“The problem is I’m losing money as a result of the bad reviews I got from the show your firm produced, and I don’t feel as if I should pay for that.”
“You are entitled to your feelings, but you signed a contract and you have to abide by its terms. We produced the show and we had all the major fashion editors in attendance, which means we met our obligation. We can’t make them love your collection. This is a democracy. If you want to make sure people fawn over your every design, invite the sycophants who work for you. I’m sure they’d be happy to kiss your ass.”
“I still don’t feel I have to pay. What are you going to do about it? Sue me?”
“No. However, I will post a message on our Facebook page that says designer Hans Müller doesn’t pay his bills on time.” Abby pulled the phone away from her ear. “How many people like us, Shana?”
“I think it’s almost 120,000.”
“Yes, I’ll post it to our page, where the 120,000 people who like us will see it.”
“Go ahead, and I will sue for defamation.”
“I suggest you give your attorney a call so he or she can explain to you that you can’t sue us. You see, as long as what I say is true, I’ve got the perfect defense. And you are thirty days late. Moreover, if you think that you can simply go to another PR firm, remember that although we’re competitors, we do talk to one another. Word gets around fast when it comes to deadbeat designers.”
“Wer dieses Weibchen am Telefon ist?”
“Ich bin das Weibchen, das diese Firma besitzt.” Abby answered in perfect German.
Hans gasped. “You speak German?”
“Ja spreche ich Deutsches. Rufen Sie mich nicht eine Frau. Ich habe einen Namen. Verwenden Sie ihn. Are we clear on that?”
“Yes, Ms. Carey.”
“Good. Now you have until the end of today to get a cashier’s check to our office to pay your balance. Haben Sie einen schönen Tag.” She hung up.
“What did you say to him?”
“I told him to have a nice day in German so I ended on a pleasant note.”
“I mean, what did you say to him before that?”
“Oh, he called me a ‘female’ in German.”
“I take it that’s another way of saying bitch.”
“It is. So I simply told him not to refer to me as a female. I have a name. Use it,” Abby said as she walked over to a counter and poured a glass of Pellegrino.
“Knowing and speaking five languages comes in handy.”
“You can say that again. I also know the word for bitch in Japanese, Chinese, Romanian, Korean, Portuguese, Greek, Dutch and American sign language.”
“Good grief, Abby.”
“If they call me the dragon lady, you know bitch isn’t far behind.”
Shana laughed. “You know he’s never going to hire us again.”
“Of course he will.”
“I’ll give you points for confidence and having a set of brass ones, Abby.”
“Thanks.” She smiled. “So how are things coming along for New York Fashion Week?”
“Overall it’s moving at a good pace. I do think that I’m going to need a few more interns.”
“We can put a call into Parsons and F.I.T., I’m sure they’ll help us out.”
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Shana called.
Senior account executive Lauren Delaney, Shana’s right hand, walked in. A fair-skinned African-American beauty with long, wavy hair and a slim build, she reminded many of Alicia Keyes.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, ladies.”
“That’s not a problem, Lauren. What’s up?”
“I just got off the phone with Hans Müller’s office. He’s having a check for the balance sent over by messenger in about an hour or so.”
“Well, I’ll be,” Shana said, astonished.
“Wait, there’s more. He wants us to do produce his next viewing.”
“I told you he’d hire us again.” Abby grinned.
“Will wonders ever cease?”
“I just thought you should know. I’ll let you get back to your meeting,” Lauren said as she left the room.
“Before I forget, I’m leaving early today. Reggie invited me to an early dinner at Le Bernadin.”
“Nice. What’s the occasion?”
“There’s no occasion. I’m pretty sure Reggie needs a favor, and it must be a doozy.”
“Did he say he needed a favor? It could be that he just wants to catch up.”
Abby shook her head. “I’ve known Reggie since we were kids, and this is about a favor. It’s no different than when we were in college and he needed my help to finish a paper.”
“What? He didn’t just ask you for help?”
“No. He’d borrow a car to bring me a Geno’s Philly cheesesteak even though it was nearly four miles from U of Penn’s campus. Then he’d ask me, knowing I couldn’t resist a hot Philly cheesesteak.”
“Who could?”
“Right,” Abby responded, smiling.
“So even though you’re going to Le Bernadin, you smell a cheesesteak.”
“You got it.”
“Are you going to take him to task for it?”
“No, I’ll wait until after I’ve ordered the lobster.” She grinned.
***
After he ordered take-out for lunch again, Sam decided it was in his best interest to work out in his home gym. In just under an hour he’d worked up quite a sweat on his Bowflex machine.
His cell rang. “Hello?” he said as he picked up a towel.
“Hello, son.”
“Hi, Dad. How are you?”
“I’m good. Were you running or something? You sound out of breath.”
“I was just getting a workout in.”
“It’s kind of late up there to be working out, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but with all the take-out I’ve been eating lately, I grab a workout whenever I can. It’s not like I’m going back to training camp.”
“I never thought I’d hear the day when you missed going to training camp.” His father laughed.
“I know I complained but I liked the camaraderie and it helped me stay in shape. How’s Momma?”
“She’s good. She went out to pick up a few more things before we leave for J.R.’s.”
Sam chuckled. “In other words, she’s picking up a few more outfits for Daisy.”
“She raised three boys. It’s her prerogative to spoil a little girl. By the way, have you spoken to your brothers?”
“I called Zeke a couple of days ago and J.R. and I exchanged a couple of texts the other day. Why? Is there anything wrong?”
“No. I just wanted to make sure you and your brothers were staying in touch, that’s all. I know Maria has gotten you waist deep in this wedding.”
“She’d like to have me neck deep in it, but I have a manuscript due soon.”
“That’s right. How’s that going?”
“At the moment, not so good.” He sighed heavily.
“Well, if you have to put your foot down about all this wedding hoopla, then so be it. Let Maria and her parents deal with it. They’re the ones that want all this highfalutin’ stuff.”
“I am the groom, Dad.”
“I know. But you seem like The Man in the Iron Mask.”
Don didn’t believe in pulling punches. Though he was a loving father to all three of his sons, he spoke his mind.
“I know, Dad. I only have to deal with this for another four months and then it will be over.”
“Good. So what are you going to do about this book?”
“I’m going to write it. Listen, Dad, I’ve got to get changed. Reggie’s coming over in a little while and I’d like to get a little writing in so I have something good to report to him.”
“Okay. Tell Reggie we said hello.”
“I will. What time are you leaving for J.R.’s?”
“As soon as your momma gets back.”
“Okay. Have
a safe trip. Kiss Momma and Daisy for me.”
“Will do,” he said cheerfully.
“Talk to you later, Dad.”
“So long, son.”
Sam took a shower and sat down to work in his office. A few hours later, he seemed to be stuck right where he started. By the time Reggie showed up he was glad for the distraction.
Although the six foot, four inch, broad shouldered, muscular Reggie was used to negotiating with some of the major players in sports, he couldn’t let his biggest client know that discussing salary caps with NFL owners was easier than asking Abby for this particular favor.
Sam went to the refrigerator. “Would you like anything, Reggie?”
“No, thanks. I’m good.” He sat down at the kitchen table. “You look pained, Sam. What’s wrong?”
“I just spent the last few hours trying to write, and my head’s killing me,” he said as he opened the bottle and took a few gulps.
“Hopefully I’ll be able to help you with that. I’m having an early dinner with the editor I told you about.”
“I wouldn’t say you told me about her. All you told me was that you were contacting her. I don’t even know her name.”
“Her name is Abigail Carey. She was a senior editor at Stillwater Publishing.”
“Abigail Carey. Where have I heard that name before?”
“It’s possible you could have read about her in the Arts and Leisure or book review section of the Times. She’s edited a number of bestsellers.”
“That’s impressive, but I don’t think that’s where I heard her name.” Sam sat down at the table. “Wasn’t she married to the Knicks’ forward, J.J. Stokes?”
“Yes, but that was many moons ago.”
“How do you know her? Did you rep her husband?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Abby and I have known each other since we were kids. I lived two houses down from her. As for J.J., I didn’t know him until he married Abby.”
“So you were childhood sweethearts.”
“No. Childhood friends. Heck, Abby was the one who introduced me to my wife.”
“No kidding. So if she’s such a great editor, why isn’t she still working for Stillwater?”
“Two words, pop culture,” Reggie answered. “Abby graduated summa cum laude from The University of Pennsylvania with a B.A. in English and she has a master’s in English from NYU. When Stillwater’s books became more commercial, Abby left. She’s a purist when it comes to writing.”
“If you were trying to make me feel better, you’re not doing a great job. She sounds scary.”
“Abby is no tougher than what you handled on the gridiron. Besides, you have a degree in English.”
“I have a degree in English from the University of Texas, not big-time schools.”
“She’s not that kind of snob.”
“Okay. If you say so.” He still sounded unsure.
“Great. Just see what she has to say. I’m sure you won’t regret this. I’ll regret this is if I’m late for our dinner. She’s cutting into her agency’s time for me.”
“Her agency’s time? She’s not a full-time freelance editor?”
“No. She’s in public relations now.”
“If she’s in PR, why would she want to help me with editing?”
“Simple, because once an editor at heart, always an editor. Trust me.”
“Do I have a choice?”
Reggie laughed and patted him on the back. “I’ve got to get going. I’ll call you later.”
Sam watched as Reggie left the kitchen. “What have I gotten myself into?”
Chapter 3
“That can’t be the time,” Abby muttered. “Leo, what time do you have?”
“It’s four-fifteen.”
Abby sighed. “I’d better get out of here now if I’m going to change and make it to the restaurant on time.” She rose, turned her computer off. “You’ll hold the fort down for me, Leo?”
“Of course I will.”
“Thanks.” Though Candy was trying to hide behind the copier, Abby walked over to her. “Candy, I want to see those revised promos on my desk tomorrow morning before you send them out.”
“Yes, Abby,” she answered sheepishly.
“Have a good night, everyone.” Abby waved as she walked out.
“You, too,” Kelly said.
“Okay, Candy,” Reed added. “You can stop hiding behind the copier. You’re safe now.”
“I wasn’t hiding,” she insisted as she sat back down at her desk.
“Right, you weren’t hiding,” Reed said.
“I don’t think Abby likes me.”
“That’s not true. She likes you.”
“That’s easy for you to say, Kelly. She never picks on you.”
“She’s not picking on you. She just wants the best out of all of us.”
“Maybe so, but it seems like I get burned by the dragon lady every day.”
Leo laughed. “Believe me, you’re only getting singed. But I will say this: if those revisions aren’t on her desk tomorrow morning, you’ll know what getting scorched by the dragon lady is all about.”
Abby and Shana each had an apartment on a higher floor of their office building. Once Abby got upstairs she walked back to her bedroom sanctuary with its king-size canopy bed, pearl-embroidered all white bedding and farmhouse bedside table. After a quick shower, she slipped her curvy size 14/16 body into a black Jones New York shirtdress that she complemented with black peek-a-boo pumps.
She sat down at her vanity table and mirror. “This is Reggie, not a date,” she muttered, pinning her hair up.
Abby got up and walked over to her full-length mirror. Not too shabby, she thought.
“I know you’re going to accessorize,” Shana said from the doorway.
With the both of them living and working in the building, Shana and Abby often floated in and out of each other’s apartments.
“I’ll wear my diamond studs and the tennis bracelet Justin gave me for Mother’s Day.”
Shana made a beeline for Abby’s jewelry box. “I think you should wear a necklace. You need something to show off that God-given cleavage of yours.” She handed Abby a white gold necklace with a heart pendant.
Abby put the earrings, bracelet and necklace on. “Now I’m going to take the bracelet off,” Abby said as she put it back into her jewelry box. “I put on all my accessories and now I’ve taken one off. Isn’t that the gospel according to Coco?”
“So you have been listening.”
“Yes. But you realize I’m not going on a date.”
“And you realize that I’m going to ignore that. You never know who might be in the restaurant and see you across that famous crowded room.”
“I love that you’re such a romantic, but that only happens in the movies. I’d better get going if I want to make it to the restaurant on time.”
“Okay. Let me know when you’re back so you can tell me what favor Reggie asked for.”
“I will.” Abby grabbed her coat and purse.
“I’ll go down with you. I still have some merchandising to do.”
“Now who’s the workaholic?” Abby chuckled.
***
Dressed in his finest Italian suit, Reggie ordered a drink. He checked the time. Abby should walk through the door any minute now. She’s never late.
The waiter brought Reggie a scotch, neat. Just as he was about to take a sip he glanced at the little paunch around his middle. Wonder how many carbs scotch has? He took a sip. When he looked up he saw the maître d’ leading Abby to the table. He stood up as the maître d’ held the chair for her. “Abby, you are as beautiful as ever.”
She turned to the maître d’. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am.” He walked away.
“And thank you for the compliment, Reggie.”
“It’s the truth,” Reggie said as he sat down.
“Now I’m wondering whether I should have worn hip boots as oppose
d to pumps for this dinner.” She grinned.
“I was only stating the obvious.”
“Nicely done, Reggie.” She surveyed him. “You look pretty good yourself. The world of sports management agrees with you.”
“Most of the time,” he said bluntly. “There are some days when I wonder wh hoe y I got into the business in the first place.”
“Don’t we all wonder that at some point?”
Their waiter walked over. “Pardon me. May I get the lady something to drink?”
“What would you like, Abby?”
“What are you drinking?”
“Scotch, neat.”
“I guess I’ll have a seltzer with a twist, please.”
“Very good, ma’am.” The waiter walked away.
“Are you sure you want seltzer? They make a great cosmopolitan.”
“You’re drinking brown liquor, which tells that I need to keep my wits about me.”
“Why would you say that?”
“You’re usually a gin and tonic man. You only break out the scotch when you need a little extra nerve. Remember senior prom?”
“Don’t remind me.” He groaned.
“You were so nervous about asking Veronica Carver you got plastered.” She chuckled. “You nearly threw up all over the girl when you did ask her.”
“She said yes, didn’t she? I couldn’t have been that bad.”
“Honey, when you’re a teenage girl and a guy gets drunk to work up the nerve to ask you out, it’s considered romantic. At seventeen it’s the closest thing to Romeo and Juliet. However, I must admit that it works for you when it comes to women. I think you were three sheets to the wind when you proposed to Danielle and she said yes.”
“I’m still surprised she understood a word I said that night.” Reggie laughed.
“She didn’t need to. Every woman understands once they see that pretty blue Tiffany box.”
The waiter brought Abby’s seltzer.
“Thank you.” She took a sip. “So let’s hear it.”
“You don’t want to order dinner first?”
“I’m too intrigued to eat. Nevertheless, it’s your choice. You can bite the bullet and tell me what you want or we can make small talk. Either way I’m ordering the most expensive thing on the menu.”
“How’s Justin?”
I Take This Woman Page 3