Brooke was taking Eileen Dunne to lunch. As the author was coming all the way from her hometown of Baltimore, Brooke had booked a table at Gordon Ramsay at The London to make an event of it. She wasn’t sure how she was going to justify such extravagance to Mimi when she signed off her expenses, in fact it was probably safer to pay for the lunch out of her own pocket, but, as far as Brooke was concerned, it was worth it. Already Eileen’s magician book Portico was creating a buzz around the Yellow Door offices, and not just in the children’s division. A senior publishing director in adult fiction was already making noises about rejacketing it for an adult edition and getting it shelf space in Wal-Mart, which was the holy grail for a children’s book. Hell, for any book.
To her surprise, Brooke found that she was uncommonly nervous about this meeting. She preferred to meet an author before acquiring a book to assess their marketability and whether she would enjoy working with them, but in the scramble to sign Eileen, that just hadn’t been possible. She’d spoken to her on the phone, of course, but that never really gave you an idea of who the person was. So, for all Brooke knew, Eileen Dunne was a Ku Kux Klan sympathizer with a series of dead bodies in her deep freeze. You’re just being silly now, she scolded herself, but Brooke was still edgy. Eileen’s book was fantastic, but in today’s market, that wasn’t enough – they needed a story, preferably a weepie. Brooke was well aware that J. K. Rowling’s back story as a single mum writing stories in an Edinburgh coffee shop had been perfect for developing her image as the ordinary person rising above the odds. Similarly, Stephanie Meyer’s image as a straight-laced Mormon mother, who thought of the plot for vampire love story Twilight in a dream, had worked wonders in interviews. They needed something equally PR-friendly with Eileen or there was still a chance her brilliant book would sink without trace.
Brooke tried to settle down at her round corner table and watched the opaque glass doors anxiously. Was that her? No, the woman entering was wearing a DVF wrap dress – this season’s – and Jimmy Choos. Her heart jumped again – no, just the maitre d’. Calm down, Brooke, she told herself, taking a sip of her fresh orange juice. And then there she was – Brooke was sure of it. A red-haired woman about her age, dressed in black trousers, a sparkly top and a strange nylon windcheater. She looked as if she’d been unable to decide whether she was going for a walk in the rain or for a night on the town.
Brooke felt a little deflated, but stood up and smiled as Eileen walked timidly to the table.
‘Nice place,’ said Eileen weakly, looking around. She looked as though she expected someone to eject her at any moment.
‘I love it here. They have a great bon-bon trolley,’ smiled Brooke.
Eileen sat down, carefully removing her coat.
‘Let someone take that for you,’ offered Brooke, waving to the waiter.
Eileen looked up with alarm. ‘I’d better keep hold of it; it’s my mother’s. Ralph Lauren.’
The woman flushed and for one moment Brooke wondered if she should have picked another restaurant. Eileen looked awkward, sitting bolt upright with her precious nylon coat draped over the arm of her chair. Was this all too intimidating for her? Brooke stopped herself. She was being patronizing. Still, when the waiter approached, she made sure she gave Eileen a little time to settle herself as they read the menus.
‘I’ll have the pork with apricots,’ said Brooke.
‘I’ll have the same,’ said Eileen quickly. Brooke poured their water and glanced at her new author. She wasn’t bad-looking, quite pretty in fact, but she had terrible blue eye shadow and too-red lipstick. She badly needed a makeover to bring out her best. Yes – Brooke felt sure she could help her in that department, thinking of all the designer clothes, bags, and cosmetics she got sent daily.
Eileen caught her appraising look and her hand flew nervously to her face.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.
‘Oh nothing, I just expected you to be older,’ smiled Brooke.
‘Is it the name?’ Eileen winced. ‘It’s a family tradition, you see. The oldest girl gets the same name as her grandmother. Anyway, I was expecting you to be more scary.’
Brooke giggled, thinking of the paparazzi photos that got printed in the tabloid magazines. Shots when she’d be sneezing or rubbing something from her eye or just changing expression and which always seemed to make her look in pain or miserable. ‘I get that a lot.’
She took a sip of orange juice. ‘Well, I have to tell you that we are all so excited about Portico,’ said Brooke, ‘although we will have to turn it around very, very quickly. Still, we’re getting there. The manuscript should be going into proof next week.’
‘What’s a proof exactly?’
‘An uncorrected manuscript bound up like a book. It goes out to retailers who decide if they want to order it. Then it goes out to the press so they can decide if they want to review it.’
‘Wow, that’s a lot of hoops,’ said Eileen, wide-eyed.
‘Don’t worry, the whole company is getting behind it,’ said Brooke.
Eileen nodded and looked down at her lap, fiddling with the cuff of her mother’s jacket.
Brooke’s mouth opened as she saw that Eileen’s eyes were filling with tears.
‘Hey, hey, what’s wrong?’ she asked.
Eileen shook her head, still staring down. ‘I’m sorry, I’m just so grateful.’
Brooke felt her heart swell. She was so sweet. ‘You’re grateful?’ laughed Brooke. ‘Eileen, I’m the one who should be grateful. This is the book I’ve been waiting my whole career for.’
‘But for you, Brooke, publishing books is just a job, isn’t it?’ she replied not unkindly. Catching Brooke’s expression, she added: ‘I read US Weekly. You’re rich. You’re marrying into a family even richer.’
She blew her nose on the tissue Brooke offered her.
‘The difference is that you’ve changed my life,’ continued Eileen. ‘Six weeks ago I was working three jobs. That’s not easy when you have three kids as well.’
‘You have three kids?’ said Brooke, wondering if Eileen just looked very good for her age.
‘Oldest is eight. Youngest is three,’ she grinned. ‘And, before you ask, yes, I am twenty-six.’
‘That’s incredible,’ said Brooke, taking a slow sip of orange juice. ‘Not the fact you have three kids, of course, just that you manage to do everything. You must have a very supportive husband.’
Eileen looked down again. ‘He left me last year.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I have a habit of putting my foot in it.’
Eileen shook her head. ‘Don’t be. Danny – that’s my husband – he worked at the local garage. I went down there one night and found him in the office with the boss’s PA, pants round his ankles. My friends said “forgive him”, said “you need him” – and they were right, seeing as I’m only making twenty thousand bucks a year.’
‘But you kicked him out?’ said Brooke eagerly, wanting to hear more.
‘Sure I did! You don’t stay with a man who doesn’t respect you.’ She shrugged. ‘I thought it would be scary, being left with three kids, but I guess it’s better to be on your own than with someone who doesn’t really love you. Truth is, it was never right. I married Danny when I was eighteen because I got pregnant and I used to look at him and think, “Do I want to grow old with you?” “Do I want to share life’s adventure with you?” “Do you make me happy just by being there?” And the answer was no, so things happened for the best.’
‘It was still brave,’ said Brooke, marvelling at Eileen’s story.
‘Not really, but I guess it’s paid off now. See, the week after I threw his bags on the street, I started writing the book. I used to love writing stories at school, but when I left high school and got married I just didn’t have the time. But this time, I made time. Part of the reason was to keep me busy, to stop me thinking about how he … how he disappointed me. The other reason was to try and make some money. My friends were right about that much. Even three jobs doesn’t stretch very far when you’ve got three kids.’
Brooke felt a sudden stab of shame. Since she could remember she’d always had everything she wanted: a pony, a car, fabulous clothes. She’d even miraculously got into an Ivy League college, despite her standing in the family as the ‘pretty one’ to Liz’s ‘smart one’. Eileen was right, she enjoyed her job at Yellow Door, but it was still just a job, something she did because she wanted to, not because she had to. And she realized with a terrible jolt that her wedding dress alone was going to cost ten times more than Eileen made in a year. Looking across at Eileen, she felt a rush of resolve.
‘Eileen,’ she said, ‘I’m going to make you a star.’
‘You sound like Simon Cowell,’ said Eileen more cheerfully.
‘I mean it!’
‘Really? Well, thanks,’ blushed the author. ‘But why?’
Brooke smiled. She wasn’t exactly sure herself, but she just had an urge to do her very best for Eileen Dunne.
‘Let’s just say I feel it’s something I have to do.’