I Take This Woman

by Chamein Canton

  Abby got up and went to her office. When she got to her desk she picked up Sam’s folder and opened it to the writing exercises she’d planned to give him and ripped up the pages. He didn’t deserve to wade through the exercises. He needed something outside of the box. She tapped her desk. “I’ll sleep on it. Something will come to me by morning. It better come to me by then or we’re both screwed.”

  Chapter 8

  Early Friday evening Abby watched her staff as they packed up for the weekend.

  Her cell phone rang.

  “Abby Carey,” she said.

  “Hi, Abby. It’s Karen Miller.”

  Karen Miller was the host of Authors on Authors, a popular primetime East Coast radio program that featured authors talking about their work and the work of the authors that inspired them. Since the show was one of the few remaining independent programs, the list to be a guest on the show was quite long.

  “Hi, Karen. How are you?”

  “I’m a little confused at the moment. I thought Pasqual Roman was going to do tonight’s show.”

  “He is.”

  “Well the show’s about to start and he hasn’t called in yet.”

  “How long have we got until you go on the air?”

  “About four minutes.”

  “Don’t worry I’ll handle it.” Abby quickly hung up and called Pasqual.

  “Hello?”

  “Pasqual?”

  “Oh, hello, Abby,” he said jovially.

  “Hi. Do you know that you’re supposed to be on the radio with Authors on Authors in three minutes?”

  “No. I thought the interview was at eight.”

  “It’s at eight Eastern Standard Time.”

  “Oh, my goodness, I didn’t realize that. I’ll call in right now.”

  “Thank you. Have a good show.”

  Once she hung up, Abby took a deep breath and called Karen.

  “Hi, Karen. He should be on the line any minute.”

  “My producer just told me he’s on the line. Thanks.”

  “No problem.” Abby got up and walked out of her office. “Who’s working with Pasqual?”

  Candy raised her hand. “I am.”

  “Can you tell me why he thought the Authors on Authors interview was at five Pacific Time?”

  “No. I made sure I noted the time zone in his confirmation email.”

  Everyone in the office got quiet. A noted literary author and poet, Pasqual Roman was seventy-three years old and, though he had access to email, he rarely used it, making it necessary to call him for all his appearances.

  “We’re talking about Pasqual. You’re his publicist. You should know he hates email.” Abby scratched her head. “This has been on the calendar for months. You could have mailed him a confirmation. He will open actual mail.”

  “I’m sorry, Abby. I’ll fix it right now.”

  “Forget about it. I already handled it. He’s on the radio now.”

  “I’ll be sure to call and apologize to him and Karen.”

  “Good, and make sure you double-check next time. Okay, ladies and gentlemen, I’m heading downstairs. Enjoy your weekend.”

  “Thanks, Abby. You, too,” Kelly said as she collected her things.

  “Thanks.” Abby disappeared into the hallway.

  Candy was frozen.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Leo asked.

  “That was it? Just double-check it next time? I thought for sure she was going to tear me a new one.”

  “Candy, have you ever heard the saying ‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth’?” Reed asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then do yourself a favor. Pack up your stuff and take your old one out of here before she changes her mind,” Leo laughed.

  A few moments later, Abby was dodging the obstacle course of clothing racks, publicists and interns to get to Shana’s office.

  “Knock, knock,” Abby said as she entered her office. “I see we’re in full swing down here. I came to see if you need any help.”

  “At the moment I think we’re good.”

  “Terrific.” She sat down. “Have you heard from Raymond?”

  Security expert Raymond Hanson and Shana had met three years earlier. African-American with a creamy complexion, broad shoulders and tall physique made the usually stalwart Shana weak in the knees. Though their relationship was complicated by the demands of their respective careers, they did make the effort to see each other as regularly as possible. Luckily, many of Raymond’s clients were regular attendees at New York and London Fashion Week, which gave Shana something to look forward to.

  “Yes. He’ll be here by next Sunday.”

  “Great.”

  “I’m telling you I can’t wait to see my tall drink of water. Lord knows, I’m thirsty.”

  Abby laughed. “Oh, don’t forget I’m working with Sam tomorrow.”

  “How could I forget? You haven’t been with a man on a Saturday in some time.”

  “Very funny,” she said drolly. “We’re working, remember?”

  “A girl can dream, can’t she?” Shana joked.

  “You’re a hopeless romantic.”

  “Knowing that Raymond will be here I’d say that I am a hopeful romantic. And I believe there’s still hope for you.”

  “Okay.” Abby got up. “I’ll let you keep hope alive.”

  ***

  The floor of Sam’s office looked more like the Stock Exchange at the end of the day. There was crumpled paper everywhere and the usually sharp-looking Sam had begun to resemble the paper.

  Maria walked in. “Look at this mess.”

  “I’ll clean it up later. I’m still working on the rewrites, and I haven’t even begun the additional chapter.”

  “Why aren’t you using the computer?”

  “I’m still trying to figure out what I’m going to write. Once I have that done, then I will use the computer.”

  “I still don’t know why you can’t come tomorrow. We have a lot to do for the wedding. Momma asked me if I wanted her to fly up and I told her no because I thought you’d be with me.”

  “I’m sorry, Maria, but it seems like we have a lot to do for the wedding every single day. So what’s the problem if I miss one day? We are talking about place settings, for goodness sake. I know you and Jessica can handle place settings without me.”

  “That’s not the point,” she huffed.

  “Maria, I know you’re not happy about this, but I signed a contract and I have to live up to my end of the deal.”

  “If this is about the money, I told you that my father would be happy to foot the bill for the wedding.”

  Her proclivity towards bringing up her parents’ money was an issue for Sam. Like his father, he was a self-made and self-reliant man. The idea of taking money from her father, even though it was traditional for the bride’s family to pay for the wedding, didn’t fly.

  “And I told you that I’ve always paid my own bills, and that includes this wedding.”

  “Fine,” she sighed. “It’s getting late. Are you coming to bed?”

  “I’ll be there in a little while.”

  “Okay.” She left the office.

  After a few minutes, Sam picked up the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Reggie. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “No. I was up going over some reports. What’s up?”

  “I’m sitting here at my desk trying to work on the rewrites Abby gave me.”

  “And you’re feeling a little stuck?”

  “A little stuck isn’t the way I’d describe it.”

  “I’m not going to ask you if Abby gave you notes. I know she did. But the notes aren’t helping you?”

  “It’s not the notes. I just can’t seem to get it to click.”

  “It sounds like you have an old fashioned case of writer’s block.”

  “If this is writer’s block, I can see why Hemingway killed himself.”

  “Don’t even kid abou
t that. Hemingway killed himself because he was depressed.”

  “Okay. It’s still an awful feeling.”

  “Maybe what you need to do is take a break for a while and come back to it later.”

  “I’ve taken enough breaks. I’m meeting with Abby tomorrow and I’m supposed to have something to show her. I have a lot riding on this book.”

  “I know. All I can say is do your best. Who knows? Maybe something will come to you.”

  “I hope so.” He looked at the clock. “Listen, it’s getting late and I’d hate to keep one of us from getting some sleep.”

  “Okay, but call me if you need anything.”

  “I will. Good night, Reggie.”

  “Good night.”

  As Sam was about to disconnect, he saw another call come in. It was his mother.

  “Momma, is everything all right?” he asked anxiously

  “Everything is fine, don’t worry.”

  “Good.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “How are you?”

  “I’m well, son. I just got a message from Kitty Carrangelo.”

  Sam’s stomach filled with lead. “Okay.”

  “She told me that there’s going to be four hundred and fifty guests. She wanted to know if your father and I had anyone else we wanted to add to the guest list.”

  “Yes. Big Bill invited some business colleagues.”

  “It sounds like he’s attempting to invite the whole Park Cities population.”

  “He is connected, Momma.”

  “I know, but this is ridiculous. It must take me two weeks to drive past that number of people on the street.”

  Sam laughed.

  “I haven’t said a word to your father. He and your future father-in-law are already oil and water.”

  Don Best didn’t like the airs Big Bill put on. Though educated, Don spoke plainly while Big Bill made a show out of everything and was a bit of a blowhard.

  “Believe me, Momma, I know.”

  “I’ll wait a while before I tell him about it.”

  “Thanks, Momma,” he said, relieved. “Are you enjoying yourself at J.R. and Tammy’s?”

  “Yes. We’re having such a good time. Tammy’s parents came by today and we took Daisy to the park.”

  “I hope you took a lot of pictures.”

  “We did. I just figured out how to use my email so I’ll ask J.R. to send the pictures to you on the computer.”

  “Great. Well, Momma, I’d love to talk some more but I’ve got some work to do tonight.”

  “You’re talking about your book, right?”

  “Yes. I have to have something to show my editor when I see her tomorrow.”

  “All right,” she said softly. “Don’t stay up too late. You want to be as fresh as our little Daisy is tomorrow.”

  “I won’t stay up too late, Momma.” He chuckled.

  “Good night, son.”

  “Good night, Momma.”

  He hung up and stared at Abby’s notes, remembering that she’d said to begin at the beginning with his early football years. He sighed, still unable to figure how to do it. Knowing that the proceeds from the book were to go to people like Tom and Norm made it even tougher. A lot was riding on the book.

  ***

  Early Saturday morning, Abby watched Sports Center while she worked up a sweat on the treadmill. A very tired Shana walked in. Tired or not, she was still dressed to the nines.

  “Good morning, Shana. What are you doing up so early on a Saturday?”

  “I have a breakfast meeting, if you can imagine that.”

  “I didn’t think fashion people did breakfast.”

  “They don’t.” She yawned. “This was the only time Cedi had available to go over the show’s logistics.”

  Abby nodded.

  Shana looked at the television. “You’re watching Sports Center?”

  “Yes. It’s the only station not running something about J.J.’s divorce.”

  “That’s funny. You’d think they would cover it, considering he was a professional athlete.”

  “Come on, Shana. Does water roll off a duck’s back? J.J. was in the NBA. The fact that he played around with a lot of women is par for the course. If J.J. fenced or played golf, he’d probably be the lead story. No one expects this kind of behavior from those guys. At least they didn’t until Tiger made the news.”

  “True,” she nodded.

  Abby turned off the treadmill and stepped off. “What time are you meeting him?” Abby wiped her face with a towel.

  “Seven forty-five.”

  “You know it’s almost ten after now, right?”

  “Oh, my God,” Shana exclaimed. “I’ve got to run. I’ll talk to you later.” She turned and dashed out.

  “See you later.” Abby chuckled.

  Then she realized she needed to get a move on, too. Sam would be there shortly and she had a plan to help him break through his block.

  ***

  When Sam arrived at Abby’s, he was surprised to see her standing outside. “I wonder what’s going on,” he muttered as the car pulled up to the curb. Hope she’s not upset about the other day in my office. I can’t afford to lose her.

  “Do you want me to wait?” Bryan asked.

  “Yes, just until I figure out what’s going on,” he answered as he got out. He nervously walked toward Abby. She smiled at him warmly. And he breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Good morning.”

  “Good morning. Did I get my days fouled up? I thought we were working today.”

  “We are working today. You can tell your driver to go. I’ve got you covered.”

  “Okay,” he said hesitantly.

  Bryan rolled down the window as Sam walked over.

  “You can leave.”

  “Okay. What time do you want me to pick you up?”

  “She says she’s got me covered. So don’t worry about it. I’ll see you later.”

  “Have a good one, boss.” He smiled as he rolled the window back up.

  Sam walked back over to Abby.

  “So we’re all set. Follow me. ”

  Sam followed Abby into the parking garage. When they came to a black Land Rover, Abby disarmed the alarm. “Hop in.”

  Once they were both in and buckled up, they were on their way.

  “I don’t understand what we’re doing.”

  “Don’t worry. You will.” Abby grinned.

  Sam remained quiet as Abby drove through Manhattan and over the bridge, heading east for Long Island.

  He looked out the window. “I thought the only people with driver’s licenses in New York were MTA bus drivers and cabbies.”

  Abby laughed. “I know it certainly seems that way, but I grew up on Long Island where every kid spent their sixteenth birthday at the DMV getting their learner’s permit. I used to wonder why the DMV didn’t rent out space for sweet sixteen parties. They could have made a killing. It certainly would have shored up the state budget.”

  Sam laughed. “In Texas, most everyone can drive by the time they’re twelve. How old were you when you got your license?”

  “I’ve had my license since I was seventeen.”

  He glanced over at her odometer. “It doesn’t look like you’ve put many miles on the car.”

  “I only use it when I have to go out of town. I’d be crazy to try to drive myself around Manhattan every day. It’s easier to let the cabbies do it for you.”

  “I can understand that. Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure, but I’m pretty sure the answer will be to just sit tight and see.”

  “All right, that answers my question.” He smiled. “Then I guess I’d better just enjoy the ride.”

  “Now that sounds like a good plan.”

  Within fifty-five minutes, Abby pulled into the parking lot of a park in Massapequa.

  “Here we are,” she said. “Welcome to John J. Burns Park.”

  “Great. Why are we here?”

  “We’re here to help you re
connect with football.”

  “I was in the NFL for fourteen years. I’m already connected to football.”

  “I’m talking about football when you were a kid. Let’s go. If memory serves me, there should be more than a few kids on the field.”

  “But it’s not football season anymore.”

  “Did that stop you when you were a kid?”

  “No. Okay, let’s go.”

  They got out of the car and headed toward the football field, where a group of boys were playing in spite of the cold.

  “How did you know?”

  “I told you I have three brothers. My father used to drive them here on Saturdays for pick-up games. I think you’ve been spotted.”

  Within seconds a group of ten- and eleven-year-olds surrounded Sam, clamoring for his attention. Sam whistled to bring the group to order. “How about you guys let me toss the ball with you for a while?”

  The question was met with a loud cheer.

  For the next two hours, Abby watched Sam and the kids from the sidelines as he showed them different football throwing techniques. He even ran through some drills with them before getting in a couple of games. Finally worn out, he signed autographs and took a gaggle of cell phone pictures.

  Sam had a great big smile on his face as he walked back over to Abby.

  “Looks like you had a good time.”

  “Yeah.” He let out a deep breath. “It was fun. And you came out here with your brothers every Saturday? I had no idea you were such a football fan.”

  “I have a confession to make. I usually brought a book with me. The real reason I came happened after the games.”

  “What was that?”

  Twenty minutes later they were in Marjorie R. Post’s parking lot with three bags of fast food from All American, a greasy spoon that was famous for its burgers. There was only one All American in the whole country, and people came from miles around to get their famous quarter-pound cheeseburger, fries, and a thick shake.

  Sam was on his second cheeseburger. “Now I understand why you braved so many cold days. This is amazing.”

  Abby sipped her vanilla shake. “I know. It’s totally worth the extra half hour on the treadmill.”

  “Amen to that.” He smiled and then sipped his chocolate shake. “If you don’t mind me asking, are your brothers older or younger?”

  “Younger. Frank Jr. is forty. Wes is thirty-eight and Nick is thirty-six. “