Chapter 28

“ … fame.
If it comes at all it will come because it is deserved,
not because it is sought after.”
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I’ve taken Ho-Bee for his walk and sit now in Kari and Clint’s living room. Jaime’s at a hotel making arrangements to fly home. Randolph has yet to call me though I’ve uploaded the Dr. Phil tape to him. I know as soon as he watches it he’ll be ready to strangle me that the Oprah wedding is off. I have to tell him that I want to buy back Miranda’s story but he’ll figure that out too. Without the Oprah connection, Ardor Publishing isn’t going to publish my book anyway.

Ho-Bee jumps on his imaginary trampoline up and down, doing the same thing but never getting any closer to the frog collection. Does he expect different results?

At least Jaime and I are truthful now. I feel no pitter patter of my heart when I’m with him. Even if he insists on staying in America to let events unfold between us, I know that as children are in my heart, law enforcement is in his and never the two shall meet. Miranda knew it too. That’s what the new ending I gave Irving was all about. My story knew the right ending before I did.

“I had no idea,” Kari says when I tell her what Dr. Phil labeled “the deal breaker” for our relationship. “You’ve never said much about wanting kids.”

“Neither have you,” I say. “But your car talked.”

She looks puzzled.

“I found the pregnancy test the day I fumigated your car.”

She frowns. “It’s a client’s. We … my biological clock blew its alarm when I was twenty-five. We thought we’d live our lives happily without having children. Lots of people do. It’s something we learned to live with. But then you came to stay.” Kari smiles. “And we went to the Children’s Museum. After that trip and watching you struggle these past weeks to find what you want, Clint and I had another serious talk. We’re thinking about adoption.” She blushes and I can see her as a beautiful mom.

I high five her. “I didn’t know,” I say. “I mean, you don’t even have a dog.”

“Dogs aren’t a pre-requisite for kids, Hon.” I get up and turn on the gas fireplace as Kari says, “You and Jaime would have each other too, you know.”

“But it wouldn’t be enough. I know that our love isn’t enough or I’d have risked and remained in Spain. Truth is, I just don’t love him in the way a future wife should. I was whipped off my feet, just like with Stuart, only this time I did admit to myself that it wouldn’t work with Jaime even before I knew I didn’t love him.”

“So Oprah isn’t going to know your name or make you a bestseller after all.”

“I read once where Oprah said that if you don’t know yourself before you achieve fame then fame will define you. I don’t have to worry about fame defining me … but I almost did.”

Kari lifts her glasses from their dangle cord around her neck, perches them on her nose, then looks over the top of them at me and says in her best counselor voice: “Está aquí. A wise place to travel to.”

“I’ll have to get a job to pay everything off, pay you back, and buy Miranda back, the works. I have lots to get done.”

“Will you publish your book yourself?”

“I don’t know. It might be that AP is right and it’s not the great American novel. I mean in a good romance, the boy gets the girl, so I don’t think Miranda’s life qualifies. Maybe I could self-publish it but I’d hire an editor. I need editing like Ho-Bee needs his walks. I think I’ll let it sit awhile and then reread it and revise it yet again before I decide to save up enough to self-publish.”

“People who do self-publish have to do a lot of self-promotion, I’ve heard.”

“Yeah. And we see how well I’ve done with that!”

“Your eyebrows will grow back.”

“But not before my first job interview. When I get back to Milwaukee I’m going to see if my preschool teaching position is available, but I’ll take whatever I can get that’ll give me more time for my Reading Ready program kids. Maybe I’ll work for a doggy day care place. Ho-Bee would love that.”

“You’ve found your treasure, Annie, and reached the final stage of grief. Acceptance.”

“But didn’t you say that the cycle can begin again? That it’s just part of living?”

“We have to keep renewing what truly matters or the grief can take us back, that’s true.”

I nod. “I just hope I don’t make a fool of myself hanging on to a fleeting treasure.”

“I actually feel … serene,” I tell Misty over the phone. “I’ve reenergized myself with daily devotionals.”

“That’s good,” Misty says. I can hear Norton’s television program rattling in the background when I call. Misty’s come to the phone breathing hard. She’d been exercising, getting back into her original pre-Norton weight so she can Walk for The Cure with her friend. She’s got us planning to do that too, as a team.

“The thing I feel sad about is that I didn’t meet my bestseller goal, that I failed … us. Even if we went on Oprah’s show as Randolph planned, she wouldn’t know me as an author and that was what it was all about, promoting the story.”

“I’ve been thinking it was about something more,” Misty says. I can hear her chomping a carrot now. “Maybe we failed you by not better refining the goal. People accomplish their desires because they’re certain of their destination, where they’ll end up. You didn’t really want to get Oprah to know your name. You wanted to be famous, right, so the books would sell?”

“I had mixed goals.”

“Right. Becoming famous is dependent on someone else. Fame doesn’t mean fulfillment. A real goal is one you can work toward making happen and it doesn’t require another person’s doing something. A satisfying goal is one that can make a difference in the lives of others as well as your own, don’t you think? We came up with schemes to get attention for you but attention wasn’t really it. I mean, you got attention. You made the evening news.”

“Twice.”

“You had fifteen seconds of fame.”

“As a soot-stained alien whose eyebrows were eaten by moths.”

“They’ll grow back.”

“I now have the attention of several lawyers and insurance companies and the local police and maybe the EPA and Homeland Security. At least Ho-Bee wasn’t taken from me.”

“See, there’s always a silver lining.”

Bette has a different take on my treasure as we have another conference call. “I think you wanted to find a way to know that the work you do is worthy. You gave Oprah the power to do that for you and that’s silly, really. You’re the only one who can decide if the work is worthy and it’s worthy if you’re staying close to the true Provider of a satisfying life. Fame has nothing to do with it. If only one person reads it and says, this mattered to me, you’ve done worthy work, don’t you think? Even if it’s a child you encourage with your Reading Ready program. That makes writing worthwhile.”

“You could be right.”

“You just want to make a living, like the rest of us, and if you can do that while doing something you love, well that’s wealth. That’s fulfillment. I think that’s what you were really after. But if you have to take a part-time job or a full-time one and still pursue your dream, that’s all right. You’ll have more gruel to feed your story.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I wrote that book not just to make sense of what was happening between Jaime and me, but to forgive myself for making such a big mistake in marrying Stuart.”

“It wasn’t a total mistake,” Darlien says. “You learned from it and didn’t repeat it with Jaime. I’m working on why my marriages have ended as they did. Maybe some time we’ll talk about that, Annie.” Darlien offers another insight from her cell. “You have to have a good time,” she says. “I love to win when I compete in golf but what matters is letting yourself take in the good things we’ve been given and caring about the people you’re with and what they bring to your life. You should frame those emails from happy readers. They’ll remind you why you write.”

“Then why was I so discombobulated after seeing that my editor is the author of a successful children’s book? Am I jealous?”

“Maybe you’re still not certain that Miranda of La Mancha, or what did you change it to? Never mind. Maybe that isn’t the right book for you to write,” Misty says. “Maybe those green eyes are telling you to look at something else. Your editor is doing what he loves. Maybe that’s what you envy.”

“Here’s another way to look at this, Annie.” It’s Bette. “When geese are in the V formation, the lead goose takes all the hits, like you did. But while she’s flying, she creates a vortex that lets the other geese travel along behind her with less energy. The lead goose sort of brings the other geese along, pulls them into that vortex. Look what seeking your goal did do: I’ve met Arnold and a terrific bunch of kids. Darlien’s eating better than she ever has.”

“That’s true. I ate sushi last week!”

“Misty, Misty’s going to Walk for the Cure helping other people and getting herself back in shape, right Misty.”

Misty concurs.

“And Kari?”

“Clint wanted a dog,” Kari says. “And we’ll get one now. But we’re also going to start the adoption process for a child. Bette’s right. You’ve pulled us along with you and we’ve all discovered new things. Our prayers for your success were answered. Just not as we imagined.”

I’d often wondered why Marion Plush’s pictures didn’t appear in his/her books; only the illustrator’s photo graced the jacket. Maybe Irving wants people to think it’s a female author writing his children’s book. John Wayne’s real name was Marion. A lot of men were called that in earlier days. Women can be seen as more nurturing, better with young children than men. But he might have told me. I was right there, asking about Marion Plush, for heaven’s sake, gushing over her work. He’d deceived me while we talked about authenticity.

On the other hand, he seems perfectly happy to write without having everyone know who he is. Fame isn’t part of his promotional pattern. I wish I could talk to him about that.

What am I thinking?

Our relationship is severed, or at least will be once Randolph tells them I want to pay the advance back and control the work once again. I’ll make it into something I want to write, wanted to write in the first place and see what other new insights the story might tell me. Hopefully AP will find another title to slip into that spring slot, another new author joining that splash down the publishing water slide. Miranda will have to wait but I’ll return to her with a clear head. What was it Thoreau wrote? “Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth.” Both Bette and Darlien are on the line. “I can drive down and get you,” Darlien says. “But not this weekend. There’s a Packer game.”

“I’ll take the bus back. Jaime’s returning to Spain. We’re still friends. He says we can stay with him whenever we venture to Europe again.”

“I’m sad for you,” Bette says.

“Don’t be. This is really better.”

“I still feel badly that we didn’t help you reach your goal.”

“You guys have set me straight. I accomplished all kinds of things, including now having a great dog to share my time with. I learned how far I’m willing to go to reach for fame and the cost of that. I’ll have great stories to tell people the next time they say, ‘You know what you should do? You should get Oprah to pick your book.’ “

“Let me know your schedule,” Bette says. “Arnold and I will come by and pick you up at the bus station.”

“You and Arnold are quite an item,” I say.

Bette giggles.

I see Jaime off at the airport.

“I enjoys America,” he says. “Good peoples live here. I make it on television news program my first visit,” he grins. “It will be hard to top that.”

“Maybe the next time don’t wear an elf suit.”

I watch until his British Airways plane lifts from the tarmac, waving Jaime into the future as well as my past.

Back at the condo I pack my collection of goodies accumulated while in Chicago, mostly related to Ho-Bee’s needs. I contact the bus about bringing the dog with me, how large a kennel I can have. Luggage filled and accounted for; Clint hugs me and tells me to invest wisely. He scratches Ho-Bee’s head and I think he might be a little sad to see his canine cohort leaving.

“Can we stop at the bookstore on the way?” Kari says. “I’d like to pick up Marion Plush’s new book for one of Clint’s nieces, for Christmas.”

“Tibidabo. Sure. I need a copy for myself. Maybe I’ll send one to Jaime’s niece and nephew.” When was Irving’s signing? I can’t remember. Learning who the author was that day with Jaime so distracted me I didn’t take note of the date. “Maybe the bookstore will have signed copies left.”

“I’ll see,” Kari says as she parks the car.

“I’ll wait here,” I tell Kari. “I’m a mess. But pick up two other copies, all right? I’ll pay you back, I will.”

“Oh come on in. Ho-Bee will be fine for a couple of minutes. You love bookstores.”

“My absent eyebrows will scare little children,” I say.

“They’ll think you’re a character out of Where the Wild Things Are.”

I slide out, make sure Ho-Bee has a window cracked, and follow her into the store. A small cluster of readers sit in a semi-circle in the author area. A white-haired man in cowboy boots bends over his books, signing his name. Irving. My heart does a little skippy beat.

“Just pick up the books from the side table. They have the ‘author signed’ stickers on them,” I whisper to Kari, push her forward. I crouch behind the book shelves. Lemony Snicket and Madeleine L’ Engle look over my shoulder from the shelf.

Kari decides to wait in line to speak to him!

No! Just pick up the books.

Irving looks up when Kari reaches him. He stands and shakes her hand, his eyes soon searching over her shoulder. He doesn’t offer to sign the books Kari holds. He acts as though he doesn’t realize she’s there anymore; that anyone is. Eyes glued to mine, he leaves people waiting as he walks toward me.

My palms feel sweaty. I steady myself by clinging to the bookshelf that’s not nearly as sturdy as it looks. I long for chocolate. Good, Barcelona chocolate.

“Annie. Miss Shaw. I’m so glad you came. So pleased.” He takes my hands in his. His touch feels hot. His forehead wrinkles as he looks at my missing eyebrows but only for a moment. Then his eyes are back to mine.

“Tibidabo,” I say.

“Excuse me?”

“Your book. The Barcelona title. Congratulations. I didn’t know. I didn’t realize.”

“I meant to tell you in the office that day but things got convoluted. I meant to say that I had an idea for a different publisher for your Miranda, that any more changes would have diluted the spark that’s you, which your readers have come to expect. But I didn’t. An editor always has to be wary, especially one who is also a writer and not only an avid reader, not to impose their voice onto another author. We run the risk of imposing.”

“I needed imposing. Especially with Miranda,” I say. He’s still holding my hand. “But buying the book back will be better for me. I’ve decided to put my Miranda on the back burner, where she’ll simmer rather than take over my stove, my kitchen, my life.” I’ve been rattling along and he’s let me. I lean closer into the book shelf.

He smiles. He does have the most engaging smile. “I’m occupied here, for a little while yet. Could you wait? Perhaps we could have dinner together? We could get a cab back to your cousin’s.”

“My cousin —”

“Won’t mind, do you think? But I’ll ask,” Irving says. He turns to wave at Kari but I know the answer to his question, not her.

“ ‘I will not go there,’ says the cat. ‘I will not go there, that is that.’ “

“Excuse me?” Irving says.

“Just a phrase from a children’s story that’s been living in my head,” I say. “I’m on my way to the bus station,” I tell him. “I’m heading back to Milwaukee.”

“Would you consider delaying for a day? Please?”

My hesitation is shorter than my eyebrows.

“I have commitments to keep so no. But you can write me if you wish. I promise I’ll answer more quickly than I did before.”

He looks disappointed but he accepts. “You know how to write your own story,” he says. “I’ll call you. Will that be all right?”

“I’d like that.”

“I will go there,” said the cat. “I will go there, that is that.”

This is your story speaking. I thought you’d lost your way but you’re back on track. All of us are afraid of being humiliated, looking foolish. It’s part of our story. You think Oprah doesn’t have her trials? Of course she does. You think Oprah never felt foolish, made a choice she regretted? She wakes up like you do everyday asking herself what kind of day to make it. Like her, you can ask how you’ll bring a lift to another person’s life, hoping to have the courage to face whatever trial will come your way. Take a little time to pat a dog or stroke a cat. Even famous people have to get up each day and write their story. It’s what living looks like.

Reading a good truthfully told story does fill people up. Your job is to listen to the next story calling your name and write it down. That’s me of course. If you don’t write me down, I’ll find someone else to do it, I will. If you don’t write me down the way your heart tells you to, you’ll miss the lesson and the blessing every story promises even when you’re the only one who knows my name. And for the record, fame is a door best opened without pushing.

Your friend, Story.

Randolph hasn’t spoken to me, but Irving tells me that he’s being very professional in my efforts to buy back Miranda. Soon, she’ll belong to me again and Randolph might handle my next writing venture whatever that may be. Clint has a lawyer friend who is taking care of my letter writing to Élan-Canine Salon, the chef’s restaurant, the spa’s window damage, my fines to the City of Chicago, and will go with me to the interview with Homeland Security about the catnip mice we sent to reviewers. I’m not on anyone’s most wanted list. No sheep are walking around bleating at me as a “Baaaad woman, baaad woman.” I’ve placated the animal rights people by sending them photos of Ho-Bee’s perfectly healed ears.

I’ve signed up to be a substitute teacher back in Milwaukee. The school’s just a block away here in Shorewood. I can walk to work and while I won’t get rich financially, creative thinking will surround me as little wings of destiny flutter through my days drowning out the sound of the ticking of my organic clock. Buster from the Reading Ready program has welcomed me back and I’ve signed up for a few more kids to read to, too. I’ll volunteer for another Sunday school class next year; the kids are in love with Bette, just as Arnold is.

I finished the cat picture book just before Christmas. I’ve started a young adult novel about a young American girl forced to move to Spain with her family and how she overcomes her loneliness. It’s good work, engaging and much harder than I thought it’d be. And I’ve already decided that when I finish it, I’ll use a pen name and not my real name. So I can keep who I am separate from who I am when I write. Something with a unisex name like Billi or Robin but not Marion.

Last week, I wrote the grant to fund an afterschool writing project in the mall. I call it “Treasure Shopping with Words” because that’s what we’ll be doing. It’s what I’m doing now with my life.

Irving signed a copy of his book Tibidabo to me and brought it to me for a Valentine’s Day gift when he flew in to meet my parents. The book is a reminder of what I won’t ever do again: to try to have it all in return for something that doesn’t fill me up.