Cliff was beginning to warm to the notion of a female’s fresh perspective. “Not so much all that women’s libber bra-burner crap, though,” he emphasized. “That may work for some rags out West but not for our readers.”
And when was the last time you did a poll on what your readers want, she would like to have challenged him. Instead, she bit her tongue and let him rabbit on about what an idiot his last editor, Marty, had been. “About your age, too,” he realized. “By the way, how old are you?”
Clearly, Kate thought, Cliff had never bothered to brush up on what constituted inappropriate questions. She opted to make him do the math himself and replied with the year she had graduated.
“Yeah, that’d be about right,” he said. “So, you must’ve known him then?”
“Not that well.” She hoped it would be to her benefit, given Cliff’s reputation to judge everyone by the company they kept.
“Well, he used to show up in shorts and those cheap Hawaiian shirts to take Garden Club pictures and then brag about what a great spread of free food they had. And, of course, he couldn’t take an in-focus shot to save himself.”
And the reason you even put this idiot on your payroll was what?
“I assume you’re pretty good with a camera?’ he continued. “You didn’t mention it in your ‘Dear John’ letter.”
I’m never going to hear the end of that, am I? “I’d be happy to bring you some of the samples in my portfolio,” she offered. “Would tomorrow be all right?” Twenty–four hours, she thought, should be enough time to put something together that would meet his persnickety taste. “I covered quite a few celebrity events for Vegas Essential.”
To her surprise, Cliff interrupted to tell her that it wasn’t necessary. “I’m having a thought,” he announced. “Fluffy piece that’s right up your alley.”
Now he thinks I’m ‘fluffy’?
In the next breath, he explained that there was a woman who was starting up a school. “The kids who go to it are kinda slow if you know what I mean,” he joked, “but if their check clears for advertising, we’ll owe ‘em some ink. Maybe above the fold if your work’s any good. Think you can handle it?”
Kate did a quick tally of the past 20 seconds. He thinks I’m a lightweight, he refers to special needs kids as ‘slow’, he’s questioning my ability to put a story together, and he’s offering me a front-page slot. A part of her wanted to stand up at that moment, thank him for his time, and leave. On the other hand, she was intrigued enough about his mention of the new school that she could justify her acceptance of the assignment as a way to help Jimmy. “How soon would you like it done?” she asked.
“Soon as I give you a green light.” There was no sense in giving her any of their contact info, he explained, until the ad itself was a done deal.
In the awkward silence that descended, Kate realized there’d been no talk as yet about pay nor whether he was open to her pitching a few freelance ideas she wanted to develop.
“Was there anything else you’d like for me to work on?” she ventured to inquire.
“Nope, not off the top of my head. I’ll get back to you.” He made a dramatic point of looking at his watch, a sign to Kate that their meeting was over. His gaze fell on the letter to John and the check that had fallen out of it. “You’ll probably be wanting these back,” he said in a good ol’ boy voice that rankled her even more.
Kate rose to thank him for his time even though she still wasn’t sure how exactly any of it bode for the future.
“You can tell Yvette to put in an order for cards on your way out,” he curtly instructed. His private line rang before she could ask him to explain what he meant by that and she found herself being shooed off in the same manner one would bat away a flying insect at a picnic.
The good news was that she could count on Yvette to decipher it for her. The bad news, though, was that Yvette was on the phone and in the arduous midst of taking a complicated classified ad from someone whose first language obviously wasn’t English or Spanish. Rather than wait around for her to finish, Kate scribbled a Post-It note. Cliff said to order cards. Yvette grinned, gave her another thumbs-up, and went back to her phone call.
I guess that’s a good sign, Kate mused as she let herself out, conscious that there was now a slight spring in her step that hadn’t been there when she arrived. It vanished just as fast when she glanced at the letter and check in her hand and realized she still had to deliver them. With any luck, John would already have left for work.
“I’m probably the last person you expected to see,” John said when Lydia opened the door.
“No, that would probably be Robert DeNiro,” she replied with an uncharacteristic show of humor.
John wished he could have countered with a clever impersonation of either one of them but the only line he could remember on such short notice was, ‘You talkin’ to me?’ Unfortunately, he realized, it probably would advance the cause of trying to win Kate’s mother to his side. Instead, he apologized for disappointing her.
“Kate’s not home,” she informed him, turning away for a moment to catch the squealing Jimmy before he barreled out the door and straight into John’s legs. “Looks like one of us is pleased you’re here,” she remarked.
John let her snub slide and replied that Kate wasn’t the one he’d come to see. “I think you and I have some things to talk about.”
“Oh? I can’t imagine what.”
“The truth is, Mrs. Toscano, we’ve all made choices in the past that probably felt right at the time we made them. My being here’s gotta be pretty awkward for you ‘n’ all but you may as well know that I know what’s going on and, between you and me, I don’t mind how many people I have to slip a word to.”
Lydia stiffened. “Do you think that’s such a good idea?”
“If it would help Kate, I’d do anything.”
“And how would you…telling what you know possibly ‘help’ her?”
“Word travels fast in a small town but, in this case, there’s no harm in giving it an extra nudge. I was hoping you’d be pleased.” He studied her face. “From the looks of it, though, I don’t seem to be accomplishing that.”
“I can’t believe you’d stoop to something that…that low,” she said coldly.
“Uh, how is helping your daughter and Jimmy stay in Avalon Bay a bad thing?”
“What?”
John scratched his head. “Are we on the same wavelength here?”
“I’m not sure,” she cautiously replied. “What are you talking about?”
He grinned. “Ladies first.”
“No, you,” Lydia said. “I insist.”
To Kate’s relief, John’s truck was nowhere in sight at his parents’ house. The plan was that she’d simply tell his mother about the mix-up in envelopes and ask her to please see that John got the right one this time. Then she’d be on her way.
The sound of Shelby vigorously barking on the other side of the door seemed to suggest that Mrs. Neal was on her way to answer it. When a longer time passed than she would have expected, however, she determined that maybe the dog was home alone. She started to bend down to put the letter and check under the doormat when she heard a thump from the other side and a tentative jiggle of the doorknob.
Rather than get knocked silly a second time by the household’s black and tan canine bullet, Kate stepped to the side as the door slowly opened. When she saw the difficulty with which the older man in the wheelchair was maneuvering to look out at her, she felt even worse for having come back. Two unsettling thoughts raced through her mind simultaneously. This is John’s father. This is the man my mother was going to leave us for.
“I’m so sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”
Shelby, surprisingly docile this time, only gave Kate a cursory sniff, wagged her tail, and then loyally circled back to her master’s side.
“Cookies,” the man murmured, half of his mouth drawn into a smile.
He thinks I’m selling cookies? She couldn’t begin to imagine what part of her outfit, much less her age, made him think she was a Girl Scout. “No, sir,” she cheerfully replied, “I don’t have any cookies.”
“Cookies,” he repeated a little louder. He lifted his hand over to stroke Shelby’s back. “Shelby…likes…cookies.”
“Oh, well then, I’m doubly sorry I didn’t bring her any. Maybe next time.”
He thoughtfully nodded at this and the sincerity of the gesture suddenly overwhelmed her with sadness. He looked back up at her. Whether his squint was part of an attempt to focus or simply because the morning sun was directly behind her, Kate couldn’t be sure. She moved slightly to the left to put his questioning face in shade.
“I brought something for John,” she continued. She started to hold out the envelope to him, then hesitated, sensitive to the possibility that he might not be physically strong enough to hold on to it.
He nodded. “You know…John,” he asked.
“Yes, I know him. We went to school together a long time ago.” Another lifetime.
He continued petting Shelby. “John,” he mumbled, “should…go.”
“Go where?” Kate gently asked. Out of my life? Out of your house? Out of this town?
Sean Neal took a deep breath. “School,” he replied. “Tell…him.”
I have no idea what that means. “All right, sure. Next time I see him, I’ll mention that.”
This seemed to please him. His rheumy eyes now gravitated to the envelope in her hands and she saw a brief flicker of something that looked like fear in them. “Money…doesn’t bring…him back.”
It was Kate’s turn to look confused. What has John told you about me? “I just wanted to pay his traffic ticket,” she explained, a little defensively, but the older man’s attention had wandered off to the sounds of a woman pushing a stroller across the street. For a fragile moment, Kate was reminded that she was experiencing the same kind of frustration level she sometimes had in communicating with Jimmy. I wish I knew what it was you were trying to tell me. She cleared her throat and announced that she needed to be on her way.
She bent down to prop the envelope against the wall just inside the front door. “I’m just going to leave this right here,” she said, “so John can get it next time he’s here.” She felt compelled out of courtesy to ask him if that was okay.
“Okay,” he murmured. “John.”
It wasn’t until she slid behind the wheel that Kate realized whatever resemblance she had to her mother, once supposedly the great love of Sean Neal’s life, had failed to register on him at all. And, for that quiet quirk of irony, she breathed a sigh of relief.