Chapter 22

As I cleaned the clams, I thought about my battle with Banning House Publishing. After finishing college, I worked as a receptionist for a dental office during the day and at night, I wrote romance stories. I sold a few short stories while I was in college to some women’s magazines. I sent manuscripts to every publisher that I could find. In the end, the rejection letters almost destroyed me, until I got an acceptance letter from Banning House.

My first novel sold okay but not great. But they gave me another chance and I produced two more novels that actually sold quiet well. I got along fine with my publisher until the forth book went on the best-seller list. The feud started when I made the best-seller list for the second time. They wanted to turn me into a ghost writer and let a strikingly beautiful actress promote the book that was out selling any book they had ever published and to also promote the book that I was working on. My publicist tried to convince me that I was lovely enough but the image most of my readers had of me was exactly like the covers of my books. The painted covers held beautiful women with bodacious curves.

I refused to play along. For ten years I had worked hard, trying to be successful and no one was going to claim my day in the sun. I made waves, got a lawyer and thus began the battle. I tried to keep it quiet but Banning House went public with our dirty laundry. Somewhere in all this, I met Gene and he helped me with my battle. In the end, I didn’t renew my contract and signed with Banning House’s nemesis Wine and Roses. Melinda wasn’t working at Banning House when I was there, at least I don’t remember her. If she was an employee, she was a bottom-feeder or she worked in one of the editing departments. But then again, she might have been right under my nose and I just didn’t notice her. It’s all in the past now. I don’t know why she brought it up. I haven’t been with Banning House in three years.

Thinking about the past made me remember the present. The phone call from last night was in the shadows of my mind. I tried to remember if I knew anyone with the same accent but no one came to mind. “Maybe I should call Gene,” I thought. I quickly finished cleaning the clams and washed up, because it was getting late in the afternoon and I knew that Gene liked to leave early if he could. He was addicted to golf and spent his free hours practicing his stroke.

A man’s voice answered the phone instead of Gene’s secretary. “Hello, Wine and Roses Publishing, may I direct your call?”

“Gene Michaels, please.”

“He’s away from his office. May I take a message?” the man asked. His voice was a chipped, broken sound. He sounded like he had rehearsed his comments.

“May I ask whom I’m speaking with?”

“Danny Russell. I’m with maintenance, actually the facilities management. I’m repairing Mr. Michaels’ thermostat. It’s stuck on heat. Neither M. nor his secretary are returning until I get it fixed.”

“Thank you but I’ll call back tomorrow.” I sighed. I knew calling Gene’s cell phone was fruitless if he was on the golf course. He never takes his phone with him.

Before I could hang up, I head Danny Russell’s voice almost shouting, “Wait, here’s Mr. Michaels now.” Then I heard his say in sotto voce to someone off line, “A sweet sounding woman just rang and wants to talk to you.”

“Gene Michaels here, how may I help you?”

“It’s Kerrie.”

“Kerrie! How are you? Are you feeling better? How’s the weather? Relaxing? How’s your writing? Any novel ideas?” Gene and his machine gun of questions tended to drive me bonkers.

“Gene, I need to speak to you in private.” I felt as if he would say too much around the repairman.

“Let me take that number again and I’ll call you when I get home. It’s bloody hot in here.” I gave him the number and we said good-bye.

It usually took him 30 minutes to get through the afternoon traffic. He lived on the outskirts of Charlotte close to the South Carolina line. His expensive house was on a lake in a swank neighborhood. A few professional athletics were his neighbors. Every time one of the houses went up for sale, Gene would call me, telling me I should invest in a nicer home. I can’t imagine buying a million dollar house, when there are perfectly nice cheaper ones available. But to Gene it was important, showing off your status by living in a very wealthy area. To me, a house that felt like a home was more important. So far I hadn’t found one that felt right, until now. I was beginning to feel as if I had lived at the Irish Pirate all my life.

While I waited for Gene’s call, I steamed my clams, made a special top-secret sauce and cooked some pasta to go along with them. With a glass of white wine, the meal was perfect. I knew Gene too well. Because he didn’t call right away and I didn’t expect him too. He had a routine he followed at home—feed the dog, check the mail, check the answering service, check his email and then call his children, Paul, Mary and Gina. Once he had talked to all three about their day, he would return my call. Gene wasn’t good at the marriage game but he made up for it by being an excellent father.

I was relaxing on the couch, reading a magazine when Gene called.

“Hello.”

“Kerrie, how are you?” He asked. “You sound terrific. I hear a little note of music in your voice. Have you found a life guard to resuscitate you back to life?”

“I’m doing fine, Gene. I can see you haven’t lost your dirty little mind.” I laughed and he joined me. “I’ve missed you, Gene. How are the children doing?”

“Gina has a summer cold. She claims her teddy bear gave it to her. But Ellen thinks she got it from daycare. Paul is going to play soccer when school starts in September and Mary is on a crusade to save the whales. She’s organizing a neighborhood petition to send to Washington. I’m afraid that one day, she’ll be a member of some animal saving cult, living in Tibet, eating bamboo and plotting the revenge of the greenhouse effect. Or something like that. I really miss seeing them, Kerrie. If they weren’t two states away, I would be there daily.”

“I know. But at least you take time to be a part of their day, Gene. That’s more than some fathers who see their children daily do.”

“Chickie, you sound wonderful. I’m happy to hear from you.”

“Have you seen David? Or heard from him, Gene?” I hated changing the subject, but there was a point to my earlier call and I needed to find out if Gene had heard anything.

“Yes, I saw him today right after you called. I was rushing out of the building and he came out from nowhere, asking about you. He said it was urgent that you call him. But he won’t give me any information on why it was so urgent. Something is wrong with him though; he’s gaunt and has bags under his eyes. He looks like he hasn’t been sleeping. I get bad vibes off him, Ker. He’s got some bad mojo happening.”

“Gene, a strange man called last night and asked for me. When I asked who was calling, he hung up. I didn’t recognize the voice, but it was deep and he sounded like a Yankee.”

“Damn, my receptionist got a call a few days ago from a Northerner, asking for you. He tried to say he was a relative, but she mentioned you were an only child he hung up. Do you have any idea who it could be?”

“None but what puzzles me the most is how he got this number.”

“Don’t fret now. I can hear a panic in your voice. Tomorrow I’ll ask around and see if anyone suspicious has been hanging around.”

“Thanks, Gene. It could be nothing but a determined fan.”

“Or it could be something much worse. Stay frosty, Kerrie! Have you got your gun handy?”

“Yes and I hate having to resort to keeping it close by, but I admit I do feel safer.”

“Good girl. I’ll call tomorrow afternoon. Lock up and it might be wise to tell your landlord or someone you trust that you’ve got a lunatic ex-boyfriend looking for you.”

“Goodbye, Gene. We’ll speak tomorrow.” I refused to get pulled into an argument about David and I knew if I addressed that statement, I would end up yelling. It was best to keep my emotions level.