting you on the new business team."

  "New business team?"

  "In addition to working on the Country Lane Cosmetics account, you will now be working with Gus and Joanne on new business pitches."

  "That's a lot of extra work isn't it?" Carrie crossed her legs.

  "It does entail some nights and weekends, but I understood you wanted the fast track. You do want to be our first female creative director, don't you?" Goodhue sat back and clasped his hands behind his head.

  "Well, I had hoped…"

  "This is the way to get there…the only way. All our creative directors have been instrumental in bringing in an important piece of business. Then they run it."

  "It's kind of like doing another job at the same time, isn't it?" Her grip on her cup tightened.

  "It's more work, but you don't become a creative director without doing more than others. Creative directors must show stamina as well as spark and talent. Are you hungry enough? If you are…if you want it, you won't have a problem with a little extra work." He stood up and returned his cup to the credenza.

  "But I understand it's much more…"

  "Have a boyfriend who will object?" He turned his head and spoke to her over his shoulder as he refilled his cup.

  Carrie shook her head.

  "So what's the problem? I know three other copywriters who would give their right arm for this chance. You have more talent than they do. That's why you're getting this opportunity, first, Carrie. Take the ball and run with it." Goodhue returned to his desk and flipped up the screen on his computer and opened his calendar.

  The interview was obviously over. Carrie was stunned. She stood up, realizing she was expected to leave. "Thank you, Mr. Goodhue, for the vote of confidence."

  "You're welcome. You've earned it, my dear. Now prove me right," he said, lifting his head up to speak with her then returning his gaze to his screen again.

  Carrie walked out of his office, pasted a small smile on her face for Wanda, and continued down the hall. When she got to her office, she closed the door and plopped down into her desk chair.

  Great, more work but no more money! Some honor. Be honored to have no social life. Still, I could become the first female creative director at GWB, something I've been working toward for the past seven years.

  Carrie wondered how much more work would be involved. She had watched other copywriters burn out trying to keep up their regular workload and create brilliant new business pitches at the same time. Many quit when the pitches didn't produce the big accounts they dreamed of. Now she would be in the hot seat. It's an honor to be chosen, isn't it?

  Her thoughts were interrupted when a pretty, well-dressed, dark-haired woman stopped at her doorway.

  "Lunch?" she said.

  "Big news today," Carrie said, smiling up at Rosie Carrera, Assistant Production Manager.

  "Give!" Rosie said, entering the office and closing the door behind her.

  "Mr. Goodhue just asked me to join the new business team." Carrie leaned back in her chair and rested her feet on her wastepaper basket.

  "I hope you told him 'no', right?" She said, sinking into a modern chair across from Carrie's desk.

  "You don't turn down Mr. Goodhue. Come on." She sat up straight in her chair.

  "He's the big cheese. But you don't want to do it, do you?"

  "I want to be a creative director…so I guess I have to do this."

  "I thought you wanted to write?" Rosie asked, raising an eyebrow.

  "This is writing."

  "I mean more than advertising stuff…real writing."

  "This is real writing," Carrie said, leaning back in her chair.

  "I mean…I mean fiction."

  "That's my true love, but I can't support myself on that and Prince Charming isn't scheduled to stop at my house anytime soon, so I'm on my own."

  Carrie didn't want Rosie to know she had finished a novel, a mystery, she'd written in the evenings and on weekends when she was between boyfriends.

  "You give up too easily on men."

  "Do I? Is there one self-centered creep left in New York I haven't gone out with yet?" Carrie scoffed, taking a sip of her coffee then making a face when she realized it was cold.

  Rosie laughed, "Probably not."

  "You took the last old-fashioned Prince Charming, Rosie and the rest of us are jealous," Carrie said, grinning at her friend.

  Rosie blushed. "Yes, Eduardo is my Prince Charming. But I still have to work…just for a little while longer."

  "Then you can quit and have a baby," Carrie said, diverting her gaze out her nineteenth story window to the sky.

  "You'll have that dream someday, too, Carrie."

  "Glad you think so. I've given up."

  "Given up? You're only twenty-nine…crap!" Rosie scoffed.

  Gus Parker opened Carrie's office door and stuck his head in. "New business meeting in ten minutes, Carrie…small conference room."

  He was gone as quickly as he'd come.

  "So much for peace and quiet…and lunch today," Rosie said, getting up.

  "So it begins," Carrie said, standing up and stretching her arms above her head.

  "Enjoy this roller coaster ride, you asked for it," Rosie said smoothing out the wrinkles of her skirt before heading back to her office.

  "I did, didn't I?" Carrie said, rummaging around her desk.

  After Rosie left, Carrie pulled out a fresh notebook from under a pile of papers, tucked it under her arm. She twirled a pen between her fingers as she walked down the hall. Getting the chance you've been dreaming of can backfire. What if I'm not good enough? She chewed on the end of the pen as she approached the small conference room.

  Chapter Three

  Her palms were sweaty, her heart was beating rapidly and her mouth went dry. Carrie was about to face her first pitch on her mystery book to an editor and she was scared, scared shitless. She entered the small room set aside from the rest of the writer's conference for editors to meet with writers. A short man in shirtsleeves and wearing non-descript, brown horned-rim glasses sat behind a desk. He must be Paul Marcel, editor for Rocky Cliffs Press.

  Carrie straightened her skirt and made sure her blouse was slightly unbuttoned but not too revealing. She picked up her manuscript and synopsis and walked in, feeling anything but confident. She sat down across from him and smiled.

  He smiled back and looked down at a printed sheet. "You're Carrie Tucker?"

  She nodded.

  "Tell me about your book," he said, sitting back, folding his hands together behind his head, watching her.

&
nbsp; Just as she was about to open her mouth, a man strode into the room.

  "Paul! Wait. We need you in the conference room," the man said.

  "I'm just about to hear a pitch, Grey, can't it wait?"

  "Sorry, John is only here for an hour and if you want that loan…"

  Paul looked at Carrie and smiled again.

  "Miss Tucker…Carrie, I'm sorry but we're going to have to reschedule this pitch. I have a meeting with an investor I can't put off," he said, looking down at the papers in his hand, "I have your contact info here. I'll get in touch to reschedule."

  With that, Paul marched out of the room with the man he called "Grey" right behind him. Carrie stood up and put her hand on Grey's arm.

  "Hey! You ruined my opportunity to get my novel published! I've been waiting six months for the chance to see Paul Marcel," she shot at him.

  Grey turned. His gaze swept over her hair, eyes and figure making her feel slightly naked and yet warm at the same time. She stared back boldly at the handsome man with a dazzling smile and an impeccable gray suit, noticing how snugly his suit fitted his trim physique.

  "Give it to me," he said, reaching for her manuscript, "I'll make sure he reads it."

  Before she could move, snatched the manuscript out of her hand and walked quickly out of the room. She trailed along behind him, trying to speak, but soon he was lost in the crowd.

  What happened here? Where's my manuscript and who was that guy? Carrie found a cup of coffee and a chair. Everyone was rushing around, looking for various lectures and rooms where they were meeting with agents, editors and publishers. She watched the bustle die down as people found their places. She sat there wondering what she was supposed to do now. Her manuscript was gone and she had no interest in the workshops, lectures and marketing panels addressing attendees. Carrie looked at her watch, four thirty p.m., an entire vacation day squandered on this opportunity. She might as well wait a while to see if Paul Marcel reappeared.

  By six o'clock, most of the people had cleared out. Workers stacked chairs and collapsed tables. Famous authors chatted among themselves as they packed up and moved toward to the door. Still no Paul Marcel. But the good-looking guy wearing a gray suit who grabbed her manuscript came into the center hall, looking around. He spotted her and sauntered over.

  "Glad you're still here," he said, his eyes looking directly into hers.

  "And?" she said, trying to ignore the little shiver running up her spine.

  "I gave your manuscript to Paul and he promised me he'd read it tomorrow."

  "Why should I believe you?" She asked, noticing how broad his shoulders were but trying to keep her gaze on his face.

  "Because I'm the silent investor in his publishing house. He wouldn't lie to me. I'm Grey Andrews," he said, offering her his hand.

  "Carrie Tucker," she said, losing her small hand in the warm, dry flesh of his powerful one.

  "Carrie, I'm gathering information on eBook publishers now. Would you be willing to join me for dinner and tell me what you know about eBook publishing, from an author's point of view?"

  He's smooth, gotta give him that.

  "How do you know you want to talk to me? I might be new to this business."

  "I read some of your book, your synopsis and biography. You're a good writer, can't be that new."

  "An advertising copywriter, not the same thing," she corrected him, fascinated by the wry grin on his perfect lips.

  "Maybe not. But the work of yours that I read…was well written. You'll probably get published and be pretty successful at this."

  "So you want my opinion?" She asked, impressed he had read her work.

  "If you don't mind. Can I pay for it with a nice dinner?" He asked, moving closer.

  "Why not?" She agreed, feeling warmth in her body growing as he neared.

  "How about Le Chien D'Or?" he asked, mentioning a chic French restaurant, located on West 55th Street.

  She smiled at him as he took her elbow and guided her out of the Hilton Hotel where the meeting was being held and toward the restaurant only a few blocks away.

  ****

  Carrie didn't know if she was disappointed Grey Andrews spent the entire dinner actually grilling her about eBooks, publishing and her dreams as a writer or not. She blushed a few times under his scrutiny and when his hand brushed hers reaching for the cream, the tingle went all the way up her arm.

  She thought they had chemistry, but when he took her home, he didn't make a pass or ask to come up for coffee. He didn't even kiss her goodnight! It felt weird to be out with such an attractive man and only talk business.

  Maybe he's gay.

  "You've been very helpful, Carrie. Thank you. I'll make sure Paul reads your manuscript and gets back to you."

  She nodded and went in the door, puzzled.

  Win some, lose some.

  Carrie shrugged her shoulders and flipped on the radio as she went to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She found herself dancing to Michael Bublé's "Haven't Met You Yet."

  Chapter Four

  The next day at work, Dennis, her supervisor called her into his office.

  "I haven't seen much of you lately," he said, leaning back in his chair.

  "New business," she said, as she slid into a chair facing his massive desk.

  "Great. Country Lane Cosmetics had just been put into review."

  "What?" Carrie sat forward, her eyes widened.

  "The client is looking at us along with three other agencies."

  "Oh my God, why?"

  "There's a new president…he favors a different ad agency. He brought a new ad director with him. She likes us but doesn't have the final say. The account is in jeopardy, Carrie…and so is your job."

  "What do you mean, my job?"

  "You're the head copywriter on Country Lane. Most of your salary is paid by the fees from this account. If we lose it, there goes the money to pay you. Get it?"

  Carrie sank back into her chair and scowled. One minute I'm going for creative director, the next I'm almost out the door!

  "Don't make any plans for the next two months, Carrie," Dennis told her.

  "But I have new business work, too."

  "Yeah? If we lose this account, you won't be here to do new business. Your new business will be looking for a job. If we lose an account, heads roll. And this time yours is on the chopping block with the rest of us."

  "Tell me what you want me to do."

  "I want you available twenty-four seven. Tell new business to take a hike."

  "I can't do that. Mr. Goodhue put me on the team."

  "Then don't plan on getting much sleep," he said and stood up.

  The meeting was over. She got up and left his office thinking about how quickly her opportunity to advance might vanish into thin air. Then she wondered how she could work any more hours than she already was. It was bad enough that her work as part of the new business team kept her there a couple of nights a week and at least one weekend a month, now with this extra load, she'd never have time to write…or to date. She would remain alone.

  Worry about her job preoccupied her mind until she got home and heated up a frozen dinner. Taking her plate and a glass of wine out onto her tiny terrace, Carrie sat and gazed out at the huge city before her, thinking about her non-existent social life. She knew men found her attractive because she had no trouble finding men to date, but none of them were right for her. If they weren't jerks, being immature or selfish, then the chemistry was lacking. Then this guy, Grey Andrews, came along, with fabulous chemistry, and he was probably gay. No man, maybe no job…she felt discouraged.

  The phone rang and she managed to grab it before the answering machine went on. She took the cordless phone out on the terrace and sat down.

  "How's my favorite niece?" Delia Tucker asked.

  "Ha ha, I'm your only niece, Delia. That is getting pretty old by now."

  "Sorry. It's a habit. What's up? I haven't heard from you in a while. Working hard or occupied w
ith a new man? I'm hoping both."

  "I wish, I wish. No man. Just work and maybe not even that for much longer…"

  ****

  Across town, Grey escorted his sister, Jenna, out to dinner. She was in the Big Apple to go shopping, visit a museum or two and attend the ballet with her brother. Tonight, Grey loaded Jenna in his silver Jaguar XK and drove her down to Chinatown to his favorite Chinese restaurant. He reluctantly parked his convertible on a side street.

  After they were seated at their table, Jenna opened up conversation.

  "We're a little worried about you, Grey," she began.

  "Hmm?" He mumbled, pouring out two cups from a steaming pot of hot tea.

  "You're not getting any younger. What are you now? Thirty-four? And no wife in sight, eh?"

  "Chopsticks?" He asked his sister, offering her a pair.

  "Fork," she said, making a face and putting the chopsticks aside.

  "Jenna, just because you and Bill are happily married, doesn't mean everyone can be so easily. I've been looking, believe me."

  "Are you still holding tight to your list?" She asked, stirring a little sugar into her tea.

  "I told you, the items on the list were not negotiable." Grey opened the menu.

  "So have you met anyone who fits yet?"

  "A woman I met this week meets the first criteria. Can I order for both of us?"

  "Which one is that? Nothing weird, okay?" Jenna sat back into the red vinyl booth.

  "She's smart. Very smart. A writer."

  "Good. Maybe she'll be smart enough to figure out how to win you over."

  "I'm easy, Jenna. I told you…"

  The waiter returned and Grey ordered fried dumplings, sesame chicken and scallion pancakes. The waiter nodded, smiled and left.

  "I know, I know…" Grey blushed.

  "So this woman has made it past step one?"

  "That's not uncommon."

  "If you would only compromise…"

  The sesame chicken arrived. The waiter also deposited two small bowls of steaming white rice on the table.

  "Why should I? Those are three simple wishes to fulfill. Those are my keys to marital bliss. Without them, I cannot be a happily married man, so why should I even bother?