Lucky Charm (6 page)

“Mrs. Parker, I’m Annabel Green
.
I’ll be working on your ad campaign,” Annabel introduced herself.

“Very nice to meet you.” Mrs. Parker flashed Annabel a quick smile as she rose from her chair for a handshake. She was dressed in a tweed skirt and peach cashmere twin set
. A
pristine string of pearls completed the ensemble. Mrs. Parker’s unapologetically gray hair was swept in a neat bun, and her attractive face wore just the right amount of makeup.

“Here’s your tea, Mrs. Parker
. M
ilk and sugar, just like you asked.” Janine slipped into the conference room, eagerly placing the drink in front of Mrs. Parker.

“Thank you, Janine. That’s all for now.” Annabel stared squarely at Janine
,
who lingered in the doorway, no doubt hoping for a last minute invitation to stay.

“So, what ideas do you have on how to promote my business?” asked Mrs. Parker as she took a sip of her tea.

“Well, I was thinking that we could market it as a lifestyle,” Annabel began, hoping that Mrs. Parker would not guess that she really had no idea
of
what she was talking about
. W
riting pitches for designer clothes and skin care lines was her forte, not firearms. Once, she
had
work
ed
on a sailing club campaign, which was how she came up with the lifestyle idea: shooting, sailing – what
was
the difference? It was not like she had ever tried either one.

“A lifestyle?” Mrs. Parker arched her eyebrows, looking unconvinced.

“Yes,” Annabel continued, willing herself to keep her voice steady. “A lifestyle for a woman who is busy and sophisticated, but also has an edge.”

“Have you ever fired a gun or a rifle?”

Annabel shook her head.

“Ever been mad at someone so much you wanted to knock his or her block off?”

Now there was
an
expression that Annabel did not expect to hear from someone like Mrs. Parker.

“Yes
.
I think we all have.” Annabel shifted in her chair uncomfortably
. S
he was not having her best day. “Which is why I think the lifestyle approach would resonate with the target audience…”

“Ever been so sad that you just wanted to cry and cry and could not find the strength to get out of bed?”

“No, I can’t say that I have.” Annabel felt herself turning crimson red
. S
he was clearly losing control of the meeting.

“I hope you never will.” Mrs. Parker briefly
eyed
the engagement ring on Annabel’s left hand. “But if, God forbid, you do, you should come out to my range. When my husband died
,
I was devastated
. W
e were married for over forty years, and I had no idea how I would live the rest of my life without him. Finally, my shrink - I started seeing one upon
a
suggestion of one of my friends – what a pointless idea that was!” Mrs. Parker shrugged her shoulders. “
The shrink s
uggested that I try a hobby
. I
t was the only useful thing he ever said
. O
f course, I think he had something more traditional in mind
,
like knitting or bridge. Well, I tried all that, and it only made me feel worse – like a useless old woman who was looking for something to occupy herself with. I was about to give up when a friend of mine invited me to come out to her house in the
Adirondacks
. Her husband is a long time firearms collector
,
and they even have their own shooting range on the property. As a joke, he asked me if I wanted to try shooting a rifle, thinking
,
of course
,
that I would refuse. Well, I took him up on his offer, and mind
you, I had
never held any kind of firearm in my hands before, but I found myself hooked from the s
tart. It was such a liberating and
powerful feeling to finally be in control of something
. T
he best part was that when I was concentrating on a shot, everything else vanished from my mind.”

Annabel nodded, trying to imagine how it might feel to hold a rifle in her hands.

“And I turned out to be surprisingly good at it too – hit the bull’s-eye on my third try.” Mrs. Parker continued. “It made me feel so much better that I found a shooting range out in
Long Island
and started going there at least twice a week. I have to say that I got plenty of funny looks the first time I showed up there
.
I didn’t exactly look like their average patron, but they got used to me after a while. At the same time
,
my friend Patty was going through a horrible divorce, and I suggested that she give shooting a try, so we drove out to the range together
. J
ust like me, Patty got hooked. So that’s how I got the idea of opening a shooting range that would be geared toward women
. I
t wasn’t because of the money
.
God knows I have plenty, but it was because I wanted to help other women find a way to cope with difficult times in their lives.”

“I see.” Annabel nodded, thinking that Paige had been right
. T
his woman was fascinating
,
and despite the initial crazy impression, her idea was brilliant. “I think I understand what you are looking for now
.
I already have a couple of ideas taking shape in my mind. I should have a draft for your review in two weeks
. D
oes this time frame work for you?”

“That sounds fine
. T
here’s no rush. I’d rather you thought things through than did a botched job of it. I’m going to be away on business,
so let’s set the next meeting at
three weeks from now. And my offer to visit the range still stands
. S
hooting is not just to release anger, you know
. W
e get plenty of bachelorette parties and things like that. And it goes without saying that we are very serious about safety: all new clients have to take a safety class before they can be admitted to the range. There are security cameras everywhere and safety wardens.”

“Thank you for the offer.” Annabel did her best to sound sincere
. G
oing shooting with a bunch of angry women was not exactly her idea of fun. When she needed to blow off steam
,
she opted for much simpler options
,
like having a couple of apple martinis at the local bar or treating herself to a fifteen minute massage session at the local nail salon. “I understand the concept now, and I think you’ll be pleased with the outcome.”

“Sounds good, Annabel. Thank you.” Mrs. Parker rose from her chair.

Back in her office
,
Annabel
began outlining her ideas for t
he Artemis Club website. Currently
,
the website contained little more than the address and location of the shooting range, so she pretty much had a blank canvass.

By five o’clock
,
she had drafted content for the main page as well as six other tabs that she planned to add to the website
. This
was a good start
,
given the fact that as recently as this morning she had no idea on how to approach the project.
At fi
v
e
-
thirty, feeling pleased with herself, Annabel turned off her laptop and rose from her chair.

On Monday Jeremy taught a writing workshop
. I
t was a part-time job that he
had
started a few months ago. Jeremy’s class ended at six
-
thirty, and Annabel thought that she would surprise him by meeting him after work.

She locked her notes in her desk drawer
,
just
as
an extra precaution in case Janine decided to pay an after-hours visit to her office.

“Have a good night, Janine,” Annabel called over her shoulder as she headed out the door. Janine could stay as late as she wanted to impress Paige, but her copy was still bland and unoriginal – just another proof that quality was rarely replaced by quantity.

Paige’s agency was on Fifty Seventh and Third, and the workshop where Jeremy taught was on Seventy Fifth and Madison. With an hour to spare, Annabel opted for a walk
. I
t was a gorgeous evening, and she had spent the entire day wishing she could be outside instead of being stuck at the office. As she walked up Madison Avenue, she absentmindedly scanned the windows of the nearby cafes and boutiques
. T
he landscape was constantly changing
,
with new shops opening up and old on
es going out of business. H
er cell phone began to ring
,
and she rummaged through her purse
. T
he contents of her bag were always a mess
,
and half the time she managed to locate her phone only by the time the caller had given up hope and hung up. This time she was lucky and picked up on the fourth ring.

“Wow, I can’t believe you actually picked up your ce
ll phone!” Lilly’s voice rang from
the receiver.

“Hi, Lilly.” Annabel ignored her friend’s pointed remark. “How did your date go?”

“I think I’ve died and gone to heaven! Although I don’t know if orgasms are allowed in heaven.”

“Lilly!” Annabel lowered her voice to a hushed whisper for fear that someone might overhear her. “Don’t tell me that you’ve slept with him already? You’ve only just met the guy!”

“Well, he’s going back to
Paris
in a little over a month
. T
hat doesn’t exactly leave much time for chit chat, does it?” When it came to sex, Lilly maintained an opinion that in today’s world
,
women could sleep with whom they wanted
,
whenever they wanted. Her choice of partners was as diverse as her timing of intimate encounters
. S
ome got lucky after the first date while others had to wait as long as three months.

“That’s not the point
. W
hat do you even know about this guy? He could be a serial killer or a sexual deviant! Serial killers can be very charming, you know
. T
hat’s how they lure in their victims,” Annabel recited a line from an article she had read on the subject a while back.

“He’s definitely not a serial killer
. O
therwise
,
I wouldn’t be talking to you right now, would I? As for the sexual deviant part – he could certainly qualify...” Lilly giggled self-contentedly. “Do you want to meet for a drink? I’m dying to dish.”

“How about tomorrow? I kind of wanted to spend tonight with Jeremy.”

“Oh, that reminds me
. D
id he appreciate your little get
-
up last night?”

Annabel was about to give her standard
“N
o comment
”
response
,
the answer she always gave Lilly whenever her friend’s questions about her sex life got too personal, when her glance fell on one of the tables of a sidewalk café across the street.

“Annabel, are you there? Don’t go all quiet on me
.
I get it, you don’t want to talk about your sex life, which is fine by me
,
since I’m more than happy to talk about mine instead.”

“Lilly, I have to go. I’ll call you later.” With her eyes glued to the pair seated at the table across the street, Annabel snapped her cell phone shut and shoved it into her bag.

The wheat-blond back of the man’s head looked unmistakably like Jeremy’s, and the bleached blond updo of his female companion belonged to none other than Jeremy’s book agent, Athena Christy
,
a statuesque blond whose credentials were as powerful as her looks. The two sat together at a small table - the kind that every
New York
café with sidewalk space puts out at the slightest sign of warm weather.

Annabel told herself that there was nothing for her to be worried about
. T
here was nothing wrong with an author having a meal with his book agent. She was about to walk over and say hello, but the sight of Athena putting her arm on Jeremy’s shoulder stopped her dead.

Her heart pounding
like a sledgehammer, Annabel jay
walked across the street and slipped into the grocery shop next to the café, quickly ducking beneath the row of flowers that stood in the shop’s window. From her cover
-
up
,
she peered at the table on the sidewalk, hoping that she had been mistaken, but the way Jeremy and Athena leaned into each other, like a couple, along with the sight of Jeremy’s hand on Athena’s thigh left no room for excuses.