Just Her Type (6 page)

With utmost diplomacy, Dominic tried to get Brody
to reconsider his deadline decision.

Brody held firm. “Now, if you could make that call
to Gwyneth right now, I’ll be on my way.”

 
In
this intensely competitive marketplace, Brody was willing to tick off his
publisher and run the risk of fickle readers forgetting his name.
 
So
be it.
Dominic reached for the phone. “I’ll make that call right now.”

Brody settled back in his chair with a
self-satisfied smile.

Chapter
6

For Kendra, packing
usually ranked somewhere between getting a pap smear and standing in long
airport TSA lines, but she hummed cheerfully while filling her suitcases for
Maui.
 
Afterward, she ate leftover
Kung Pao chicken carryout, called Aunt Jackie, skimmed a couple of submissions
from her bedroom-based slush pile, took a quick shower, and tucked herself
between the covers two hours earlier than usual to guarantee a good night’s
sleep. Before turning off the lights, she reached for the stack of unopened
mail on her nightstand: bills, junk mail, and not one, but three, kitschy
postcards from her mother, who had left Vegas and was now on another honeymoon
in the Bahamas.

Only sixteen years separated Kendra and her
mother. They got along well enough, most of the time, but had never been
particularly close. Two years ago, Vanessa had returned to support Aunt Jackie
and attend Uncle Alex’s funeral. She and Kendra had spent quality time together
for the first time in nearly a decade. Before Vanessa left for home, she’d
vowed to stay in touch by phoning, emailing, and texting Kendra more often.

Vanessa now called herself a “lifestyle blogger”
so Kendra learned the most about her from
Just
Vanessa
, a combo TMI blog and brag book about Vanessa’s ridiculously
idyllic life, complete with copious, carefully curated, soft focus photos. Much
to Kendra’s surprise, “The Blag,” as she’d come to refer to it, drew heavy
traffic and numerous commenters, who regularly stroked Vanessa’s ego:

U R a
goddess!

I need that
gorgeous outfit in my life.

You’re my
inspiration!

Your new
hubby is a prince. Does he have a single brother?

If Angelina
Jolie and Halle Berry had a baby, it would look like you.

 
Not
one troll in the bunch.

The Blag also had a connected Post-a-Pic account
with a slew of followers.
 
Kendra
simply did not get the endless fascination with online “stars” who had a talent
only for serving up narcissistic details of their daily lives. But clearly
there was a voracious audience for that sort of thing.

Kendra surveyed the postcard photo of the bride
and groom’s luxury Nassau digs. In the age of social media, blogs, and
smartphones, Vanessa was one of the few people, besides Aunt Jackie, who still
sent snail-mail postcards while traveling.
 
A bubbly heart dotted each lower-case “I” in the note, reminding Kendra
of the scribbling in a school girl’s notebook.

Vanessa loved
being in love, particularly when it was all shiny and new, before the
tedium of everyday life set in.
 
She
believed
the One
was pure folklore,
instead preaching her own gospel about what she’d dubbed
the One Hundred
, which was the number of “potential soul mates” she
arbitrarily believed the average person could have in a lifetime, after
factoring in “the world’s population.”
  
Vanessa seemed determined to work
through all
One Hundred
of hers,
having been married and divorced three times already.
 
Kendra had lost count of the ring-less
“engagements.” And the pretend daddies and “honey bears” she had endured in the
years before moving in with Aunt Jackie.

 
It was
right after Kendra’s relationship with Graham had fallen apart six months ago
that she had begun to obsess about her own challenges with men. Multiple
engagements were bad enough. If she didn’t do things differently she’d wind up
like her mother with a series of divorces clanging behind her like a string of
smelly cans. She reached for her phone to check email a last time before
turning out the lights and found a note from Dominic:
Looking forward to seeing you in Maui!

Unsure how to respond, she didn’t hit the reply
key. Instead, she scrolled to the next email and her jaw dropped.
Brody Goodwin?
She recalled signing up
for his e-newsletters. Surely it was a spam blast generated by his publisher to
build anticipation for Brody’s next novel. Upon opening it she found what
looked like a personal message.
From
Brody!
Her pulse rate accelerated.

“Well, well, well. What have we here?”
 
Kendra said aloud. The little bedside
lamp would not do. She sprang out of bed, almost tripping over the covers, to
fill the room with brighter light.

 
Brody
knew Kendra was attending the Hawaii Authors Conference in Maui and wanted to
meet for coffee there. It was never just about “coffee.” What would Dominic
think of this development?
 
She
recalled his pompous speech about why some clients left their agents. And oh,
how he had gloated. Such a thing never happened to the Great Dominic Tobias,
who obviously boasted a record-breaking client retention rate, according to
him.

 
Kendra
couldn’t hit the reply key quickly enough:

 
Dear Mr. Goodwin,

 
I look forward to meeting you for coffee.
I’m staying in the conference hotel, too. We can coordinate the particulars
after we’ve arrived on the island. Aloha!—Kendra Porter

Chapter
7

Kendra hadn’t stopped
smiling since her plane landed at Kahului Airport, and she’d strolled toward a
lei greeting, a surprise perk of the no-frills travel package she’d
selected.
 
She’d collected her
luggage and her rental, a yellow Chevy Aveo.
 
While she’d fantasized about a sportier
red convertible, it wasn’t in her tight travel budget. Instead, she’d rolled
down all the windows as she cruised toward the Kaanapali Beach area, where
she’d booked a room at the conference hotel.

A warm, fragrant breeze whipped through her hair.
Palm trees swayed in welcome.
 
Things only got better when she entered the open-air lobby filled with a
riot of exotic blooms and foliage. She looked forward to checking out the
grounds’ wildlife — African penguins, swans, flamingos, and parrots.

Her room was small, and the private lanai had a
view of an active construction site. But the Pacific Ocean was a lot closer
here than it was at her tiny Brooklyn apartment. She took in her cozy place for
the next seven days. Beautifully decorated in a soothing palette of mint green
and cream.

Fatigue soon settled in after the long flight and
the time change so she would turn in early. But not before checking on Aunt
Jackie. After a quick shower, she changed into her PJs and put the lei of
plumeria and orchids back around her neck to enjoy its fragrance. Maui would’ve
been great for Aunt Jackie, but she’d refused.
 
She could not leave the shop to helpers
these days, she’d said. But Kendra was also sure her aunt did not want her
footing the bill for such a trip when Kendra was already helping the shop
through slow times.

A vacation was the last thing on Aunt Jackie’s
mind while grieving and fighting to stabilize the yarn shop’s finances. Kendra
still worried about her, particularly when she had to leave her alone for more
than a day or two. Aunt Jackie’s parents had moved to a senior citizens
community in Boca Raton and her in-laws lived in Tennessee.

These days it was as if her aunt could only manage
good cheer, faux good cheer at that, during store hours to engage customers and
the help. She didn’t need to be “on” upon returning to the home she’d long
shared with her husband, a Southern gentleman who had always exuded boundless
kindness and quiet strength. She could unfurl her despair like the too-tight
chignon she’d taken to wearing these days because it was a low maintenance way
to wear her full head of curls Uncle Alex had adored.

After two years, the condo was still filled with
most of Uncle Alex’s things, as if he were just away on an extended retreat.
When Kendra mentioned moving some of the things out so she’d have more room,
Aunt Jackie would change the subject.

Sometimes when Kendra would stop by unexpectedly
and use her key to get in, she’d find the condo cave dark, even on sunny days.
Her aunt would sit in Uncle Alex’s “man cave” with the curtains drawn, the
blinds closed, and the lamps off. No book, no TV, no music, no knitting, just
the full-color program from Uncle Alex’s funeral clutched in hand.
 
What initially appeared to be a printing
glitch on the smiling photo of Uncle Alex was actually lipstick, her aunt’s
signature color. How Kendra’s heart would ache for her. She didn’t always know
what to say or do to help. Her aunt insisted on bare knuckling her depression
without drugs or therapy.

“I made it safely,” Kendra said after her aunt
answered her call. “And it’s beautiful here! I wish you’d agreed to join me.
You’d love it.”

“Maybe next time, sweetie.”

“So what did you do today?” she asked, caressing
and sniffing the string of blooms around her neck.

“Donalisa came over earlier. She lives nearby so I
gave her after-hours lessons on lace knitting.”

Great!
With Kendra away, Aunt Jackie wasn’t spending all of her evenings alone,
sitting in Uncle Alex’s chair. Before he died, Aunt Jackie had collected
friends the way she’d collected yarn and pattern books. And she had a knack for
making them all feel like favorites. But she’d cut ties with her usual group.
Even the most persistent ones could not get through to her. Like some
nineteenth-century English woman in widow’s weeds, she’d hidden behind
head-to-toe black every day. Friends and neighbors had mentioned street
encounters with Aunt Jackie when she’d refused to return their smiles and
waves. The large dark sunglasses she’d taken to wearing were like a mourner’s
version of those eighteen-wheeler warning signs:
If you can’t see my eyes, I can’t see you.

“I really like Mrs. Findley, with her apple
cheeks, infectious laugh, and seemingly endless supply of glittery statement
necklaces,” Kendra said of the older lady, who had also lost her husband two
years ago. She’d found comfort within The Sassy Sheep and its knitting groups.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her wear the same
one twice,” Aunt Jackie agreed with a light chuckle.

 
“Her
hearty, spontaneous laugh, makes me laugh.”

“Same here.”

“She seems like such a nice lady.”

“Yes, she is.”

Kendra took a beat, having exhausted all she could
say about Mrs. Findley for now. “Have you heard from Vanessa lately?” she eased
in, as if asking about the weather back home.

“Yes, I did. Today actually. She phoned.”

“How is she?” Kendra asked, keeping her tone
neutral, fending off the prick of resentment because she’d only received
postcards from Vanessa. Never mind that Kendra had yet to respond to the three
text messages Vanessa had sent the week before, in which she’d griped about her
long wait in “some ramshackle” small town airport while her new husband’s
private plane was getting prepped for takeoff.
Cry me a river,
Kendra had thought at the time as she’d imagined
Vanessa flicking her gel-manicured talons in impatience.

“Same as always,” Aunt Jackie replied.

“On a love high with the new husband, no doubt.”
Kendra had read all about him on The Blag. Fourth husband, Ashton P.
Northcross, was a much older dandy of a dude, who reminded her of Thurston
Howell III from those old
Gilligan’s
Island
reruns.
 
“He sounds like a pleasant fellow, and
he’s obviously loaded, providing her with the jet-set life to which she’s
always wanted to become accustomed. Good for her. I want her to be happy.”
 
I
think,
went unsaid.

“Yes, maybe this one will actually stick this
time,” Aunt Jackie said. “So, think you might have a chance to scout out a yarn
shop while you’re there?”

“Well, er,” Kendra sputtered.
 
Aunt Jackie had changed the subject much
too quickly.
 
She wanted to know
more about Vanessa’s call.
 
It was a
ridiculous notion, but Kendra avoided openly expressing her intense interest in
Vanessa for fear of making Aunt Jackie feel slighted.

“Sweetie, you still there?”

“Yes! If there is a yarn shop here, I’ll find it.”

“That’s my girl.”

“Well, I’m not going to hold you. I know it’s late
there.”

“Yes, I have to get to bed. A repairman is coming
over to check the water heater first thing tomorrow morning.”

“What guy?” Kendra dropped the blooms curling
around her fingers. Fixes around the home and The Sassy Sheep and hiring
reputable help for them had always been Uncle Alex’s job. Her inexperienced
aunt was a little too trusting of repairmen.

“Don’t worry, he’s the son of a customer I know
well.”

“But—”

“
And
he’s licensed, bonded, and highly rated, according to that popular consumers’
database you love so much. I did due diligence this time around. Now promise me
you won’t spend your trip worrying about me and phoning every day like you did
when you were at the Dallas conference. I’ll be fine, you hear?”

Kendra would make no such promise.

“I mean it, Kendra. Now promise me.”

Kendra sighed. “Okay, I promise not to phone
every
day
.” But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t text or email several times
a day.

“I love you, sweetie.”

“Love you, too, Auntie.” After ending the call,
Kendra reached for her laptop and surfed over to the
Just Vanessa
site and lingered for an hour before turning off the
lights.

***

Kendra awakened to a stunning sunrise the
following day.
 
At the Hawaii
Authors Conference, an “early bird” welcome breakfast started at 7 a.m.
Good.
She would pack a lot into the
first day.

She entered the spacious sun-splashed ballroom
filled with writers, editors, agents, and other publishing professionals. A
full wall of floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the beachfront view. The sunny
skies, golden sand, and sparkling aquamarine water beckoned. Organizers had
scheduled the daily workshops and panel discussions to close with plenty of
daylight left for sightseeing and other outdoor fun.
 
Counting down the minutes until
playtime, she scanned the room, determined to find a spot as close to the view
as possible. Unlike other conferences, business or business casual dress did
not rule here. The men had donned their Hawaiian shirts with bold floral
prints. Kendra, along with most of the women, wore a sundress bright with
tropical flowers. Colorful hibiscus or plumeria blooms replaced the usual
jewelry and hair accessories.
 
This
day she wore a chili red streak in her hair to match the flower tucked behind
one ear. Flip-flops, sandals, and espadrilles outnumbered sensible pumps and
loafers as the footwear of choice.

Four agents and two editors sat at a table to her
left. Kendra had pitched and sold several manuscripts to Beth Hartman, an
editor at Glenallen & Fowler.
 
The other, Zoe Fitzsimmons, of Broadnax-Royal, she knew only by sight
and reputation. She hoped to change that during the conference and invite her
to lunch. She had two manuscripts that would be perfect for Zoe’s list. After
the group invited Kendra to join them, she sat, and made herself comfortable
with her official conference tote at her feet.
 
A server came over and filled a cup with
steaming coffee before taking her order for a hearty breakfast of scrambled
eggs, cinnamon toast, and a double serving of bacon. And how could she pass up
such local specialties as apple banana and strawberry papaya? Could anyone love
their job as much as she loved hers at that moment?
 
Heaven!

 
“So,
what about the latest on Penelope Wirthington?” asked Piper Hodges, the agent
sitting three seats to Kendra’s right.

Wrong
table
. Kendra frowned.

“As in is she
worth
that obscene advance revealed in
Publishing
Grapevine
?” asked agent Sheila Crowder, who had made a name for herself by
signing the author who penned the
Droidz
in the Hood
series that fueled the popping street-lit-sci-fi-mash-up trend.

Kendra believed shop talk was a valuable part of
the conference experience.
But first
thing in the flipping morning, y’all?
 
Before she’d finished her coffee or filled her growling belly? Focusing
would prove difficult, but she’d try to keep up and not get lost in the
beachfront view or the piles of food on the plate the server had placed before
her.
Yes!
 
She rotated her plate left, said a quick
grace in her head, and dug in as the discussion about Penelope, who was one of
Dominic’s clients, bubbled up around her.

Penelope’s debut,
The Splendid Transgressions of
Alton
Whitesborough
, sold in a strategic one-book deal, had been a runaway hit
five years ago.
 
It had also finaled
for an American Book Medallion and Rowan-Reece Prize for fiction, two of the
highest honors for a novel. A pair of Academy Award winners would star in the
upcoming film adaptation. Penelope’s untitled, but eagerly anticipated
sophomore manuscript had spurred an enthusiastic bidding war.

“He’s an arrogant, money-grubbing snake,” Piper
squawked about Dominic instead of the publishing house that had dropped the
loot.

A few others chimed in.

An old proverb rushed to Kendra’s mind: The enemy
of my enemy is my friend. Dominic wasn’t her enemy. He could be as annoying as
hell when he talked business, but she did not dislike him. In fact, she liked
him. Too much. Hot rival was a more fitting way to categorize him. But she
couldn’t help wanting Mr. Braggy Pants— with the implausibly high
retention rate—to experience what it felt like to lose a valued
client.
 
Correction. Not just lose,
but lose one to
Kendra Porter.
Lose
someone like Brody Goodwin to Kendra Porter. She could just see the notice in
Publishing Grapevine
.
Ha!
Nevertheless, it was unwise to get
drawn into Piper’s discussion. Ripping Dominic a new one in front of a bunch of
colleagues was unprofessional and petty. While she’d shared her pet peeves with
Dominic that day over lunch, she usually saved all business-related petty rants
for confidantes such as Brittany and other close friends in the business.

Piper and two other agents at the table hardly
stopped to take a breath as they gossiped about Dominic’s latest coup.

If truth be told, Kendra flip-flopped on how she
felt about the super-sized, headline-making advances for brand-spanking-new
authors. Some days she thought the practice was ludicrous, especially in the
current publishing climate.
 
Other
times, well, she wasn’t so sure it was always such a bad thing. It depended on
the circumstances and the book, she supposed. Penelope’s critically acclaimed
debut had scored noteworthy sales. Her second project had been sold as a
completed manuscript—not just a synopsis with sample chapters.