Adulation (49 page)

When I heard the stockroom door open a moment later, my heart went into a drum roll until Georgie materialized, with Theo behind him.

“Tell us
 
everything
!” said Theo, drunk with glee, as she ran up to me.

I looked at Theo, who hadn’t set foot in the stockroom since she was a Whitford’s employee back in college, and became disoriented for a second.

Georgie read my expression. “Yes, I snuck her back here. What are they gonna do, fire us? But never mind that.
 
Dish
, Sunny.”

“Oh, my God,” I said.

“You’re
 
glowing
. So help me, if you tell me you and Danny Masters just had sex back here...”

Upon hearing the word “sex,” it was as if Georgie snapped his fingers and everything clicked back into working order for me. I turned away and pretended to straighten up my workstation, watching their reaction out of the corner of my eye and trying to conceal the goofy grin that appeared at the mere thought of that kiss, of every word between Danny and me.

“We talked.”

“You talked,” he said, wary of my casualness.

“Sure,” I said. “I apologized. He apologized. Finally. It was nice.”

“That’s
 
it
?” said Theo.

“
Oh. My GOD
!” shouted Georgie. He looked around the stockroom maniacally. “I have to hit you. I have to hit you with something.”

“Now you’ve done it,” said Theo. “You put Georgie over the edge.”

“Oh, and he
 
kissed
 
me,” I said, feigning nonchalance.

Georgie and Theo both squealed and started bouncing like teenagers.

I whistled a tune obnoxiously, teasing them even further. “And he invited me to the Plaza Hotel.”

They then came at me from both sides and sandwiched me into a hug.

“The
 
Plaza
?” said Georgie. “What is he, slumming it? He can’t afford the Four Seasons?”

I admonished him. “The
 
Plaza
, for chrissakes—it’s the setting for Neil Simon stories and Henry Mancini songs. It’s perfect!”

“For you, maybe.” I wasn’t buying into his disapproval for a second, and he knew it. But then he threatened, “If you tell me you said no, I’ll pummel you with everything that’s not nailed down to the floor in here.”

“Ohmigod, Sunny!” Theo exclaimed. “It’s your dream come true! So what did you say? Are you going?”

I wanted to give them an answer, but something stopped me. Maybe I was afraid it was still a dream. Worse still, what if it didn’t work out? Then I wouldn’t even have the dream anymore.

But if the last six months had taught me anything, it was that dreams didn’t keep you going; living your life does. Rather, you keep life going. More of my dreams had come true in the last six months than they had in  my lifetime, because I made it so. And now, if I wanted to, I could make a life with Danny— not because he was my dream, but because he was the man I loved and had always loved.

The rest was between Danny and me.

“What are you going to do?” Theo prodded me.

I turned to my best friends and, having never felt more confident or resolute, grinned that Daniel Gold grin. “Sleep on it.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Danny Masters

D
ANNY SIGNED EVERY
 
book, posed for every picture, talked with every fan for “just a minute more,” andbarely felt the time pass. Every so often he looked up and past the fan standing before him, looking for Sunrise, but she was nowhere to be found, and he guessed she’d slipped out hours ago. It wasn’t hard topose for pictures with fans—the very thought of her conjured up a smile within nanoseconds.

He slept soundly in the car all the way back to the city. The driver had to shake him awake just togo into the Plaza.

He awoke late the next morning, but with a bounce in his step. First thing he did was check hisphone messages. (Dez had flown back to LA yesterday afternoon.) He returned some calls and fixedhimself a bagel. He was experiencing a myriad of emotions—nervous, excited, hopeful—he could nameeach one, and it struck him that he felt so
 
alive
.

He wasn’t an apparition after all. Rather, he wasn’t Danny Masters after all. He never was.

He did a little bit of writing, his iPhone right beside him, although his eyes always wound up fixedon the  window overlooking the city. He’d get a new place for himself and Ella, he decided. Abrownstone, perhaps.

Time passed.

No call. No visitor.

He paced around the apartment.

He contemplated going for a walk, but didn’t want to risk Sunrise showing up while he was gone.

Whereas hours had passed like minutes the night before, the reverse was true today. And with eachpassing minute that he didn’t hear a ring of the phone or a knock at the door, his hope and self-assurancefaded.

And he found himself wanting a cigarette. Needing it. Desperate for it.

He could run down to the corner and buy a pack, he rationalized. Just buy it and smoke it and getright back on the wagon.

Sure. That’s what he used to say in the early days of his drinking. How easy it was to believe it,especially at a time like this. How easy it would be to hold a bottle of beer in his hands, smoke a fewcigarettes, call Charlene up for a quickie, even just phone sex, all to appease the anxiety that he was thefailure he’d always believed himself to be.

But no. He didn’t have to believe that this time. He was
 
so not a failure
 
. He didn’t need to numbhimself out, make himself forget, punish himself another minute. And he knew he’d be OK, regardless ofwhether she called or showed up. He’d be OK because he wasn’t really alone anymore. He never was inthe first place.

And so he opted to finally get out of the apartment for a long walk. Taking his phone, he slung ajacket on; then he opened the door.

And there she stood, her fist in midair, poised for door-knocking.

She was dressed in a navy blue peacoat, jeans, and hiking boots. A messenger bag hung casually

over her shoulder. She wore a little bit of makeup, and her hair just about touched her shoulders.

Perfect.

Her face softened into a warm smile, and before he could say a word, she took in a breath,speaking on the exhale.

“Let’s get to work, Daniel Gold.”

And with that, Sunny crossed the threshold.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

F
OR MANY WRITERS
, the physical act of writing is a solitary one, but we need our community to help us tellthe story. I’d like to thank the following people for helping me tell Danny’s and Sunny’s stories:

Terry Goodman, Jacque Ben-Zekry (a.k.a. “Mayor of Awesometown”), Jessica Poore, andeveryone at Amazon Publishing, as well as my fellow Amazon Publishing authors, who make me proudand excited to be a part of this team every day.

Tiffany Yates Martin, development editor extraordinaire, who talked about the manuscript asenthusiastically as I did and helped me turn it into a tight, cohesive novel. I couldn’t have done it withouther, and especially appreciated our phone conversations.

Kate Hagopian Berry, whose detailed, insightful, and extensive feedback paved the way forrevision and my work with Tiffany, proving once again that she is “Cool Kate.”

Stephen Molton and Will Chandler, who taught me that good screenwriting begins with goodstories and good characters. They also taught me how to develop both. I very much enjoyed working withthem at the Southampton  Screenwriters Conference in 2011, and applied so much of their instruction to mynovel writing as well.

Elspeth Antonelli, Jan Militello, Alexis Spencer-Byers, and Jill Weinberger, all of whom areexceptionally talented screenwriters and dear friends. They helped me make Danny’s drafts—and mynovel—the best they could be.

Maureen Bensa, who cheered me on from day one, read the manuscript in its earlier incarnationand initiated the “Save Part Three” campaign.

The Undeletables, who, without a doubt, are avid
 
Winters in Hyannis
 
fans as well as my goodfriends. So many times I envisioned them reading this novel in its finished form while I wrote.

Glenn V olkema, who read and responded to every chapter as it unfolded, sometimes in raw form. Iam also eternally grateful for the virtual cups of vanilla chai and encouragement he sent me throughout the

process.

Sarah Girrell, who sat with me in a hotel room in Manhattan in May 2011 and conversed for hours about Danny, Sunny, writing, and cookies. She’s the first person I go to when I need to bounce off an idea, work out a scene, get through a bout of writer’s block, and/or share a much-needed laugh. Even when we are not officially collaborating, she is still, and will always be, my writing partner-in-crime.

Emilio Estevez, who reminded me that I am a storyteller.

Aaron Sorkin, whose writing never ceases to inspire me.

The late Nora Ephron, who will be so dearly missed. How I wish I met her and became her friend.

My parents (Eda and Michael), siblings (Mike, Bobby, Ritchie, Steve, Mary, and Paul), siblingsin-law, nieces and  nephews, cousins, aunts, and uncles, all of whom have given me their love and support throughout my entire life. My grandmother, Mary Mottola, one hundred years old at the time of this writing, is in my heart always.

Kim Lewis, who is the Wonder Woman of baking (also of friends), and Paul Lorello, who is the Spider-Man of twin brothers.

Kelly Sutphin, who is my oldest and dearest friend.

And to all of my friends, colleagues, readers, and students, please know how grateful I am for allyour love and support.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR