Chapter 12

“So,” Murray said, as Annie took her jacket off. “What are you waiting for? Call already.”

“Give me a chance to breathe, will you,” Annie replied. Sunday had probably been the worst day of her life, she reflected. In spite of Annie’s sitting by the telephone for hours, waiting for it to ring, Chris never called. Twice she had dialed Torey’s number. The first time she got a busy signal, and the second time, she hung up before the phone had a chance to ring. Suddenly she didn’t know what to say to Torey. She was afraid she would yet again say the wrong thing and damage the friendship permanently. She’d spent half the night crying, and the other half having bad dreams. School on Monday hadn’t been all that much better, with a surprise quiz in physics for which Annie was completely unprepared, and the first appearance of the Bulletin. The newspaper actually looked as good as Annie could have imagined. It wasn’t that she wanted it to be a disaster without her. But now that her life was a disaster, she didn’t care to see how little they had needed her after all. And she was in no mood to be gracious about the fine job Mrs. King and the staff had managed.

“Fine,” Murray was saying, as Annie began paying attention to him. “Your jacket is off, your breath is caught, feel free to take your shoes off, make yourself at home, just as long as you make that phone call.”

“I have to find the number,” Annie said. Murray wasn’t behaving the way she wanted him to either. Of course the way she wanted him to behave was unlikely under the best of circumstances. She dug through her pocketbook until she located the slip of paper she’d scribbled the number on, and made a big production of showing it to Murray.

“Great,” he said. “Remember how to dial?”

“It’ll come back to me,” she replied. “Murray, do you have to hover so? You’re making me nervous.”

“I’m moving,” he said, and inched away from her, although nowhere near far enough for Annie’s satisfaction. “So dial already.”

“Murray,” Annie said, but she dialed. Someone said “Boston Morning” and Annie asked for Stacy Livingston. Murray began pacing. Annie raised her eyes to the heavens.

“Stacy Livingston,” Stacy said a moment later. Annie was grateful she was put directly through and didn’t have to go through lengthy explanations about who she was and why she was calling.

“Hello, Stacy, this is Annie Powell,” she said, trying to sound as if it were the most natural thing in the world for her to be calling. “I was on the show a couple of weeks ago.”

There was a pause, while Stacy obviously tried to remember who Annie Powell might be. “Image,” she said. “The high school girl.”

“That’s right,” Annie said, although she wasn’t thrilled by the description. “I’m glad you remember me.”

“I remember you very well,” Stacy replied. “You were a godsend that day. Dan sang your praises all afternoon.”

“Thank you,” Annie said, wishing she could hang up on the spot.

“So what can I do for you?” Stacy asked.

Annie was reasonably sure she heard a smile in Stacy’s voice, but that didn’t mean she had forever to make her speech. “I saw some talent that I thought might be good for Boston Morning,” she began. “And I just wanted to call and tell you about her.”

“Of course,” Stacy said, sounding a little more distant. Annie had a sudden image of Stacy picturing Annie calling to recommend the star of her senior class play, or a truly fabulous cheerleader she’d seen at a local game.

“Her name is Barbara Sullivan,” Annie said, trying to sound self-confident. It didn’t help that she could see Murray biting his lip in the corner of the office. “I saw her Saturday night at one of the local clubs.” For one awful moment, she couldn’t remember the name of the club. She only hoped Stacy wouldn’t ask which one it was. “Anyway, she sings ballads and stuff, normal kinds of songs, and she has a nice voice, but what makes her special, why I thought of her for Boston Morning, is the songs she writes herself. She writes satirical songs, about local politics, and she’s very clever. The songs were really good, and the audience seemed to like her, and I just thought she’d be perfect for Boston Morning. Local talent, you know.”

“Yes, I do know,” Stacy said. “And it’s interesting that you should call to tell me about her. You’re the third person who’s mentioned her to me, and I can see that I’m going to have to hear her sing and soon.”

“You mean you think you’ll put her on the show?” Annie asked, trying to keep the relief out of her voice. She certainly didn’t want Stacy to think Barbara Sullivan was some kind of long-lost relative.

“We’ll give her a call,” Stacy said, “and set up an audition. Is she still appearing?”

“I think so,” Annie said. “I mean, I don’t know her, I never even met her, but I was so impressed with her and I just naturally thought of Boston Morning, and I think it’s great that you’re taking my recommendation.” She wished she could make her mouth stop moving.

“Thank you for the phone call,” Stacy said. “And for thinking of Boston Morning, Annie. I appreciate it.”

“Thank you,” Annie said. “I mean, you’re welcome.” She wasn’t sure what she meant anymore, so she hung up before Stacy had the chance to make polite hang-up noises of her own.

“So?” Murray asked practically before Annie had the phone back on the hook.

“She said she’d call Barbara Sullivan this week and set up an audition,” Annie replied. “Satisfied?”

“Satisfied?” Murray said. “Anne, you’re a wonder.” He walked over to her and gave her a smacky sort of kiss on her right cheek. “Now get out of the way and watch a master at work.”

Annie got up and walked away from the phone. Murray picked it up, grinned broadly, and dialed a number.

“Adam, Murray Levine here,” he said. “I’m fine, right, and you? Great, great. I just wanted you to know that I pulled a few strings, and Stacy Livingston, she’s the producer of Boston Morning, she’s agreed to audition Barbara for Boston Morning. She’s planning to call later this week. Yes, that’s right. I don’t know for sure, but I think it’s her satirical numbers they’re most interested in. Right. Well, when I hear about talent, I like to do what I can to help it along. That’s right. Well, I just wanted you to know, so you could tell Barbara, give her a little warning. All right. You’re welcome, Adam. I’m always pleased to be of service. Bye.” He hung up the phone and grinned some more. “He’s thrilled,” he said to Annie. “Television. You could practically hear him salivate. I’ll tell you, that Barbara Sullivan is one lucky chicky.”

“I don’t believe you did that,” Annie said.

“Did what?” Murray asked.

“Acted like it was because of you she’s gotten that audition,” Annie told him. “You wouldn’t go hear her sing, I had to do that, and you said that Boston Morning won’t take your phone calls, so I had to make the call, and then you don’t even mention me. You took all the credit for something I did.”

“I said I pulled some strings,” Murray replied. “And I did. I pulled your strings.”

“That’s not fair!” Annie shouted at him.

“Fair?” Murray said. “What does fair have to do with this? You want I should tell this man, one of my biggest clients, that I sent some high school kid to hear his most precious sing, and that she’s the one who called Boston Morning, because she has more connections there than I do?”

“You didn’t have to put it quite that way,” Annie said. “But I deserve some credit.”

“You want credit, here’s credit,” Murray said. “Thank you, Anne. You want me to give you a standing ovation while I’m at it?”

“I don’t believe you,” Annie said. “You think it was easy for me to make that phone call? You think I wanted to make it? I did it because you practically begged me to.”

“You did it because it was part of your job to do it,” Murray declared. “Just like it’s part of my job to call my client and tell him the good news. In the way I think is most appropriate. Now don’t act like a baby. Act like a grownup.”

“Don’t say that to me. I don’t think what you did was appropriate at all,” Annie said.

“Let me tell you something, young lady,” Murray said. “You are one smart girl, and you’re going to go far in this world. But there’s a lot you don’t understand about the public relations business. The idea is to make your client feel happy. That’s what it all comes down to, making the client happy. And you do that by making him think he’s the most important person in your life. You coddle him, and you praise him, and you act as though your entire universe revolves around him. And the best way of giving that impression is not by saying some high school kid made a phone call for you. I said I pulled some strings, and as far as I’m concerned that’s exactly what I did. So what are you complaining about?”

“I’m complaining because I did all the work and got none of the credit,” Annie said. “I don’t mind working for practically nothing, or even giving up a Saturday night to see someone you’re too embarrassed to take your wife to see. But at least give me credit where credit is due.”

“Thank you, Anne,” Murray said. “That’s your credit. Keep up the good work, and someday this will be Levine and Powell Associates. Does that satisfy you?”

“No,” Annie replied. “I don’t care to wait that long. I don’t like being treated this way.”

“Honestly, you’re overreacting,” Murray said.

“I’m not,” Annie said. She got up and grabbed her bag.

“Where are you going?” Murray asked.

“Away,” Annie said. “As far away as I can manage.”

“Fine,” Murray said. “And don’t be in any hurry to come back.”

“I wouldn’t come back for all the tea in China,” Annie declared, and threw her jacket over her shoulder. “See you around, Murray.”

“Right, Madam Bigshot,” Murray said.

Annie resisted the temptation to stick her tongue out at him and ran from the office. She couldn’t believe what a nightmare her life was turning into. Why couldn’t Murray treat her with just a little respect? She’d done what he asked her to do, what he couldn’t do himself, and all he did was say he’d pulled her strings.

It was no wonder Murray was hiring high school and college “associates.” The amazing thing was that anyone stayed with him for any time at all. Annie had been there for almost a month, and she was probably the record holder.

By the time she got home, she was shaking. The only thing she wanted was to be alone, preferably for the rest of her life. Naturally, her father was sitting in the livingroom, reading the paper, looking as if he had all the time in the world to kill.

“Hi, Annie,” he said. “Aren’t you home early?”

“What if I am,” Annie said. “You mind?”

“No, of course not,” her father replied. “What’s up?”

“Nothing’s up,” she said. “Everything’s down, if you really want to know.”

“Want to tell me about it?” he said, and cleared a space on the sofa for Annie to join him.

“It’s Murray,” Annie said. “I called Stacy Livingston at Boston Morning and I was really nervous about it, but she remembered me, and I recommended the singer, and she said she’d give her an audition.”

“Because you recommended her?” Annie’s father asked.

“A couple of other people did too,” Annie replied.

“Oh, all right,” her father said. “I would have been surprised if she went on your word alone.”

“Why?” Annie asked. “Why would that surprise you?”

“No reason,” her father said.

“Come on,” Annie demanded. “You said it, you must have had a reason. What is it?”

“It’s just you’re a teenager, that’s all,” her father replied. “It has nothing to do with you. So what did Murray do when you told him about the audition?”

“He took all the credit for it,” Annie said. “He called up his client, and he never once mentioned me, and he acted as though he’d discovered Barbara Sullivan all on his own, and he never even heard her sing. I did it all, and he took all the credit, and he wouldn’t even tell me he was sorry.”

“You didn’t really expect him to, did you?” Annie’s father asked.

“Expect him to do what?” Annie asked.

“To give you credit,” her father said. “To apologize for not giving you credit.”

“Yes,” Annie said. “Sure. Of course I expect him to do that.”

“That’s not the way the real world operates,” her father declared. “In the real world, the workers work, and the bosses take the credit. And they certainly don’t apologize for it. Someday, you’ll be old enough to understand.”

“I understand already,” Annie told him. “I’m not a child, Father. I did spend a summer working in New York.”

“If you can call that work,” he replied.

“What do you mean by that?” Annie asked. “What do you think it was?”

“You girls were treated like gold. Sure, they made you run around the office, and carry manuscripts, but they didn’t give you any real responsibility. It was make-believe work,” her father said.

“You weren’t there,” Annie retorted. “How come you think you know what it was like when you weren’t even there.”

“I’ve heard what you told me,” her father said. “And frankly, while I think you had a wonderful time, and the people at Image obviously knew what they were doing with the four of you, they clearly didn’t turn you into professionals. That wasn’t their intention. You had a good time, you got to meet some interesting people, you got a glimpse of what’s involved in putting a magazine together, and you got your picture taken. Fine, but it’s not the real world.”

“You’re always doing that,” Annie said. “Do you know it?”

“Doing what?” her father asked.

“Putting me down,” Annie replied. “Thinking that if I’m involved with something then it can’t be worth very much.”

“Don’t be foolish,” her father said. “That’s simply not true, and you know it.”

“It is too true,” Annie said. “If you ever listened to yourself, you’d know it. You’re always telling me that people aren’t going to remember me, or that I’m not going to get to be on the TV show, or that Chris isn’t going to show up for our date. Now you’re saying that an internship at Image, which thousands of girls applied for, wasn’t worth very much either. I remember when I applied for it, you told me I’d never never make it to the first cut, and then when I did, you said I certainly wouldn’t get it because that was when the real competition was going to happen and there were thousands of girls all over the United States with real credentials. That’s exactly the term you used, real credentials, as though mine were fake somehow. And when they did accept me, you told me not to get my hopes up that they’d put me on the cover …”

“Well, I was right about that one at least,” her father said, trying a chuckle.

“You had no way of knowing,” Annie said. “You just assumed it because I was the one involved. If it’s me then it can’t be special. Is that how you think, Dad? That somehow I’m not special enough for people to remember me, or want to be with me?”

“No, of course not,” her father replied. “Of course you’re special, Annie. You’re a beautiful girl, and I’m very proud of you.”

“Sure you are, Dad,” Annie said. “Just as long as I don’t expect too much of the world, I’m special. The minute I go after something, though, or the minute the world acts like maybe I am worth something, you act like nothing good is ever going to happen to me, and if it does, it has nothing to do with me. I’m sick of it, Dad. I’m sick of the way you talk about me. I’m sick of your entire goddamn attitude.”

“I don’t think you’re being fair,” her father said. “And when you calm down, I think you’ll see you owe me an apology.”

“Don’t wait up for it,” Annie declared, rising from the sofa.

There was the sound of a key at the door, and as Annie stood there, staring angrily at her father, her mother walked in. “Hi there,” she said, with the cheery sound of someone who has no idea of what she’s walked into. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Annie said angrily. “Absolutely nothing.” She stormed out of the livingroom and raced upstairs to her room, before she had a chance to say anything to her mother that would kill their relationship as effectively as she’d killed her relationships with Torey, Chris, Murray, and her father.