sob.
Chapter Thirty Four
Cate, Melissa and Sylvia were lunching in a restaurant off-set.
"Do you remember the launch party for Cate Cooks ?" Sylvia asked Cate, as the band ran through a lazy cover of What You Mean To Me . It was still early, and therefore quiet.
Cate nodded.
"'Member how you thought it wouldn't ever get any better?"
Cate nodded again.
"And now you get mobbed at the grocery store?"
Cate snorted. "I don't get mobbed at the grocery store."
"You don't?"
"I hope the day never comes when I can't go food shopping," Cate said, seriously, a fat pickle halfway to her lips. "Wait−"
"You do, don't you?" Melissa asked.
"I send Millie," Cate answered soberly.
"John wants you in a pre-launch meeting in California−" Sylvia changed the subject.
"Now?"
"Before the publisher starts promos, they want pictures, a taped piece, signatures."
"It can't be done here? I have shows lined up until December."
"Get someone to fill in," Sylvia told Melissa.
The producer's fork stabbed at the greens on her plate. Spearing a fat tomato, she seemed satisfied. "We'll audition guest hosts, do some things without you. You'll only be gone a few days."
"We could tape two a day before I leave," Cate thought out loud. "I could fly out over a long weekend."
"The California people want you as soon as possible." Sylvia lifted a Diet Coke to her lips, the matter decided in her mind.
"When do they want me?"
"Two days."
Ch apter Thirty Five
A Jake brake rolled out its long squeal as she slowly came to. Gentle, hopeful light eased its way through the slight opening between thick curtain lengths. Cate took a minute to listen to the sounds that were new to her. A train blew only a short whistle, sounding for less time than it took her garbled brain to understand what she was hearing.
Cate lay under a thick comforter, a clean, fresh sheet between her and it. She blinked, trying to adjust to the time difference, and the jet lag she was sure she felt. She was groggy, her eyes wanting to close, her brain not wanting to awaken.
Another Jake brake rolled by. Rousing herself finally, recognizing the sound as belonging to a heavy truck on the highway outside her window, Cate elbowed her way to a sitting position.
The publisher had sent a plane (of course). Sixty-three minutes into the flight, with many apologies to Cate, the pilot had ordered an emergency landing. There was nothing Cate could do but wait for the concern to be checked and fixed.
As a storm rolled in, out of the pilot's control, John had booked several suites at a local hotel under his own name. He'd scurried to find a limo so the group could travel safely and quietly from the airport to the hotel before word leaked that Cate's party was in town. Fueled by a financial desire, John knew it would be wise to use Cate's surprise visit−but he also had to consider his interest in getting her to LA, as well as demonstrate respect for her needing to get back to Manhattan to tape The Show .
Late last night, he'd decided to take Cate out for a family-style breakfast this morning, showcasing her ability to relate. Then he'd quickly roll off to the plane and finish this trip. He called her room now to tell her.
"I'm awake," Cate assured John.
"Are you sure?" the older man teased. Cate enjoyed John. He sat in on her life like a father figure, offering gentle advice (when asked) that never led her astray. He'd been in publishing for fourty years. He knew everyone and, Cate often felt, everything. She admired him and she appreciated him.
Adaptable, Cate leaned back against a set of thick pillows, listening to John speak, one ear idly focused on another Jake brake.
"Do you want me to send a coffee service to your room?" John asked now.
Cate pictured him: the tall, silver-haired, broad-shouldered man who was always impeccably dressed. She imagined him in satin pajamas covered with an elegant bathrobe, neatly tied. Her imagination added fussy slippers. He'd have made the
Chapter Thirty Four
Cate, Melissa and Sylvia were lunching in a restaurant off-set.
"Do you remember the launch party for Cate Cooks ?" Sylvia asked Cate, as the band ran through a lazy cover of What You Mean To Me . It was still early, and therefore quiet.
Cate nodded.
"'Member how you thought it wouldn't ever get any better?"
Cate nodded again.
"And now you get mobbed at the grocery store?"
Cate snorted. "I don't get mobbed at the grocery store."
"You don't?"
"I hope the day never comes when I can't go food shopping," Cate said, seriously, a fat pickle halfway to her lips. "Wait−"
"You do, don't you?" Melissa asked.
"I send Millie," Cate answered soberly.
"John wants you in a pre-launch meeting in California−" Sylvia changed the subject.
"Now?"
"Before the publisher starts promos, they want pictures, a taped piece, signatures."
"It can't be done here? I have shows lined up until December."
"Get someone to fill in," Sylvia told Melissa.
The producer's fork stabbed at the greens on her plate. Spearing a fat tomato, she seemed satisfied. "We'll audition guest hosts, do some things without you. You'll only be gone a few days."
"We could tape two a day before I leave," Cate thought out loud. "I could fly out over a long weekend."
"The California people want you as soon as possible." Sylvia lifted a Diet Coke to her lips, the matter decided in her mind.
"When do they want me?"
"Two days."
Ch apter Thirty Five
A Jake brake rolled out its long squeal as she slowly came to. Gentle, hopeful light eased its way through the slight opening between thick curtain lengths. Cate took a minute to listen to the sounds that were new to her. A train blew only a short whistle, sounding for less time than it took her garbled brain to understand what she was hearing.
Cate lay under a thick comforter, a clean, fresh sheet between her and it. She blinked, trying to adjust to the time difference, and the jet lag she was sure she felt. She was groggy, her eyes wanting to close, her brain not wanting to awaken.
Another Jake brake rolled by. Rousing herself finally, recognizing the sound as belonging to a heavy truck on the highway outside her window, Cate elbowed her way to a sitting position.
The publisher had sent a plane (of course). Sixty-three minutes into the flight, with many apologies to Cate, the pilot had ordered an emergency landing. There was nothing Cate could do but wait for the concern to be checked and fixed.
As a storm rolled in, out of the pilot's control, John had booked several suites at a local hotel under his own name. He'd scurried to find a limo so the group could travel safely and quietly from the airport to the hotel before word leaked that Cate's party was in town. Fueled by a financial desire, John knew it would be wise to use Cate's surprise visit−but he also had to consider his interest in getting her to LA, as well as demonstrate respect for her needing to get back to Manhattan to tape The Show .
Late last night, he'd decided to take Cate out for a family-style breakfast this morning, showcasing her ability to relate. Then he'd quickly roll off to the plane and finish this trip. He called her room now to tell her.
"I'm awake," Cate assured John.
"Are you sure?" the older man teased. Cate enjoyed John. He sat in on her life like a father figure, offering gentle advice (when asked) that never led her astray. He'd been in publishing for fourty years. He knew everyone and, Cate often felt, everything. She admired him and she appreciated him.
Adaptable, Cate leaned back against a set of thick pillows, listening to John speak, one ear idly focused on another Jake brake.
"Do you want me to send a coffee service to your room?" John asked now.
Cate pictured him: the tall, silver-haired, broad-shouldered man who was always impeccably dressed. She imagined him in satin pajamas covered with an elegant bathrobe, neatly tied. Her imagination added fussy slippers. He'd have made the
Similar Books
