I Take This Woman

by Chamein Canton

  Abby immediately started to fume. “Oh, you’d better be kidding me. You are not trying to get out of this parents’ weekend. You’ve had plenty of notice to get your schedule together.”

  “Well, Dazz…” he started.

  “It figures that he would have something to do with this.”

  “You know he isn’t all bad. If he didn’t set up my appearances we wouldn’t be able to keep Justin in that fancy private school.”

  “That’s a lot of baloney and you know it. You have plenty of money. This is about your ego and having people fawn all over you. Well, I have news for you. When you have children it isn’t about you anymore. You missed the last event for parents at the school. You’d better make this one, or so help me God I’ll—” she started.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll return Beebe’s attorney’s call. I’ve been blowing him off for weeks. Maybe next time I’ll make myself available.”

  “I can’t believe you’d resort to blackmail.”

  “I don’t want you to disappoint your son again. So yes, I have no problem blackmailing you.”

  “Fine,” he huffed. “I’ll tell Dazz to reschedule.”

  “Good.” She thought for a moment. “Oh, there is something I want to ask you.”

  “First you blackmail me and now you need something from me?”

  “Yes. Besides, it’s just a question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Do the names Tom Webster and Norman Green sound familiar to you?”

  “Yeah, if you’re talking about the two football Hall of Famers. Why?”

  “No reason. I heard someone mention their names the other day and I couldn’t remember who they were at the time.”

  “Now am I off the hook?”

  “You’re off the hook for the question, not parents’ weekend.”

  “Fine. I’d better call Dazz now.”

  “Tell Dazz I said hello,” she said facetiously. “Talk to you later, J.J.”

  When it comes to that man some things never change, Abby thought as she shook her head. She couldn’t help wondering about the two large checks. She knew both Webster and Green had charitable organizations, but the checks were made out to them, not the organization. Sam Best was more intriguing that she’d thought he’d be.

  Abby went downstairs and set up breakfast in the conference room for the session with Sam. Then she put the balance of the breakfast treats in the break room and made two pots of coffee.

  The intercom buzzed.

  “Oh, is it seven-thirty already?” She looked at the clock. “It’s only seven-fifteen. He’s early.” She smiled.

  Abby went to the intercom. “Yes?”

  “Hi, Abby, it’s Sam.”

  “Come on up, Sam.” She pressed the buzzer.

  Abby quickly pulled out her compact and checked her makeup and hair. What am I doing? This is business. She put her compact back.

  Abby waited for Sam by the elevator door. A few moments later the doors opened and Sam stepped out.

  “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, Abby. I know I’m a little early.”

  “That’s not a problem. I rather like that you’re early. It tells me that you’re serious and anxious to get to work.”

  He smiled, and then took a whiff. “What’s that I smell?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing really, just some muffins and things I made for the meeting.”

  “You made them?”

  “Yes.”

  “You really didn’t have to go to all that trouble.”

  “It was no trouble. Let’s just say that you have your game day rituals and I have mine.” She smiled. “So if you’ll follow me…” She turned to lead him to the conference room.

  Sam’s eyes widened when he entered the conference room. There a table was set for breakfast with coffee and juice.

  “I did say this was a breakfast meeting.”

  “Wow.” He was speechless.

  “Have a seat.” She motioned to a chair. “Please feel free to help yourself.” She pointed to the tray set in the middle of the table.

  “This is better than the cereal I usually eat.”

  “And here I thought Wheaties was the breakfast of champions.” She smiled.

  “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

  Abby laughed. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” She picked up the coffee carafe. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Sam watched as she poured. He bit into one of the two muffins he had on his plate. Smart, gorgeous and can cook. This could be trouble for you, old boy.

  Abby couldn’t help chuckling.

  “I’m sorry if I’m making a pig of myself. This is so good.”

  “Thanks.” Abby took one of the small banana nut muffins.

  “Is that all you’re having?”

  “I’m fine with this. So please enjoy.”

  “It’s been ages since I had muffins like these.”

  “Thank you, but you’ve probably had better at a hotel.”

  “No hotel could match these,” he said as he held up the muffin.

  “Don’t you live with your fiancée?” she asked, puzzled.

  “Yes, but Maria’s better at making reservations.”

  “I see. I hate to break this up, but do you have your assignment?”

  Sam stopped and handed her his memo pad. “Here you go.”

  Sam watched in suspense as Abby read his work.

  “Please continue eating. I’m just reading for now.” Abby flipped a page over.

  “Okay,” he said hesitantly and continued to eat.

  “Is your fiancée from Texas, too?” Abby asked without looking up.

  “Yes. She grew up in Highland Park just outside of Dallas. Have you ever heard of it?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have. Wasn’t there a big murder case there some years back?”

  “Yes. It was quite a scandal. Before that I think the worst thing that ever happened was someone wearing white after Labor Day.”

  Good sense of humor. That’s promising, Abby thought, laughing. “So your fiancée comes from money.”

  “She comes from a lot of money. Maria is the youngest of three and she grew up with equestrian lessons, housekeepers, cooks and chauffeurs.”

  “That sounds nice. What about you?”

  “I grew up on a small farm about 150 miles outside of Dallas. Both of my parents worked. My father was a physical education teacher and my mother worked part time in the town library but she made breakfast for my brothers and me every morning.” He sipped his coffee.

  Abby surveyed the table. “If anything, I’d say it’s a continental breakfast.”

  Sam let her statement pass unanswered. “What about you? You don’t strike me as someone who grew up in a small town.”

  “No.” She laughed. “I’m a native New Yorker. I grew up in Baldwin, which is about six or seven train stops from Penn Station on the Long Island Railroad.”

  “Oh, okay. Now I see. You grew up with continental breakfasts.”

  “I had three brothers and now I’m the mother of a teenage boy. Though I love to cook, a quick continental breakfast gets the job done in the least amount of time.”

  “I bet.”

  “So you’re the youngest, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did your brothers play sports?”

  “Yes. My oldest brother J.R. played baseball in high school and college and spent some time in the minor leagues. Zeke played basketball in high school and college.”

  “That must have made your father happy.”

  “It did but I think he wanted all three to us to play football like him. He was All American in high school and went to college on a football scholarship.” He shook his head.

  “What position did he play?”

  “Quarterback,” he answered. “He was on track to be drafted by the NFL.”

  “What happened?”

  “Even though
his scholarship gave him a full ride, he went back to my grandparents’ farm to work during the breaks.” He took a deep breath. “There was an accident. He fell off a tractor and it ran over his arm.”

  “Oh my.” Abby winced.

  “The doctors managed to patch him up, but his throwing arm was never the same.”

  “That must have been hard for him.”

  “It was, but he finished college, married my mother and became a physical education teacher. He’s never really far from the field.”

  “How old were you when he first put a football in your hand?”

  “I can’t honestly say that I remember. It seems like I’ve always had a football in my hands. But I think I started pee wee football when I was five years old.”

  “Five years old?” Abby said, surprised. “That’s kind of young even for the pee wee league.”

  “I know. My father got a special waiver so I could play.”

  “He saw something special in you.”

  “I guess so. It seems like all my childhood memories are pigskin-colored. My father spent hours with me in the backyard practicing throws, teaching me how to stay in the pocket and how to throw when there’s no protection.”

  “Would you say great football players are born or made?” She sipped her coffee.

  “I think it’s a little bit of both. My father didn’t force me to pick up a football. I naturally migrated to it and he just built on that.”

  “Okay.” She nodded. “Now you have what you need to redo your outline.”

  “What?”

  “I want you to add what we just talked about into your outline.”

  “I didn’t do an outline.”

  “That explains a lot,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “I thought it would be better to free write it.”

  “If you were doing fiction, I’d say that was fine. However, this is an autobiography. You need an outline to anchor your story.”

  “Okay.”

  Abby reached over and grabbed his portfolio that was on the chair next to her. “I read your first draft last night.” She picked a red pen up. “Overall, your grammar and structure were solid. However, you’re all over the place. It might make sense to you, but, as a reader, I don’t live in your head, so I don’t have any idea where you’re going. An outline will help you establish a natural progression for your story.”

  “You’re saying it wasn’t good.” He sounded dejected.

  “I’m not saying that per se. What I am saying is that you don’t seem connected to your own story. There are points where you seem like a biographer writing about someone else.”

  “Ouch,” he said half jokingly.

  “I’m sorry to be so blunt, but given your success, you strike me as someone who believes in pursuing excellence both on the field and off. I’m going to help you create a book that people will read for what you put into it, not just because your name is on the cover.” She opened the folder.

  Sam’s eyes bulged when he saw how marked up the first page was.

  “I made notes in the margins to help you and I typed out some guidelines for you.”

  Sam took the folder. “Whoa.” He was in shock.

  “What can I say? Red is my signature color.”

  He laughed. “Can I tell you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “With the exception of all the red ink, this has been less painful than I thought it would be.”

  “Did you think I was going to draw actual blood?”

  “Well, yes.”

  Abby laughed. “It’s nice to know my reputation as the dragon lady is still intact.”

  “I was expecting you to be a real b—” He stopped short.

  “Ah, don’t say it yet. I’m not finished. You might change your mind.” She reached for her Blackberry. “It’s the second week of February, so it’s time to get you on the stick.” She checked her calendar. “Three days from now is Saturday. Can you have the changes plus another chapter by Saturday?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Not if you want to make your deadline. But if it’s too much, I know a lot of really terrific ghostwriters who could bang this out in no time. All I have to do is pick up the phone. It’s up to you.”

  “No. I want to write my story.”

  “Okay. Oh, wait, Saturday is usually the day couples meet with vendors. We could meet on Monday.”

  “No. Like you said, if I’m going to make my deadline, I have to get cracking. I’m sure Maria and Jess can handle things without me.”

  “All right then, how about 10 a.m.?”

  “Done,” he answered emphatically.

  Abby entered it into her Blackberry. “Okay.”

  Sam reached across the table and put his hand over Abby’s. “Thank you for taking me on.”

  Abby was unnerved by the surge that rushed through her body. “You’re welcome,” she said as she quickly moved her hand away. She looked at the table. “It looks like we did a pretty good job of making the food disappear.”

  “Who are you kidding? I made it disappear.” He chuckled.

  “Glad you enjoyed it. I’ve got to get to my work and you need to get back to your fiancée.”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, before I forget.” She took out an envelope and handed it to him. “This fell out of your portfolio.”

  Sam looked in the envelope. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.” Abby stood up.

  Sam picked up his portfolio and stood up.

  As Abby walked him to the elevator, Sam noticed the offices were still empty.

  “What time does your staff get in?” He looked around.

  “They usually start arriving at eight-thirty or so.”

  Sam smiled and nodded.

  At the elevator, Abby pressed the call button. “Are we clear on your directive?”

  Sam couldn’t help chuckling.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I guess the word directive tickled my funny bone. It sounds so proper and official.”

  “I’m glad it tickles you, but make sure it’s done when you get here. We’ve got a lot to do in a very short period of time.”

  The elevator doors opened.

  “Okay, Sam, until Saturday.” She extended her hand.

  “I think we’re past handshakes,” he said as he kissed her on the cheek. “See you Saturday.” He stepped onto the elevator.

  Abby waved as the doors closed.

  What was that about? Am I losing my edge? She stopped for a minute. We’ll see how his funny bone feels on Saturday.

  ***

  As his driver held the door, Sam climbed into the back of his Mercedes.

  “Where to, Sam?” Bryan asked as he got in and started the car.

  He looked at his watch. “Let’s head back to the apartment and pick Maria up.”

  Sam opened his portfolio and stared at all the red ink. My God, do I even know how to write? Look at this. He skimmed through the whole thing. There is not one page left untouched. I’m really going to have to push it if I want my re-writes to pass her test. He let out a deep breath then suddenly remembered that she’d seen the checks but had not asked about them. Almost everyone else he knew would have. Wow, she’s got some kind of focus if she didn’t blink in the presence of two $40,000 checks. He didn’t feel comfortable being in the middle of two women with laser-like focus. He wondered if it was too early for a drink.

  Chapter 7

  Later on that same day, Abby reviewed the spring book tour schedule in her office. Missing from the list was Book Hampton. She searched through the pages carefully.

  “Leo?” she called.

  He appeared in her door. “Yes, Abby?”

  “Who’s handling Cecilia Peterson’s book tour?”

  “Candy,” he answered.

  “Thank you. Would you have her come to my office, please?”

  “Sure.” He turned around. “Candy?”

 
“Yes?”

  “Abby needs to see you.” He went back to his desk as Candy slowly got up and went to Abby’s door.

  “Yes, Abby? You wanted to see me?”

  “Yes. I don’t see Book Hampton on the list for Cecilia’s spring book tour. She is a Long Islander and they are supposed to be very friendly to local authors.”

  “I called them and they told me that I needed to send an email, which I did.”

  “Did they respond?”

  “Yes. They told me that since Cecilia was a neighbor and not a resident of the Hamptons that they couldn’t have her signing there.”

  “So they blew you off.”

  “Yes, I guess they did.”

  “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to call the store and speak to the manager. Tell her that Cecilia is a bestselling author with HC Publishing and that we know for a fact that they’ve already scheduled several HC authors who aren’t residents of the Hamptons. Then let me know what happens.”

  “I’ll get right on it.”

  “Good.” Abby went back to leafing through the schedule. “Hey, stranger, I haven’t seen you in a couple of days.”

  “Oh, that’s as creepy as always.” Shana answered as she walked in and sat down.“So how’s it going?”

  “It’s getting crazier by the minute as Fashion Week closes in on us. Even with the extra interns it’s still hectic. But I came up here to see how your meeting went with Sam Best.”

  “I’d say pretty well. We had our first editing session this morning.”

  “So that’s why everyone has been coming up here this morning. You baked.”

  “It was a breakfast meeting.”

  “True, but you could have just as easily ordered food instead of making everything yourself.”

  “Okay, Shana, the horse is already dead. We don’t need to beat it into suede.”

  “Fine. When’s his redo due?”

  “Am I that predictable?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’re meeting again on Saturday.”