The Accidental Bestseller (42 page)

“That’s great, honey,” Kendall said. And she meant it. Whatever happened, she wanted the twins to know that they were loved by both of their parents.

“Yeah,” Melissa added over hot chocolate in front of the fire, “the only thing that would have made it better would have been having you there.” She gave Kendall a searching look. “Is everything all right between you guys?”

Kendall studied the twins in the glow of the fire. They had her dark, heavy hair, Calvin’s green eyes. Other bits and pieces of her and Calvin poked through, an expression here, a walk there, but their sums were far greater than her and Calvin’s parts.

They weren’t children anymore, she reminded herself, and hadn’t been for some time. The days of pretending about Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy were ancient history. Nonetheless she had no intention of telling them about Laura. Or their father’s decision that he no longer loved their mother. When the time came to talk about the details of a divorce, Calvin would have to be there. All four of them would sit down and discuss it together.

“Well, I guess you not answering is an answer, isn’t it?” Melissa jutted out her chin and scrunched up her nose, as always, combative when threatened. “You’re getting divorced!”

“No way,” Jeff said, watching them closely. Kendall felt as if every ounce of pleasure had been sucked out of the room. “It’s not true is it, Mom?”

Still she hesitated, unsure of what and how much to say. There was no reason to send them back to college worried about their family falling apart. Especially when things were still so up in the air.

“It’s true that your dad and I made a decision to spend some time apart,” Kendall said carefully. “We needed a . . . break.”

Melissa’s jaw jutted out even further. A lone tear managed to escape. Kendall watched it fall onto her daughter’s sweater and darken the fabric.

“I just can’t believe this. I thought everything was fine. What happened?” Jeffrey’s voice quivered; his childish anguish was so at odds with the broad shoulders and grown man’s body.

Looking into her children’s panicked faces, Kendall knew there was no way she could tell them the truth. Not now. Not without Calvin at her side. She’d simply have to force him to commit to a time and place for the four of them to talk. For now she’d resort to a few little white lies.

“Look,” Kendall said gently. “I know we all want things to stay the same. It’s human nature. But you’re just at the beginning of your lives; everything’s stretching out in front of you. And that’s as it should be. Daddy and I have been together a long time. We’re at a stage where it’s not unusual to reassess and, er, reevaluate.”

“Is it because we went away?” Jeffrey sat on the edge of the sofa, intent on understanding. “Is it that empty nest thing? Because I could transfer to Georgia Tech and move back home. Or take off some time to . . .”

“It’s true, Mom, if it would help we could . . .” Melissa joined in. They’d always been of the same mind, their emotions finely attuned. It was only that Jeffrey was generally the one to express his first.

Kendall felt an overwhelming rush of love for her children. Their concern flowed over her, buoying her, helping her find the words she needed. “I appreciate your offer, but everything’s OK. Your dad and I will work things out.”

“But how are you going to fix this? How will you know if you’re . . . reevaluating properly?” Always the more practical, Melissa was now looking for more concrete reassurances.

Kendall would have bet money that deep down Melissa suspected the truth. But the more important truth was that her son and daughter didn’t want those suspicions confirmed.

Kendall drew a steadying breath and tried to find her way out of the maze without relying too heavily on deceit. “I’ve got the book done, which is a huge load off my mind. And now your father and I need to deal with our marriage.”

Melissa and Jeffrey still looked miserable. Kendall continued to look for the right words to reassure them.

“Whatever happens between your father and me, you have to remember that we both love you very much—more than anything really. And that we always will.”

“But what are you
doing
about it? How are you going to make things better?” Again Melissa demanded specifics. Jeffrey looked like he wanted to put his hands over his ears and pretend this conversation had never taken place. At the moment, she was with Jeffrey but it was clear she needed to offer some additional reassurance.

“We’ve been meeting with a marriage counselor,” she lied. “She’s trying to help us . . . sort through things.”

“Who are you seeing?” Melissa asked. “What’s her name? Are you sure she’s reputable?”

Because her daughter seemed to need it, Kendall cast about for a specific, a name, something she could hold out. But because she also felt backed into an emotional corner by her children’s panic, she couldn’t think clearly. All she kept picturing was her attorney with her hands on the Green Giant’s balls.

“Her name is Anne Justiss,” Kendall said. “She’s very well known in Atlanta.” She managed a smile. “And now I think that’s enough on this topic. You’re going to have to trust your father and me to figure things out.”

She stood, her legs shaky but her smile in place, and kissed them good night.

34

—ROBERT BENCHLEY

 

 

 

In the morning Kendall saw Melissa and Jeffrey off then busied herself stripping beds and changing sheets. Later she’d call on Anne Justiss, divorce-attorney-turned-temporary-marriage-counselor, to see where things stood. Maybe in the afternoon she’d run down to Home Depot to pick up a few things.

When the phone rang, the shrillness cleaved the silence, startling her. Caller ID showed it to be a New York number. With some trepidation, Kendall answered, bracing for a complaint from Jane Jensen. Or a demand for more revisions.

“Is this Kendall Aims?” The voice was clipped and very Upper East Side. Kendall searched her memory banks, but she didn’t think she’d ever heard it before.

“Um, yes,” Kendall admitted. “This is she.”

“This is Naomi Fondren at Scarsdale.”

The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Kendall couldn’t quite place it. “Yes?”

“I’ve been asked to prepare for a mid-April lay down for
Sticks and Stones
. Obviously this doesn’t give us near enough time to prepare for a major hardcover release.”

Kendall said nothing. She’d worked with a low-level PR assistant on her first few books, but the young woman had left and after that Kendall had been forced to rely on what self-promotion she’d been able to afford. Kendall’s mind paused in midthought and went back as the realization hit: Whoever Naomi Fondren was she’d just referred to
Sticks and Stones
as a major release. A hardcover major release.

Kendall dropped down into the nearest chair. She may have stopped breathing.

“I’m planning to have advanced reading copies out for review by February first,” Naomi said, referring to the bound copies of the book galleys that were traditionally sent out for review. “But obviously that doesn’t give us near enough time for the major publications, with their longer lead times.
Publishers Weekly
has agreed to read a loose-bound manuscript. And I’m sending another over to
Ladies’ Home Journal
right now; they’ve expressed an interest in serialization rights.”

Kendall had to force air back into her lungs. The lack of oxygen was clearly impacting her ability to hear and think. Only two of her eight books had been reviewed by
Publishers Weekly.
And serialization in
Ladies’ Home Journal
? That was normally reserved for authors of Mallory’s magnitude. Hell, that sort of exposure was the very kind of thing that turned an author
into
an author of Mallory’s magnitude.

“What, um,” Kendall began. “What’s your job title at Scarsdale?”

The woman laughed. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “Did I forget to introduce myself? I’m Scarsdale’s head of publicity.”

“Are you new?” Kendall asked. If so, perhaps Scarsdale had finally hired someone willing to promote
all
of their authors and not just the top sellers. Or maybe she simply had Kendall confused with someone else.

“Only to you, dear,” the woman said, with some amusement. “I don’t work personally with all that many authors.”

Kendall had no doubt the few she did work with probably had sales figures equivalent to Stephen King and Tom Clancy. But she didn’t have a chance to raise this question; Naomi was already on to the next item on her list.

“I’ve got someone working on a discussion guide right now. And I’ve called several of our top photographers to see who we can get down there to shoot a new color photo for your book jacket.”

A book jacket photo? Kendall had been using the same black-and-white photo for the past eight years. She’d never considered a new one—she’d just been getting older and the photo on her mass-market paperback releases had become smaller and smaller until the picture might have been of anybody.

“I’m also talking to the people at the Margaret Mitchell House in Atlanta to see if we can do a launch party for you there. This will be followed by a book tour to include sixteen key cities with
New York Times
-reporting bookstores. It’ll end in Chicago.”

“A tour?” There was just too much information coming at her—all of it ranging from highly improbable to completely impossible. Kendall was certain she must have misunderstood.

“Yes, dear. A tour,” Naomi said, as if speaking to a child. “Could you make yourself available for the last two weeks of April?”

Kendall surveyed the silent kitchen and the equally silent mountaintop. Then she looked down at her grubby sweats. There was a hole in the toe of her thick wool socks. Maybe she should tell Naomi she had to check her calendar to see whether she could squeeze the tour into her busy schedule. Did anyone ever turn this sort of opportunity down?

“We’re going to end in Chicago because . . .” Naomi paused here as if waiting for a drum roll. “I had the chance to pitch a producer I know at
The Kristen Calder Show
.” She named the nationally syndicated talk show out of Chicago, whose host had chosen to go head to head against Oprah. The publicity head laughed giddily—a really strange sound, given the sophisticated accent. “In fact I had a bound galley hand delivered to the show’s production offices. And Kristen Calder has chosen
Sticks and Stones
as her next book club pick!” She paused again, as if waiting for applause.

Kendall batted her eyelashes, trying to blink back her surprise. Kristen Calder had not yet achieved one-name status, but she was very big and still growing. Kendall knew this had to be a dream and any minute she was going to wake up. She squinched her eyes shut then opened them, but she was still in her kitchen, still on the phone. And her sock still had a hole in it.

“Did you hear what I said?” Naomi Fondren asked. “
Sticks and Stones
is the next Kristen Calder book!”

Kendall swallowed back tears. Everything she had ever dreamed of, right down to the last detail, was being flung at her at the speed of light and she was deathly afraid she was imagining it. She glanced frantically around the kitchen, but there were no Daliesque clocks melting on the wall, no
Twilight Zone
theme music playing in the background. “But . . .”

“Lucky for us, Kristen is trying to differentiate her book club by doing less weighty books and focusing exclusively on new authors.”

Kendall had to smile at the idea of being “new” after a decade of writing, but she didn’t speak. She simply couldn’t find the words.

“So then,” Naomi concluded. “That’s all I have for now. I’m going to e-mail you the name of a media coach I know in Atlanta; she’ll help you put together a look and a wardrobe and teach you how to deliver sound bites and such. Plus we want to make sure you’re ready to handle Kristen when you get to Chicago.” She laughed again. Naomi Fondren was having a very good day.

Kendall still didn’t know what to say.

“Do you have an author escort you prefer to work with?” Naomi asked.

This time it was Kendall’s turn to laugh. All of this was so utterly unbelievable she was bound to wake up in her real life at any moment. The knowledge that she was probably asleep or having some sort of out-of-body experience loosened her tongue.

“Escort?” Kendall giggled. “Hmmm, let me think. . . .” As if she’d ever needed one to get her to the Borders at her local strip mall. Or the few other local chain stores that occasionally invited her in to sign her books—provided she sent out newsletters and flyers to bring in the people to buy them, too.

“I’ll tell you what,” Naomi said, possibly grasping what alien territory Kendall had just passed into. “Dana Kinberg is based in Atlanta and she’s great. I’ll give her a call when we hang up and see if we can book her at least for the prep and the southeastern leg. She knows absolutely everyone and she’ll help you get comfortable with the whole thing.”

“Thanks,” Kendall said, even as she hoped Dana was the patient sort. Despite her eight books and a decade spent in publishing, Kendall felt as if she were being reborn. Dana Kinberg was going to have to teach her to crawl. She felt both fear and excitement at the prospect.

“So then,” Naomi concluded brightly. “If you don’t have any questions, I’ll get back to work on all this. I’ll keep you posted via e-mail whenever necessary. And I think you’d better give me your cell phone number.”

She waited while Kendall gave it to her; then she insisted that Kendall take down hers and put her into her speed dial. “I’ll send you an itinerary for the tour as soon as I have all the details worked out,” Naomi promised. “Feel free to call me twenty-four/seven.”