I Take This Woman

by Chamein Canton

  “You’re meeting on a Saturday? That sounds like more like a date than an editing session.”

  “Please, I’m trying to work around his wedding duties.” Abby chuckled.

  “His wedding duties?”

  “Yes. His fiancée either called or texted him nearly a dozen times in the short time we met yesterday. Thank God she didn’t do it this morning, otherwise he’d still be sitting here.”

  “She sounds like one of those Bridezillas.”

  “She’s probably worse because she’s got an unlimited budget.”

  “Must be nice.” Shana sighed.

  “Now that depends on who you ask.”

  “You’ve got a point.”

  Candy knocked on the door. “Excuse me, Abby?”

  “What happened with Book Hampton?”

  “It turns out that they had a couple of dates available. I called Cecilia and we just confirmed a date in April.”

  “Nice work, Candy.”

  “Thanks.” She grinned as she walked away.

  “I guess that made her day,” Abby said.

  “No, that made her year. She’s been dying to please you.”

  “I’m not that hard on her.”

  “I’m sorry, you do realize that we’ve met, right?” Shana said jokingly.

  “So I’m a little tough on her. She has to build a thick skin for this business.”

  “Yes, but you might consider shedding a layer or two. You don’t always have to be so hard.” Shana got up. “I’d better head back to the trenches with the troops. I’ll see you later.”

  “Okay.”

  Abby watched as Shana left, wondering if Shana was right. She looked over at Sam’s folder. No. If I want things to get done I’ve got to be tough on everyone.

  ***

  Surrounded by floral arrangements in every size and shape, Sam’s head spun. He and Maria were in the presence of Preston, an event designer whose list of clients read like a who’s who in Hollywood, Beverly Hills, and the social registries of New York, Rhode Island and Connecticut.

  It was obvious that Maria was in her glory. She oohed and aahed over everything she saw while Sam was conspicuously distracted even when the man himself walked into the room. He was a lean, elegant man with gorgeous dark skin and a bright smile.

  “Hello and welcome to my design studio,” Preston said as he kissed Maria’s hand.

  “Thank you.” She giggled and then turned to Sam. “This is my fiancé, Sam Best.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Best.” He extended his hand.

  Sam was still distracted.

  Maria pinched him. “Ow.” He winced.

  “Preston is speaking to you.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” He shook his hand. “I apologize. I’m a little preoccupied. I had a meeting with my editor this morning and I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  “No need to apologize. I’ve written a few books, too. I know where you’re coming from.”

  “Well, I’m sure he’s going to put it out of his mind and concentrate on all the wonderful ideas you have for us.”

  Just then a young woman came out and tapped Preston on the shoulder.

  “If you’ll excuse me for a moment I have to take care of something. I’ll only be a couple of minutes.”

  “No problem.” Maria smiled.

  “Take your time,” Sam added.

  He followed his assistant to the office.

  “What do you mean, take your time?” Maria was a little hot.

  “It’s obvious that it’s something important; otherwise he wouldn’t have excused himself.”

  “This is important, too. In case you’ve forgotten, this is our wedding.”

  “I haven’t forgotten.” He tried to defuse her anger with a kiss.

  Unmoved, Maria turned her face and avoided his kiss. “You could have fooled me. I thought that you met with the editor early so your day would be clear.”

  “That’s right.”

  “It looks to me like you might as well still be in her office since that’s where your head is.”

  “I’m just a little overwhelmed, Maria,” he said, frustrated.

  “I don’t know why you signed that contract in the first place. It’s not like you need the darn money for the wedding. Daddy said—” she began.

  He quickly interrupted her. “That’s neither here nor there now. I just have to get the book done.”

  “Then do me a favor and make like Scarlett O’Hara and think about it tomorrow.”

  Preston returned and Sam did his best to be interested in vase heights and goblets, but his mind kept drifting back to his book and, more importantly, his editor. Abby was that famous enigma wrapped in a mystery, and he was more than a little intrigued.

  By the time he and Maria got back, she was positively giddy with excitement.

  “I’m telling you, that man is a genius.” Maria grinned as she placed the sample arrangement he’d made them on the dining room table.

  “Yes, he was good.”

  “Is that all you can say? He was good? Look at this.”

  “Okay, he was fantastic.” Sam sat down.

  “Are you still obsessing about your book?” she asked with her hands on her hips.

  “I can’t help it. There’s a lot to think about.”

  “There’s a lot to think about for this wedding, too.” Her cell phone rang. She looked at the display. “It’s my mother. I emailed her the pictures I took with my phone.” She hit the talk button. “Hello, Momma? Aren’t the flowers spectacular?” She walked away.

  Sam got up and headed for his office.

  He sighed as he sat down and picked up his manuscript. “Red everywhere.” He leafed through the pages again. Panicked, he picked up the phone.

  “Hello? Abigail Carey speaking.”

  “Hello, Abby. It’s Sam.”

  “Hi, Sam.”

  “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “No. What’s up?”

  “I was just sitting here going over your notes and I wondered if you’d clarify something for me.”

  “Sure.”

  “Do I have any business writing in the first place?”

  “Yes.”

  “It doesn’t feel like it.”

  “Have you finished your wedding errands for the day?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you’d like I could come by and go over a few things with you.”

  “That would be great.” He sounded relieved. “Do you know where I live?”

  “Yes. You live in The Trump World Tower.”

  “How did you know?”

  “You’re kidding me, right? You’re a celebrity and you live in one of ‘The Donald’s’ properties.”

  “I see your point. I’m in apartment 59-B.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you in a little while.”

  “Thanks.” He hung up.

  Maria walked in. “Who was that?”

  “It was my editor, Abby. I asked her to come by. Is that all right with you?”

  “If it will get your head out of the ground, I’m all for it. My mother gave me a few suggestions for Preston. I’m going to call him. I’ll be in the bedroom. Let me know when she gets here. I’d like to meet her.”

  “Okay.”

  She walked out.

  Though Maria wasn’t the typical jealous type, she was keenly aware of a beautiful woman’s presence around her fiancé and tended to stay in the vicinity to keep an eye on things. Sam could only hope she’d stay calm when she met Abby. He took out a piece of paper and quickly dashed off an outline to make it look like he’d done some of his assignment.

  ***

  Coat on and ready to go, Abby stopped by Shana’s office. “I’m heading out for a little while.”

  Shana looked up. “Is everything all right?”

  “Everything’s fine.” She smiled. “I’m just heading over to Trump World Tower to see Sam. He’s having an attack of red anxiety.”

  “An att
ack of red anxiety,” Shana repeated, perplexed.

  “It’s the natural aversion writers have to editors when they are faced with corrections or notes.”

  “So basically they get freaked out.”

  “Exactly. I know how he feels. The same thing used to happen to me when my parents would mark my papers.”

  “I still can’t believe your parents graded your homework.”

  “They believed that as teaching professionals they had to make sure their children were held to the same standards as their students. I will admit it was like having two Zorros in the house.” She made the mark of Zorro in the air.

  Shana laughed. “Wait a second. I didn’t know that you made editorial house calls. This sounds like Sam is getting special treatment.”

  “It is special treatment. I’m not an editor anymore. I’m doing Reggie a favor.”

  “Going over to his place to hold his hand sounds like you’re going above and beyond the call of duty.”

  “It’s not a big deal. I left Leo in charge upstairs.”

  “Okay. I’m sure he’ll hold the fort.”

  “I’ll see you later.” Abby walked out.

  ***

  Overlooking the United Nations, The Trump World Tower stood majestically over the skyline of Manhattan and the East River. Once Abby’s car dropped her off, she looked up at the sumptuous building before entering the lobby.

  After the bellman announced her, she took the elevator to the fifty-ninth floor.

  When she rang the bell, Sam opened the door. “Hi. Come on in, Abby.” He motioned.

  She looked around the apartment with its oversized floor-to-ceiling windows and views of the river and city.

  “You have a beautiful place here.”

  “Thanks. Can I take your coat?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Abby took it off and handed it to him. “I half expected a maid to answer the door.”

  “The maid is off today, you have to settle for me,” he said as he hung up her coat in the hall closet.

  Abby smiled. “Oh, my goodness. Is that the Empire State Building and Chrysler Building I see?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s very nice.”

  “Hello.” Maria entered the room with her hand extended. “I’m Sam’s fiancée, Maria Carrangelo.”

  The two women shook hands.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Maria. I’m Abigail Carey.”

  “So you’re the woman who is going to whip Sam’s book into shape.”

  “Something like that.” Abby grinned.

  “I’ll let you get to it then. I have some phone calls to make in the bedroom. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” Abby said.

  Maria walked back to the bedroom.

  “She’s very beautiful, Sam. You’re a lucky man.”

  “So they tell me. Would you like a tour of the place?”

  “I’m tempted, but I think we should get to work.”

  “Okay. Please follow me.” He led her to the office. Abby took a seat.

  “So what’s troubling you, Sam?” She crossed her legs.

  Sam tried not to notice her shapely legs as he picked the manuscript up.

  “You don’t have to show me. I know what I wrote. Besides, I get the sense this isn’t about a dangling participle or run-on sentences, is it?”

  “Every time I sit down to write, I worry about what the reviewers are going to say and how people are going to receive it.”

  “That’s your first mistake,” she said bluntly. “Book reviewers and readers don’t want you to write for them. They want to open a book and discover the man behind the blue jersey in his words.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is this a little too much self-awareness for you?”

  “I know it sounds stupid coming from someone who has his face on cereal boxes and sports drink ads, but—”

  “You’re uncomfortable turning inward.”

  “Yes.”

  “Where’s your outline?”

  “It’s right here.” He reluctantly put it in front of her.

  He majored in English, right? she thought as she glanced over it. “You only have two things listed here.”

  “I know.” He looked down, embarrassed.

  Abby took a pen out of her purse. “Divide it into three main categories: your early years, college and the NFL. Then all you have to do is add the subcategories,” she said as she finished writing. “Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “You’re making this harder than you need to. I think you’ve gotten too close to it. You need to step back a bit.”

  “Don’t I need to be close to re-examine my life?”

  “No.”

  Sam looked confused.

  “Have you ever pressed your face against a mirror?”

  “Sure. Who hasn’t?”

  “What do you see when you open your eyes?”

  “I see myself.”

  “But you have to step back to get a clear view of your reflection, right?”

  “I never thought about it like that before.”

  “No one really does. What else is troubling you?”

  “I know you told me to start at the beginning, but I haven’t really figured out how to do that.”

  “You’re a Nike spokesperson. Just do it. We’ll figure it out as we get further along in this process. Trust me. You’ll have a finished book on time.”

  Excited by the confidence in her voice, Sam pulled his chair closer to hers and put his hand on her knee. “Thanks.”

  An unexpected tingle rushed through Abby’s body and she moved her leg. “You’re welcome. Okay. I’d better get going.” She quickly stood up.

  “Do you have to leave so soon?” He stood up.

  “Yes. I really should be getting back to my office. I want to give you a chance to write before our next meeting on Saturday.”

  “Okay. I’ll get your coat.”

  Sam and Abby walked out into the living room and he retrieved her coat.

  “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” Just as Abby tried to take it he stopped her.

  “Allow me,” Sam said as he slowly helped her into her coat.

  “Okay then. I’ll see you soon.” Abby hurriedly opened the door and left.

  The sound of the door closing brought Maria out of the bedroom.

  “Did Abby leave?”

  “Yes. She had to get back to her office.”

  “Oh. Do you feel better now?”

  “Yes. You know, I was a little surprised that you didn’t stick your head in the office.”

  “Why?”

  “I know how you usually get when there are women around.”

  “I didn’t have anything to worry about. Abigail is a pretty woman, but—”

  “But what?” he asked.

  “She’s a little thicker, that’s all.”

  “What do you mean, thicker?” Sam took offense.

  “All I meant is that she’s voluptuous.” She folded her hands. “Why are you getting so worked up over a simple adjective?”

  “I’m not getting worked up. I just wanted to know what you meant.”

  Her cell phone rang. “It’s my mother. She called Preston.” She picked up. “Hi, Momma. What did he say?” she asked as she walked to the kitchen.

  I never thought I’d see the day when I’d say this, but I owe Kitty one, he thought.

  ***

  Though she was still flustered by Sam, Abby threw herself back into work when she got back to her office. I can’t think about this. She logged back onto her computer.

  “Where was the fire?” Shana asked as she entered Abby’s office.

  “What makes you think there’s a fire?”

  “You practically flew right by me downstairs.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I just have a lot on my mind.”

  “I guess you heard.”

  “Heard about what?”

  “Beebe was on The View today.”
<
br />   “Oh, good grief.” Abby rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me. I’ve heard it all before.”

  “I won’t. Are you okay? You look a little pale.”

  “I’m fine.” Abby picked up the phone. “But I think I’m going to reconfirm my appointment with the headmaster at Choate on the fourteenth. With all of this stuff going on, I want to hear what he and Justin’s teachers have to say.”

  “Good idea.” She looked at her watch. “I’ll let you make your call in peace. I’ll see you later.”

  “Okay.”

  Her phone call over, Abby got up and went to the window. Why in the world did Sam touch my leg like that with his fiancée in the next room? She scratched her head. That’s what I get for making an exception. When Abby closed her eyes she relived the sensation. I have to stop this. It’s bad enough that Justin has one parent who’s ruled by impulse, she thought as she went back to her desk.

  Later on that night with the workday behind her, a restless Abby attempted to settle in with a book but was unable to relax. She flipped on the television and channel surfed until she landed on the NFL Network.

  She was about to change the channel when she suddenly stopped and turned the volume up.

  It was a rebroadcast of the National Football Players Association Board of Former Players’ press conference about former players’ health care. As the camera panned through the audience, it stopped to note Norm Green and Tom Webster, both of whom were in wheelchairs.

  “Oh, my God.” She reached over to get her laptop to Google their names.

  Abby’s eyes widened as she came up with thousands of topics and articles about them. She spent the next couple of hours reading about former players who could barely afford to keep up with their living expenses, including Norm Green and Tom Webster, who were at the forefront of the battle to increase former players’ pensions so they could live their lives with dignity.

  She was stunned to hear that The NFL Players’ Association got an estimated $80 million annually from their third-party agreements, but retired players only got $10,000 a year or less. Then she realized what the checks she’d seen meant: Sam Best must be helping retired players.

  Abby did a search for Sam Best and charities and found that he publicly supported a lot of charities, but there was nothing about helping indigent players. She nodded to herself, impressed. Here was a guy who put his money where his mouth was and didn’t shout it from the mountain, unlike most celebrities.