Khaki

HELPING

More than for my keen eye and unexpected pairings, I’m known for having the most perfect vision in the middle of the night and getting up to call my clients. It might be a little unorthodox, but, honestly, sometimes you get such a good idea at three A.M. that you can’t contain yourself. Well, I do, anyway. Graham says regular people get up, write down the idea, and come back to it first thing in the morning.

So, that night when I woke up with a burning idea for a book, he said that most people wouldn’t have the guts to call their editor in the middle of the night. But I’m not most people. I’d dare say that most people would be a lot more successful if they’d worry a little more about making things happen and a little less about what’s appropriate. Plus, once your enthusiasm cools, the idea is half dead anyway.

After spending the entire afternoon with Jodi in my kitchen canning and boiling and learning recipes, I couldn’t stop thinking about how that girl with so much talent and so much drive was going to do something that would turn her life around. She thought that just selling out her twenty jars at the market was her big break. But I had bigger ideas. So, at three A.M., when I sat up in bed with the answer, it only seemed right to call Patrick Zimmerman—who had edited both of my books—immediately.

He answered, which isn’t my fault, really. If you don’t want to talk to people at three A.M., then you let it go to voice mail and call them when you’re ready. That’s what I say. Graham says that people always answer at three A.M. because they assume that no lunatic is going to call them then unless it is a dire emergency. He means to say that I am a lunatic. But the joke’s on him. It was an emergency.

“Patrick, I have the best idea for a new book that you are going to die to get your hands on!”

“Who is this?” Patrick asked, sleepier than a bear in hibernation.

“It’s Frances Mason,” I replied, breezily.

“Frances Mason,” he repeated. “Of course it is.”

I ignored that because I think he was also insinuating, as Graham had, that I was the only lunatic who would call him in the middle of the night.

“You know I’m always up for helping you display whatever your next amazing project is, so could this possibly wait until the morning, Frances? I have a big meeting—”

I cut him off because, no, it couldn’t wait until the morning. “Well it’s not exactly one of my projects, and someone else might have the idea by the morning.”

I proceeded to tell him that Graham had this fabulous cousin who made the best jam in the country and could can and pickle like people didn’t even know how to anymore and that she should do a cookbook. Plus, with everyone so preoccupied with gut flora lately, it would be an easy sell because she actually ferments her sauerkraut, pickles, and salsa—even sour cream.

“Why don’t you have her write up a proposal and send it to me?”

I laughed. “Don’t be silly, Patrick. Obviously I’m calling you before her.”

“Obviously,” he sighed.

“Well,” I explained, “I wouldn’t want to approach her about it and then you say no. That’s not good for a young girl’s self-esteem.”

“She’s a young girl?”

“Nineteen.”

“Hmmmm . . .” I could hear in his voice that Patrick was starting to wake up. “That’s kind of an interesting angle. A young girl who’s a culinary whiz. Where was she educated?”

I rolled my eyes. These city folk had no concept. “In Graham’s grandmomma’s kitchen.”

“Of course she was,” Patrick said under his breath. But he relented, probably because he knew he wasn’t going back to sleep until he agreed with me. “I think that sounds like a pretty salable idea, Fran. Not salable enough to justify calling me at three A.M., but if you’re willing to use your name to help with the marketing I think we could make something happen.”

“Yay!” I squealed. “I can’t wait to tell her. She’ll be thrilled!”

Only, she wasn’t thrilled. She looked like she had gotten a glimpse into the slaughterhouse and was newly vegan.

“No, no, no, no, no,” she said, shaking her head. “I cain’t do that. The recipes are all in my head anyhow.”

I put my hands on my hips. It was beyond me why all these perfectly good people in my family wouldn’t listen to me. Graham says it’s because I’m too controlling and that people can handle their own affairs. But I’m not controlling. I’m helping.

“Jodi, sweetie, you’ll be fine. I’ll help you every step of the way. I’m telling you, this could turn your life around.”

“Don’t nobody want to see my pictures in a book.”

She was so silly. Jodi was a perfectly beautiful girl whose features had never applied themselves. “Nonsense. This could be the start of something for you, Jodi. This could be the career that you were born for, that could fulfill you and make you a decent living and make sure that you’re never in a position where people like Mr. Phillips at the cleaners can boss you around again.”

I knew I was getting a little carried away. I mean, a first book wasn’t going to set you for life. But I tend to get overly excited when I get an idea in my head. Jodi didn’t look convinced. I smiled. “Forget about your pictures, Jodi. Just think about all of those gorgeous, glossy spreads of your food that will be laid out in those pages.”

“We’ll see,” was all Jodi said in response.

Where I come from, we’ll see almost always translates to yes.