“Come on, Keely. Let’s get married. It’s time. It’s past time.”
They were seated on the beach in the late afternoon. The dune they leaned against was warm. The ocean was friendly, blue and white and lacework froth.
“Tommy,” Keely said, trying to keep the strain from her voice. “We’ve talked about this so often…It’s foolish to marry when we don’t have the money to rent a house, let alone to buy one.”
“Keely—”
“We’re twenty-five years old. And we’re still living with our parents.”
“Maybe your mother would like us to move in with her. Keep her from being lonely. I could fix things around the house—”
“Sweetheart, you already help her when she needs something fixed. You’re wonderful with her. You’re wonderful, period. But you want to buy a deep-sea fishing boat, and I want to write a novel that gets published, and we’ve both worked a million hours a week for the past two years and we’ve saved and saved our money, and we don’t have anything close to a down payment.”
Keely pulled her knees up and rested her forehead on them, hugging her legs tightly, trying to keep from crying. She was so tired. She had tried so hard. Tommy was a wonderful man, sexier now than when he was in high school, and he was kind and hardworking and funny. He was the whole package.
But he wanted to start a family. Now. He wanted some little Tommy Fitzgeralds running around, playing Nerf ball with him.
He really wanted, although he hadn’t yet come out to say it in words, for Keely to stop “messing around” with her “stories” and get a good full-time job, maybe something with the town, so they could have health benefits.
They’d argued about this for months. She could not get him to understand that writing was for her what deep-sea fishing was for him. She’d forced him to read a short story that was published in a literary magazine because she’d been sure that would help him understand her, her talents, her goals. Ha. He didn’t even get the point of the story. Really, he didn’t even get the point of fiction, unless it was science fiction, which Tommy said was actually kind of true because it was science fiction.
“Life isn’t all about money, Keely. Remember what you and Isabelle used to call yourselves? Surfside Sisters? Because you would both leap into life instead of dawdling at the edge, waiting until it was safe.”
Sometimes Tommy surprised her. “You remembered that? Oh, Tommy, I do love you.” Leaning forward, she kissed him thoroughly.
How much should one person ask from life? Was she greedy? Selfish? Or simply self-deluded?
These things she knew: She was fortunate to live on this beautiful speck of land surrounded by the ocean. Fortunate to have a mother alive and well and a truly pleasant companion. She had a sexy, lusty lover who was good to her and did manly jobs around the house, but she didn’t have to do his laundry or clean the sink after he shaved. She had several short stories published in literary reviews—smallish reviews, but respectable. She made a nice fat salary with Clean Sweep, and she helped her mother pay the mortgage every month. She had a best friend who was in her second year at the Berkshire Writers’ Colony, who was halfway through writing a novel.
And Keely had an agent! She had finished a novel, and sent it to an agent, and Sally Hazlitt liked it!
But would it sell? Would it get published? The chances were one in a million.
Keely wished she could send the novel to Isabelle for her opinion, and yet she didn’t want to, and she didn’t actually understand why.
Tonight was Tommy’s poker night with the guys. Keely would cook dinner for herself and her mother, do laundry, read one of the novels she’d taken from the library. A normal evening. She was fortunate. Anxious but fortunate.
She stepped out of the shower just as her cell rang. Wrapping a towel around her, she padded into her bedroom and answered.
“Keely? It’s Sally Hazlitt. I have some very good news for you.”
Keely’s heart skipped a beat. “You do?”
“Keely. Listen. This doesn’t happen very often. This is like a lightning bolt! Ransome & Hawkmore Publishing loves Rich Girl. They’re making a low six-figure offer—I might be able to inch them up a little—and they want you to come in and meet with them. Keely? Are you there?”
“I’m…I’m here. Wow. This is…”
Sally changed to business mode. “So. How soon can you come in? We’ve got a lot to talk about. Can you fly in tomorrow? You’ll want to stay for a few days.”
“Well, my jobs…I guess, but I guess I can take some time off—”
“Keely, did you hear what I said? They’re making a low six-figure, two-book contract—I might be able to inch them up a little.”
Keely couldn’t breathe.
“You’re good for that, right? You’ve got another book or two in you?”
Deep breaths, deep breaths, Keely told herself. She choked out, “Absolutely.”
“Okay, then, book a flight and let me know when you’ll be here.”
“Yes. Yes, I’ll get back to you right away.”
When the call ended, Keely didn’t move. Couldn’t. It was as if one twitch of her hand would disturb the universe around her, this universe so suddenly kind.
At last she took a deep breath. She stood up, and walked into the kitchen.
“Mom, I’m going to have a book published.”
Eloise was slicing a lemon. “What?”
“I’m going to have a book published. Rich Girl. Sally Hazlitt, my agent, just called me. I have to go to New York.”
Eloise gaped at Keely as if she were a puzzle. “I don’t understand. You’re going to have a book published?”
“Yes. A novel. I told you about it, you know I’ve been writing. I told you about Sally Hazlitt. She just called to say Ransome & Hawkmore are going to publish it.”
“This is amazing.”
“I know,” Keely agreed.
Eloise dried her hands on a towel and wrapped her arms around Keely. “I’m so proud of you. I’m so glad for you.”
“I wish Dad were here,” Keely said quietly, hugging her mother close. “I wish he knew.”
“Maybe he does,” Eloise said.
“I’m taking you out to dinner!” Keely said. “We need to celebrate.”
“Darling, could we order in? I’ve got to work tomorrow and I’m exhausted.”
“Sure. Absolutely.” Keely’s mind was spinning. “But let’s open a bottle of champagne, okay?”
“Will prosecco do?”
“Fine.” She followed her mother into the kitchen and while Eloise got down the flutes, Keely dug around inside the refrigerator to find an unopened bottle of prosecco.
Keely opened the wine and poured.
“Here’s to you, my novelist daughter!”
They clicked glasses and drank.
“I’ve got to make plane reservations for tomorrow,” Keely said. “Where’s my phone?”
“Have you told Tommy? Have you called Isabelle?”
Keely paused. “I’ll call Tommy. I don’t want to tell Isabelle yet. I don’t know why. I guess it doesn’t seem quite real.”
“Ask Tommy over to celebrate,” Eloise suggested.
“It’s his poker night. Sacred. And I’ve got to let this sink in…I think I’m dreaming.”
While Keely made the flight and hotel reservations, Eloise called Sophie T’s for two Greek salads and one small anchovy and artichoke pizza. As always, they put the salads in bowls and the pizza on plates, but Keely discovered she had no appetite.
“I’m too excited to eat,” she told her mother. “I’m nervous about what to wear in the city tomorrow. I’ve got to check on my clothes.”
“In that case, I’ll eat the entire pizza,” her mother said, with a grin.
Keely whirled around in her room, pulling out three “good black dresses,” trying them, finding her best heels, choosing a bag, digging out a small suitcase. She found her travel bag and filled it with toothpaste and brush, dental floss—where was her small jar of face cream? She couldn’t find it! And her Jo Malone perfume that Tommy had given her for Christmas? It had disappeared, too! Her hands were shaking, her thoughts running on top of each other and falling into a void, like lemmings off a cliff.
Her cell rang. Isabelle.
Should she tell Isabelle? How could she not tell her? Isabelle was her best friend. And now the luck was tilting in Keely’s favor, in a gigantic way. She was going to have a novel published!
“Isabelle, hi!”
“Keely, we broke up.”
Isabelle’s speech was shattered with sobs. She was hyperventilating, too. Keely could tell.
“Isabelle. Take a breath. It’s okay. Whatever it is, it will be okay.” She dropped onto her bed. This was going to be a long conversation.
“Gordon broke up with me,” Isabelle wailed. “For good. He’s going to marry someone else.”
“Oh, Izzy, I’m so sorry. But he was kind of—”
“You don’t have to insult him to make me feel better. I’ll never feel better. He asked me to give him back his ring! God, I feel so rejected.”
Keely watched the minutes on her watch tick by as she listened to Isabelle cry. She said the usual worthless platitudes, but nothing would help Isabelle, not now. She absolutely wouldn’t tell her about her novel.
“I’m coming home tomorrow,” Isabelle sniffed. “Will you meet me at the boat?”
“I can’t, Isabelle. I have to go off to, um, Boston, dental appointment. But should you come home? You’ve still got a couple of months at the colony.”
“I don’t give two figs about the damned colony! It’s all ridiculous, I haven’t gotten anything published. I’m on my fifty-third draft of my hopeless novel. I want to come home and stay. I need my friends, my family, my life. I need to rethink everything.”
“So how long will you be here?”
“Forever. I’m not going back to the colony.”
“Isabelle, listen to yourself. The colony has nothing to do with the fact that Gordon broke up with you. The colony is about your writing.”
“Well, you’ve been writing, haven’t you?” Isabelle demanded.
“Um, yes.”
“So I can do it, too. I can write at home. And be with all the people I love.”
They talked for an hour. Isabelle calmed down. “I’m going to pack now.”
“Okay. If you’re sure. I still think you should talk to someone in charge at the colony. Someone wise.”
“Wisdom isn’t going to bring Gordon back. I don’t need wisdom. I need comfort.”
“I’ll see you in a couple of days,” Keely told her.
Keely texted Tommy and he came to her house at midnight. He smelled of beer and the cigars the guys smoked at their poker games and he was slightly tipsy. Keely met him outside on the porch so they wouldn’t wake her mother.
Tommy ambled up toward her with a big grin on his face. “So why the urgent message?” He put his hands on her waist, pulling her toward him.
Keely put her hands on his chest, gently pushing him away. “I’ve got something enormous to tell you.”
His eyes lit up. “You’re pregnant?”
“Tommy, I sold a novel. I’m going to have my novel published and they’re going to pay me and I’m flying into New York tomorrow to meet with Sally Hazlitt, my agent.”
“How much money are you getting?”
Keely hedged that topic. “Money’s not even the point—”
“We could make a down payment on a house.”
“Maybe. Maybe we could. But, Tommy, listen, this is a very big deal! I’m going to have a novel published!”
“Yeah, I’m happy for you, babe. I get it. So how long will you be away?”
“I’m not sure. Two days, maybe three.”
“When you get home, I’ll take you to dinner at the Chanticleer to celebrate.”
Tears sprang to Keely’s eyes. “Oh, Tommy, thank you! You don’t have to do that, but I’m so glad you want to do that.”
“Crap, Keely, don’t you know I want you to be happy? Just because I never read many books doesn’t mean I can’t understand about you writing one.” He pulled her close again. “I’m proud of you, babe. I’m glad for you. I just wish you didn’t have to go away.”
“I won’t be long,” Keely said.
“Tell me when your flight is. I’ll take you to the airport.”
Keely wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him thoroughly. She was grateful for his understanding, and she was high on her fabulous news, and right then at midnight with Tommy’s arms holding her close, she thought she was the luckiest woman in the world.
The next morning, Keely wheeled her roller suitcase into the hall.
“You look lovely,” her mother assured her.
“Thanks, but I don’t want to look lovely, Mom. I want to look professional. I want to look sophisticated. I’m going to New York.”
Tommy knocked on the door. “Your chariot, my queen.” He did an extravagant bow and gestured toward his car.
Eloise came to the door. “Isn’t it wonderful news, Tommy?”
“It is. I’m really proud of my girl.”
On the way to the airport, Keely chattered as she double-checked everything in her purse. “I know I’m babbling,” she said. “Sorry.”
“Babble away,” Tommy told her, laughing.
When they reached the airport, Keely grabbed her computer, purse, and suitcase.
“Don’t come in,” she told Tommy. “I’m sure the plane is boarding in only a few minutes.”
“I’ve got to get to the office anyway,” Tommy said. Leaning over, he kissed Keely passionately, but Keely only wanted to get out of the car and on the plane and into the city.
The JetBlue direct flights from Nantucket to LaGuardia were all booked. Keely had to fly to Boston and from there to New York. JetBlue was also booked at Boston Logan so Keely had to trek over to Delta’s terminal, a hike she didn’t even mind, because she was floating, really.
She had just passed an Au Bon Pain when she heard her name called.
“Keely! Keely Green!”
She looked. She stopped dead in her tracks. “Sebastian.”
Sebastian came loping over on his long legs, lean and fit in jeans and a long-sleeved navy blue rugby shirt, a backpack fastened to his shoulders. He took hold of Keely and wrapped her in a tight embrace. He kissed her on the mouth—quickly, in a friendly way.
“What are you doing here?” Keely asked, almost angrily. Emotions battled inside her. She felt defensive, because the last time he saw her, on the Surfside Beach, Keely had been so pathetic, telling him how she envied his family, how she wanted him. Now she didn’t want to seem needy—but she did want him.
Sebastian remained wonderfully relaxed. “I’m going home. I just arrived from Stockholm. I’ve got a long wait until I fly to Nantucket. What are you doing here?”
I’m standing here with every molecule in my body playing Ping-Pong at the sight of you, Keely thought. She said, “I’m going to New York. Sebastian, I sold a book!”
“Get out of town. Really?”
“Really.” She couldn’t hold back a perfectly silly grin of happiness.
“Wow, Keely. That’s absolutely phenomenal! I knew you could do it! Look, I’ve got a long wait for my flight. Let me walk you to your gate.”
“Oh, well, thanks.” Keely felt like a child who’d been given both a bouncy house and a puppy for Christmas. So many dreams were hovering around her, she was surprised she remembered how to walk.
Sebastian took hold of her small rolling suitcase and pulled it along. “Who’s your publisher? And don’t you have to have an agent?”
“Yes. You need the agent first. And I have one, Sally Hazlitt at Hazlitt and Hopkins. My publisher will be—is—Ransome & Hawkmore. Very big deal. Sebastian, tell me about you. Are you coming home for a visit?”
“Right. Just a quick stop to see the family…and the island. I’ll be sorry not to see you.”
He has no idea what his words are doing to me, Keely thought. He was smiling down at her, warmly, even affectionately, and she swept her eyes to the floor, protecting herself from believing the tenderness in his eyes. She told herself: Right now, I’m a cute little bit of the past to entertain him before his next flight.
When she didn’t respond, Sebastian said, “But you’re on your way off the island, aren’t you? You’re on your way to fame and fortune and all your dreams coming true.”
At that, Keely had to speak. “Maybe not all my dreams.”
Sebastian stopped walking, the rolling case jerking to a stop next to him. “Keely, what do you mean by that?”
They were face-to-face now, and her heart was pounding so hard she felt herself shake with each beat. For a moment she allowed herself to study his face, memorizing each feature for the cold winter nights ahead. He was beautiful.
“Sebastian—”
He pulled her to him, one arm embracing her, and, with the other hand, cupped her head as he brought his lips down to hers. His kiss was warm, both gentle and intense. She sensed he was holding back his passion. “There. I’ve been wanting for you to grow up so I could kiss you like that.”
It was too good to be true. “The way you kiss Ebba?”
A cloud passed over Sebastian’s face. He relaxed his embrace. He grasped the suitcase again. Now his eyes were sad. “That’s complicated.”
“Yes, I thought so,” Keely said, and she tried very hard to smile in a sophisticated, you-can’t-hurt-me-kid kind of way, as if she were Madonna or anyone who kissed thousands of men. “Look, there’s my gate. Thanks for walking me over, Sebastian. Have a great time visiting on Nantucket!” She took her suitcase from him, which involved her hand touching his, which sent the entire Fourth of July fireworks going off inside her, but she was too wary to be hopeful, and she was determined.
Sebastian said, “Goodbye, Keely.”
She didn’t look back. She didn’t rush. Head high, she walked to her gate, to the plane that would take her to New York.
Isabelle had raved about the small, elegant hotel she and Gordon stayed in whenever they wanted to just “zip down” to the city to see a play or an art opening, so Keely had made a reservation there. The clerks at the Empire Hotel gave her the key to her room even though it was only one o’clock, two hours before check-in. Gratefully, Keely parked her luggage, freshened her face, and gave herself a pep talk before heading back to the street and hailing a taxi.
The Hazlitt and Hopkins Literary Agency offices were in one of the towering Lego block structures that kept the Wall Street area shady. After Keely signed in, she was directed to the bank of elevators on the left. She rode up to the fifteenth floor and stepped out into a great open space of glass and light.
For a moment, she stood there, looking around, taking a breath, reminding herself she wasn’t dreaming.
“May I help you?” asked a harried-looking receptionist.
“I’m Keely Green. I have an appointment with Sally Hazlitt—”
“Keely!” A tall, buxom woman with masses of curly red hair arrived. “Barbara, this is our new star, Keely Green. Ransome & Hawkmore Publishing just made a two-book offer.”
Before Keely could do more than smile hello, Sally whisked her off down the hall and into a glass-walled office.
“Sit.” Sally pointed to a sofa.
Keely sat.
A tall, thin, frighteningly sophisticated woman with black lipstick entered the room.
“Keely, this is Fiona, my assistant. She’ll be doing a lot of the work with you.”
“Hi, Fiona,” Keely said.
“Hi, Keely,” Fiona replied, and smiled, and all at once she was enchantingly friendly.
Fiona asked, “Would you like water? Coffee? Scotch?”
“Nothing, thank you.”
Fiona sank into a chair.
“Great,” Sally said. “So, you lucky thing, I checked your Facebook page and you’re more gorgeous than your posts. Great hair. You’re not married, no kids, right?” While Keely nodded, Sally continued, “You’re young, your book is good. We all want to see the spoiled rich girl get her comeuppance. We’re going to meet Juan Polenski, he’s your editor, for lunch, but first I want to go over some things with you. Standard boilerplate contractual blah blah blah. Here we go.” She handed Keely a sheaf of documents.
For the next half hour, Sally walked Keely through the legalese, explaining terms like sub-rights and stressing the paragraph where Keely agreed the Hazlitt and Hopkins Literary Agency would receive fifteen percent of all money due the author.
“It’s worth it to you, honey, believe me. You do the creative stuff, we work on these contracts and argue with the publishers. But you don’t have much to argue about. You have landed in a big fat garden of roses. So. Tell me about your next book.”
Keely stalled. “My next book?”
“Read the words. This is a two-book contract. They’re investing a lot in Rich Girl. They want to ride on that, and so do I, and so do you.”
Keely chewed her lip. “Does the next book have to have the same characters?”
“No. Not at all. But it should be set on Nantucket. That name is a powerful draw.”
“Okay…”
“It should feel the same, though. Young people. Sex. Complications.”
“I was thinking, something about rich summer people and the son falls in love with the maid…I’ll title it Poor Girl.”
“Love it! Oops, we’ve got to meet Juan. Let’s go.”
Sally led Keely between canyons of brick and steel to Cipriani, an Italian restaurant on Wall Street. They were seated, and a moment later a stunningly handsome man appeared at the table.
“Juan Polenski,” the man said, kissing Keely’s hand. “Keely Green. I am so happy to meet you. You and I are going to have a lot of fun together.”
“Stop it, Juan,” Sally said. “Keely, don’t get your hopes up. He bats for the other side. Juan, don’t I get a kiss?”
While Sally and Juan were bantering, a pretty young woman with gorgeous blue eyes leaned forward. “Keely, I’m Melissa Anderson, Juan’s assistant. Anything you need, let me know. And congratulations on Rich Girl. I love this book!”
And they were off, talking more than eating, laughing at in-jokes, drinking red wine and eating amazingly delicious pasta. Keely could only swallow a few bites. She was in such a state of excitement she could barely sip her water, although the wine did help. Here it was, a dream come true, lunch with her agent and her editor because of a book she’d written! She had stepped into paradise.
“See that big fat guy over there?” Sally whispered, leaning close to Keely. “He’s a literary giant, he’s won the Pulitzer and the National Book Award. He’s a famous womanizer, he tries to seduce every female he comes across.”
“Yeah,” Melissa added, “and if the woman refuses him, he’ll say, ‘Come on, honey, I won the Pulitzer.’ ”
Keely had scarcely finished laughing when Juan signaled for the check. Almost before she could believe she was talking to her editor, Keely was left standing on the sidewalk with Sally, Melissa, and Juan.
They took a cab to Ransome & Hawkmore Publishing. The offices were in a massive stone building shouldering up to a massive steel and chrome building. The foyer was impressive, and the reception area on the thirty-second floor was elegant, and then, behind the scenes, a warren of cubicles and offices and mysterious hallways spread in all directions.
They settled in a conference room, where they were quickly joined by people from marketing, publicity, digital sales, and social media. Plans were unrolled, folders handed out, and Keely tried not to smile too much.
“What’s the title of your next book?” Juan asked.
Buoyed with red wine and happiness, Keely said, “Poor Girl.”
“I like it,” Juan said. “So we’ll publish Rich Girl next June.”
“Next June?” Keely asked.
Sally leaned forward. “Publication of a novel calls for lots of production, Keely. They’ve got to create the cover, plan publicity and distribution, send advanced readers’ copies out for quotes.”
“While you’re waiting for next June,” Juan said, “you can write Poor Girl. We’ll want to publish that the following summer.”
“We need to have an author photo taken of you,” Melissa said. “Sally, I’ll talk with you about that.” Turning to Keely, she said, “You can come back into the city in a month or so, right?”
“Right.” Keely’s head was whirling.
“Okay, we’re set,” Juan declared.
Everyone rose, shook hands or air-kissed, and Melissa escorted Keely and Sally to the elevator. Moments later, they were back on the street.
Sally grinned. “We talk fast in the city, don’t we?”
Keely nodded. “Everything is so—exciting.”
“Yes, there’s nothing like the high of selling your first book. Look, I’ve got meetings now. I suggest you walk back to your hotel. It will be a long haul, but it’s the best way to see the city. You can stop for coffee somewhere. Take your time. Soak it in. Keely Green, new author, strolls the big city. Enjoy it.”
“I’ll do that,” Keely said.
“You fly back tomorrow?”
“I do.”
“Safe travels. We’ll be in touch.” Sally kissed Keely’s cheek and vanished.
Keely walked. Tentatively at first, unsure of her course, and then she found Broadway and headed north. She tried not to grin like a tourist as pedestrians, most of them yelling into phones, grimly strode past her, but she was too happy. She broke into a laugh, and thought, why not? She could talk out loud in this city. Everyone would think she was on Bluetooth.
She walked and walked, fascinated by the shop windows offering anything one could possibly dream of. She allowed herself to gaze upward at the sky-high buildings, because if she looked like a tourist, well, she was a tourist! But she also belonged to this city. She had an agency and a publisher and she was returning for an author photo. She had had lunch with her editor—she had an editor! There was something about New York that made her book more real, more exciting, more fabulous. Her mind was like a three-year-old child at a birthday party, wanting to eat more cake, open more presents, and run around the yard screaming. She kind of wanted to jump up and down, but only tossed her head and kept walking.
When she arrived at the hotel, she was trembling with exhaustion. She fell on the bed. She shouldn’t have walked all that way in high heels. She was jazzed up. She wanted to share this miraculous day with someone. Her mother was working. Tommy would grumble if she called him.
Isabelle. She wanted to share her happiness with Isabelle, who would understand like no one else could what an enormous event this was.
But Isabelle had just been dumped by Gordon—maybe this was the wrong time for Keely to share her good news?
But Tommy had probably told some of his friends, which meant someone had heard the news and called Isabelle.
And Sebastian knew.
Keely called Isabelle.
Isabelle answered her phone with two words: “I know.”
Keely took a deep breath. “You mean you know that I’m going to have a book published?”
“Sebastian called me.”
“Are you on the island?”
“Not yet. I’m packing, but I’m so miserable, I don’t have the energy to move.”
“Well…I’m in New York right now. I’ve just met with my agent—”
“Don’t, Keely. Just don’t. Don’t kick me when I’m down.”
“Isabelle, come on. I’m not trying to hurt you. You’re my best friend. I want to share my happiness with you. Like, okay, like if I have a delicious cake and I want to share a piece with you.”
“No, Keely. You have the whole damned cake and it can’t be divided. You’re going to have a book published and you’ve got Tommy.”
“Whoa, hang on. I’ve only got Tommy because you’ve been in love with Gordon.”
“Rub it in. Add salt. Now I don’t have anything and you have everything.”
“Isabelle! Don’t be this way. I want to share this with you. I mean, I didn’t want to call you right away because you called me about Gordon, and I’m so sorry, he’s an evil shit and you’re a gorgeous woman. You’ll have men around you the moment they know you’re free. We’ve always had the same dream. I want you to celebrate with me.”
“Your dream came true. Not mine.”
“That doesn’t mean your dream won’t come true! You’ve been able to go to the writers’ colony. I’m sure anything you write is better than mine—”
“Stop being so patronizing.”
“Isabelle, I’m not—”
“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be around you anymore, Keely. It hurts too much.”
“Isabelle!”
Isabelle had disconnected.