Chapter 9

~ Why Are We Still Friends? ~

Having set out napkins and vending machine sodas on his desk, Daniel looked up to see Betty enter, one arm wrapped around a fire extinguisher while she gripped a pair of scissors in her opposite hand. "What's the matter—is there a fire in the building?" he asked, reaching for the phone.

"No, no. I was just worried about a call I got earlier. It made me wonder if Renée Slater might be lurking around to cause trouble. So I got to thinking, Renée—pyromaniac—yikes! Better be safe!"

Daniel's eyes grew wide with apprehension. "Renée called you? Did she threaten you?"

"She didn't say anything. I'm not even sure it was her."

"What makes you think it was?"

"Well, I can't figure out who else would call and say nothing, just stay on the line. That's something a stalker does, and she seems the most likely person to stalk me. Especially if she'd been following you and spied us in the park last night." Betty's glanced shyly at him, remembering. "If so, she would have seen just what she was afraid of seeing all those years back. And you did say you thought you might have spotted her a few days ago."

"Yeah. . . . Look, why don't you unload your arsenal over there in the corner for now? I didn't realize earlier you'd be joining me, so I hope you don't mind that it's just pizza. I ordered barbecued chicken, sweet peppers and onions for toppings."

"Daniel, I think you're aware by this time I'll happily eat pizza any hour of the day." Betty's eyes lit up. "Oh, and good, you got a large!"

Wrinkling his forehead, Daniel returned to the focus of their conversation. "You know, the woman I saw a few days ago wasn't Renée after all—I was wrong about that. And besides, the doctors did say she's not disturbed any more. Hopefully, there's nothing to worry about, because I hate seeing you frightened like this. Couldn't the call you got just have been a wrong number, Betty? The caller might not have meant to scare you. Maybe they were just rude. Unless you can recall something else that particularly made you think it was Renée."

"Okay, there is something . . . but you'll think it's dumb." Daniel waited, regarding her with curiosity. "You see," explained Betty, "Christina told me that if before breakfast somebody mentions a person you haven't seen in a long time, it's a sign you'll hear from that person by evening. So here I had breakfast with my father this morning, and the last thing that he brought up before we sat down was Renée."

Smiling fondly, Daniel cocked a skeptical eyebrow at his dinner partner. "I never thought that you of all people would fall for a superstition like that."

"I wouldn't, normally," said his companion sheepishly, "but putting it all together with Renée being set free, you thinking you saw her, then the phone call, it just seemed to fit. And Papi's really spooked about her being loose, too, so I suppose he reinforced my nervousness." Beginning to shake off her unease, Betty reached for another slice. "You're probably right, though, Daniel. It's probably nothing but my overwrought imagination. Yum, good pizza by the way."

"Betty, you say Ignacio, not you, was the first to speak of Renée? Do you have any idea what made him mention her in the first place?"

Her face assumed a bemused expression. "Well, it's strange. I don't know what got into him, but he somehow acquired the notion that you and I are dating. Actually, if you must know, he was pointing out Renée's attacking me as evidence that you're a dangerous person to hook up with."

"Whoa! Had you talked to him about what happened between us last night?"

"Not at all." Betty blushed. At this point, she felt awkward even discussing the topic with Daniel himself, let alone Papi. "Oddly enough, he just seemed to sense something."

"It sounds like he wasn't very happy about the prospect." Daniel looked glum.

Betty shrugged. "Typical father stuff, I suppose. Whenever Hilda or I have started a new relationship, Papi's initial instinct has always been protective. At first he envisions everything that could go wrong, then slowly he gets used to the idea. It takes time. Except with Phil Floss, who he never did warm to. Anyway, don't worry, I'm sure you're due for a trip to Papi's hot seat sometime soon."

Daniel felt his heart skip. "Really? So are you saying you think you and I are starting a new relationship?"

"I don't know. What do you think?"

"Oh, wow, I can't get the possibility out of my head, Betty. I can't get you out of my head." Daniel's eyes were glowing with intense emotion now. "I really need us to talk about this—soon."

"Me too," admitted Betty. "But the present isn't a good time for that. In fact, I have to find a way to put it aside, because I'm not getting any work done and come Friday I'm going to be in a lot of trouble. Your mother . . . "

A footstep outside the door made them both jump.

"Sorry to butt in, folks. Daniel, am I too early for our meeting?" The diners relaxed back in their chairs as Cliff St. Paul entered tentatively.

Daniel glanced at his watch. "Not really, Cliff, but would you mind if we finished our pizza first? Here, have a slice."

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Annette clicked on 'Save' and let out a sigh of satisfaction. "That went quicker than expected. I've gone as far in PowerPoint as I can with what Ms. Suarez gave me, so I think we can call it quits." She turned and faced Danny with a smile. "By the way, thanks for reading all those lists of numbers off to me. That really sped things up. I must say, I expected you to just go read a magazine over in a corner somewhere. It really made a difference that you decided to help me instead."

"Well, I owed it to you. Besides, I didn't want you to keep thinking about me as a complete prick—er, jerk—the way I know you must have after yesterday." Fixing her with a direct and solemn stare, Danny added, "I also want to thank you for not telling Betty what I did. I was sure you'd run and tattle."

Annette shrugged and frowned. "If you thought that, then you don't know me very well. And anyway, you didn't get away with anything, so there was really nothing to tell, was there? As far as I'm concerned, she need never know."

"Actually, I ended up telling her myself. I told my Dad, too."

"Wow, that shows maturity." Her eyebrows shot up, telegraphing her surprise. "Maybe I should apologize, as well. I may have underestimated you."

Danny grinned. "Ah, you admit it? Even though I don't have a 5-year plan?"

"Yes, but I still think you should consider making one. I don't know why you're so resistant to the concept."

"I don't know. I just really don't want to think that far in the future. As it is, everyone seems to be pushing me so much to make decisions and do things I don't see any reason to do—like the mailroom—and . . ." here he made quotation mark gestures with his fingers ". . . act responsible, be an adult, all that junk. I'm only 16, for God's sake."

"Well, that's you. I for one can't wait to be an adult. I'll have a lot more control then, so I can get a lot more done. You know, Danny, awhile back you told me you were mad because your Dad didn't accept that you had an 'adult relationship' with that girl you got kicked out of school with. So it seems to me that there are parts of being an adult you're perfectly happy with. You want to be one when it feels good. You just don't want the parts that are hard."

Now Danny was scowling. "Whoa, why is this suddenly turning into a bash Danny session? I thought we were getting along just now." In truth, he was surprised how good it had felt having her express a new respect for him. Funny, when he had known she had a crush on him, he hadn't really cared. Now, for some reason, he did, and it didn't feel pleasant to be heading back into old territory again. "You know, I might seem—what?—frivolous or something to you, but do you realize that you're way too serious for a girl your age? Like this job. It's just an internship, but sometimes you act like you're the goddamned Secretary of State. It can really be a pain."

Annette, in her turn, felt stung by his words. Especially after talking with Cliff yesterday, she was beginning to accept the reality that she wasn't the junior Meade's type and probably never would be, but she had hoped they were now connecting at least in a friendship way. "You know, Danny, my mother doesn't make a lot of money, and we could really have used the cash I could bring in if I took a regular after-school job. It was a sacrifice for her to let me do this unpaid stint at a magazine instead, so I could learn things and make connections for my eventual career. It would be pretty lousy of me to just throw that away by goofing off and not taking it seriously. I'm sorry if that seems unattractive to you, but it's something I can't help."

Watching the young girl turn her back on him, click "Turn Off Computer" with her mouse and gather up her purse, Danny was regretful. It struck him that he'd been right the other day when he accused Betty of seeing herself in Annette. She really was like Betty in more ways than he had understood. It wasn't just the braces. He knew Betty, too, had always been bright and talented, showing promise at a young age. And he knew Betty had felt, from early on, a responsibility for helping to support her family. Also, Betty—to this day—had that same passion to achieve. What Annette seemed to lack, that Betty possessed, was a certain kookiness and a self-confidence that allowed her to laugh at herself. But maybe Annette would have that someday, also. In the meantime, if he had to work with her, he didn't want to find himself making things harder for her, the way his father had done to Betty.

As Annette headed for the door, Danny laid a hand on her shoulder to intercept her. At this moment, Annette hated the fact that his touch could still make her dizzy. She stopped in her tracks, frozen, not looking at him as he spoke. "Look, Annette, I really didn't mean to put you down. I just felt like you were attacking me and I guess I got defensive. I do think you're a good person. A better person than me, to tell the truth. I just wonder sometimes if you know how to have fun. That's not a criticism, I just think it would be nice for you if you could."

"I do have fun. It just probably isn't your idea of fun. But I also recognize that there's a time when fun is appropriate and a time when it's not. Look, I appreciate you staying here with me so Ms. Suarez could go and have supper with your father, but I'll be okay from here on out. Thanks for your time."

"Hey, I said I'd make sure you kept safe and I meant it. I want to walk you to the subway, if you don't mind. C'mon, you can tell me what your idea of fun is. Perhaps I'd turn out to like it."

"All right." Annette nodded stoically. She had to admit it was puzzling. Here she was with a boy she felt exceedingly drawn to, and he was finally paying some attention to her. Why was she trembling as though on her way to her execution?

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Daniel and Betty were each on their last slice of pizza and Cliff had been persuaded to accept a second slice for himself. After talking shop with Daniel about the photographers' strike for awhile, Cliff realized that Betty had been excluded from the conversation and sought to bring her in.

"Betty, I hear everyone's excited about this new magazine of yours, Cuisine. Will you be getting that up and running soon?"

"I hope so, but this isn't the best day to ask. I spent the entire morning and afternoon trying to work on it at home, because I have this huge deadline to meet, and I've never had so many interruptions in my life. That's why I came into the office tonight to work. I absolutely have to accomplish something before I go to bed."

"What interruptions?"

"Well, for one thing, believe it or not, I actually had a visit from your ex, the esteemed Deputy Commissioner of Culture of New York City."

"Marc?" Cliff was suddenly alert, his face betraying his amazement. "Why would he visit you? What did he want?"

"He wanted me to run an errand, actually—one involving you, in fact. It seems he found an old friend of yours in the closet last weekend and wanted me to bring him to you."

"Sad to say, I guess, I still have a lot of old friends in the closet, but Marc most assuredly is not one of them. I'm intrigued by this errand, I must admit."

Hoping she wasn't embarrassing him in front of Daniel, Betty clued the photographer in. "The old friend's name is Sancho. Does that ring a bell?"

Suddenly, Daniel saw Cliff blush. "Oh, you mean my panda—so that's where it's been hiding. But why did Marc give it to you? Why not just bring it here, or send it by messenger?"

"The truth is," he heard Betty admit, "I think he wanted to feel me out about you, Cliff. From the way he was talking it sounds like he may be hoping to make up with you. I don't know how you feel about that . . ."

"Oh, he knows what the price has to be for getting back together. I doubt he's ready to pay it. But if he wants to discuss it, he should just come talk to me. I'm sorry he involved you, especially now you're so busy." Cliff paused, seemingly fighting an impulse within himself. "Okay, I'll probably be sorry, but I have to ask. How is the rascal—as delicious as ever?"

"Delicious? I'd have to say, Cliff, not so much. He's always liked to get his digs in with me, and that hasn't changed. He couldn't help himself even knowing he wanted a favor from me. Or at least not until he remembered a little piece of blackmail I can hold over his head."

Suddenly Cliff and Daniel were both leaning forward, all ears. "Ooooo, blackmail! Do confess!" urged Cliff. "Does it involve Wilhelmina?" added Daniel, hopefully.

"Not Wilhelmina, but it did involve Amanda. Drat, I shouldn't have mentioned it. I'm sure it would be wrong for me tell you."

"Too late for that now. After going this far, it would be more wrong not to tell us," scolded Daniel.

"Yeah, because we might burst," inserted Cliff.

"Okay, okay. Do you remember Gio Rossi? Do you remember I started seeing him, sort of, after I broke up with Henry from Accounting?"

"Gio, sure, the pickle napkin guy."

"Well, you may or may not remember that Marc at one point caught us kissing in the deli and took a picture with his cell phone that he and Amanda emailed to everyone at Mode."

"I don't think I knew that," mused Daniel. "I did!" cried Cliff.

"Well, after that, Gio couldn't wait to get revenge . . ."

It was the Monday after Betty had visited Gio's deli and agreed to start seeing him. Looking trim in blue jeans and a charcoal gray tee layered over a navy, long-sleeved jersey, he was walking her back to her office following their first breakfast date in the Mode cafeteria. They were feeling a little self-conscience, shy and giddy with each other at starting this new phase in their relationship.

Strolling side by side down the corridor, they spied Marc and Amanda hanging out in front of the receptionist's station, not an uncommon sight at that time of the morning. "Oh, look, it's the mean girls," declared Gio. He lowered his voice. "I think it's time for the revenge we talked about." With that, he handed his cell phone to Betty. "Do you remember how I told you to take a picture, which button to push?" he asked.

"Sure, but what am I supposed to be photographing?"

"Don't worry, you'll know it when you see it. Just be ready." Gio laced his fingers through hers and led her toward where Marc and Amanda were holding court with the usual Mode riffraff of models, junior editors and photographer's assistants.

Marc was the first to spot them approaching. "Aw, how touching. Love blooms among the Hobbits!"

"And they're not even hiding it any more," added Amanda, pointing at Betty's hand in Gio's.

Ignoring their ridicule, Gio stepped up close to one of the taunting twosome and bestowed on her a cheery smile. "Hey, Amanda, I hear you've taken an interest in the wares at my deli—my tongue in particular. Just so you won't have to wonder about it any more, I thought I'd bring you a taste." With a swift motion, Gio grabbed her by the ears and bussed her full on the mouth with a noisy, smacking kiss. At once, Betty realized, Oh, this is it! and brought up the cell to grab a quick shot of the pair of them in mid-smooch, Gio with eyes wide open and Amanda absolutely pop-eyed.

"Mandy!" screamed Marc nearby, doubled over with hilarity. "Better call the vet immediately. They say for the rabies shots to work, you have to start them right away!"

"Don't worry," reassured Gio in a stage whisper, "I've had all my shots already." Then motioning to Betty to prepare to shoot again, he turned Amanda toward the cell camera, and leaned in until they were cheek to cheek. Closing his eyes, he smiled beatifically as though in ecstasy; for her part, Amanda simply appeared dazed.

Marc flourished his pocket handkerchief and handed it to his partner-in-crime. "Here, sweetie, you've got a short-tufted pickle-pusher stuck to your face. Better wipe it off."

In an instant, Gio turned toward Marc so that their faces were almost nose to nose. "And you!" announced Gio. "I hear you've been taking my picture in secret, so I wanted to ask you—why settle for pics when you can have the real thing?" At that, Gio swept his erstwhile tormentor into his arms and pressed his lips to Marc's, bending him backward into a low dip. Betty clicked away.

Wilhelmina's natty assistant started flinging his arms about, choking and sputtering, trying to upright himself. "Aack, germs! Salami germs!" he yelled. "Bring me some mouthwash, no—Lysol, no, wait—make it turpentine!"

The mob of Mode courtiers were by now rollicking with gleeful, malicious laughter. Gio stepped back. "Mission accomplished," he declared to Betty and was just starting to follow her to her office when they heard Amanda call out.

"Hey, Gio, come back, you forgot to include the tongue!" As she descended on him with hungry determination in her eye, he and Betty exchanged surprised looks. "Uh-oh," said Gio. "Help!"

Moving fast, Betty inserted herself firmly between Amanda and her prey, shaking her finger in the predator's face. "Bad, Amanda!" she admonished. "Don't even think about it!"

An appreciative Gio grabbed her hand and dragged her down the corridor, beaming. At her desk he chuckled, "Mm-mm, I love it when you get possessive," and pulled her close. "Come here, my little Hobbit," he ordered, and kissed her sweetly. He kept it brief, knowing that for now Betty would not be comfortable with any more extravagant public romantic display. But his eyes swept over her with such naked affection that she felt her heart flutter foolishly. Before making his exit, Gio asked Betty to forward to him the email with the picture of the two of them that the demon duo had sent around the office the previous week.

At closing time, Betty's computer inbox revealed two emails from Gio. The first included an edited copy of their own embrace in the deli. Gio had removed the remark, "Betty Whorez is out of control" and replaced it with the words "OUR FIRST KISS," all in caps. "Someday," he wrote, "I'm going to blow this up and frame it." Betty smiled. That's what you think, Gio, she said to herself. Still, remembering how disgraced she had felt when the photo had exploded on monitors all over Mode last week, she was touched and pleased that Gio himself was not embarrassed, but rather proud of what it showed—proud of having expressed his feelings openly at last, proud that she had cared enough to kiss him back. She realized by now that what the photo didn't reveal—the slap which had followed—had been a lie, a flimflam. The passion on display there in bold color—that had been the truth, at least in that moment. She wished that she could know then whether it would last.

Gio's second email, labeled "my new ad," was a message to Amanda and Marc, with Betty's address in the cc box. It contained a warning: "Any further intrusions on my and/or Betty's privacy will unleash the enclosed publicity campaign." The first of two attachments was a picture of the exterior of the deli, with a large poster prominently displayed in one of the front windows. An arrow pointing at the poster was accompanied by the words "My ad here—see the enclosed." Clicking on the second attachment, Betty found that Gio had created a montage of the three photos she had taken; a large copy of the one with him dipping Marc was bracketed between smaller-sized, tilted prints of the two Amanda photos. Across the bottom in large letters, the four-line caption read:

Two satisfied deli customers
thank owner Gio Rossi
after partaking of
his extraordinary sausage.

"Did Gio ever actually display that in his window?" Cliff looked slightly scandalized.

"No, that bawdy double entendre undoubtedly would have offended many customers, and Gio was too good a businessman to risk that," responded Betty. "Besides, young kids might have seen it, which he wouldn't have wanted. On the other hand, he would have emailed it to friends of Marc's in a New York minute if Marc had caused him any grief."

Cliff chortled joyfully. "Ha-ha, it doesn't sound like the revenge worked very well on Amanda—she didn't seem to mind the Gio treatment so much."

"I could have told him that," said Daniel. "I wonder if Gio considered that it might have been Marc, not Amanda, coming back for more."

"Yes, he did," said Betty. "I mentioned that possibility to Gio afterwards, but he said he knew for sure that—gay or not—Marc would be mortified to be seen in a clinch with a guy like him. Obviously he was right, since it still works as blackmail against His Royal Snarkiness all these years later. I find it kind of amazing that it bothers him that much, but it does."

"Yeah," Cliff shook his head. "That's my boy for you. He's so hung up on image, he brings it on himself."

Daniel took a last swig of his soda, and suddenly he was all business. "Look, Cliff, it's pretty deserted downstairs now, so I want to escort Betty down to her temporary office at Hot Flash and help her bring her work up here to her old desk. That way she can be nearby and safe while we talk. In the meantime, why don't you set out the photos you took today? We can go over them together when I get back."

"Yes," added Betty. "And I'll bring along your old friend Sancho."

"Oh, yeah, thanks," muttered Cliff, darting an abashed glance at Daniel. "I guess it seems pretty lame for a grown man to be hanging on to a stuffed animal."

"Not at all," Daniel assured him. "I still have my entire collection of Lion King figures from when I was a kid. On the other hand, Sancho Panda—that name—now, that is lame."

"Hey, don't go mocking me, Simba! It's all good in the circle of life!"

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The temperature was chilly as Danny and Annette exited the building and headed for the subway. Annette shivered slightly and her escort noticed that her windbreaker seemed lightweight for the season. In a chivalrous impulse, he offered her his own, bulkier jacket, but she shook her head, refusing it. Had she been one of his usual female companions, he might have slipped an arm around her shoulder and rubbed her arm to warm her up. However, in this instance he held back, not wanting to mislead her that he had romantic designs on her. He expected she would probably rebuff him anyway, as she seemed uptight and edgy at the moment. Searching for a topic of conversation to break the ice, he asked, "Did it seem to you that Betty was behaving strangely this evening?"

"You mean that 'quack' comment, and wanting to borrow my charcoal fixing spray? Yeah, I wondered about that. She's been acting pretty stressed out the few times I've talked to her in the last week. She did look relieved when your father called her, though."

"I noticed that, too. You know, he confided in me yesterday that he's really been missing her a lot since she stopped working for him, even though it hasn't been very long."

"Wow, are you thinking something might be going on between them?"

Daniel glanced at her and nodded. "I've thought of it, but I'm trying not to get my hopes up."

"Then you'd like that? It wouldn't feel like she was trying to replace your mother?"

"What if she was? That would be okay. I mean, Maman's been dead a long time now, you know."

"But don't you still miss her?"

"Sure. I cried my guts out when she died. It was awful. She was all I had, except for my grandparents, and they lived pretty far away. What was worse, I got sent off to boarding school, where I knew nobody. It was a bad time, believe me. But then Maman's lawyer gave me the letter she'd left saying that Dad was my father and to go find him. After that, I was really mad at her, for not telling me way earlier. All those years I lost with him. Of course, now I get that she was probably scared he wouldn't accept me, what with me being illegitimate and unexpected and all. But luckily he did—at least he did once he was sure I was his."

"I'm illegitimate, too. I hate it! My father knew all about me from the start, he just didn't want any part of me or my Mom. Her family took care of her, but they were so ashamed. Sometimes, even today, it feels like everyone knows that I was rejected, that they're all looking at me accusingly or pityingly or something. I know that's stupid, but there it is."

Danny fell silent for awhile. He imagined it must feel terrible going through life fearing the disdain of others for something you couldn't help. Although upset that he had been cheated of time he could have spent with his father growing up, he had never felt personally stigmatized by his absence. The milieu his mother had lived in as a Paris model was quite relaxed about that sort of thing. Half the children he'd shared playdates with as a little kid had parents who had never married and thought nothing of it. Finally, wanting to comfort Annette, he spoke. "There are a lot of people around like us, actually—bastards in the literal sense, I mean. Justin is one, I know. And Elise's parents are divorced."

"Divorce is just the opposite. That's where both parents want you so much they fight over you."

Danny shook his head. "Sometimes, sometimes not. But don't go envying kids with divorced parents. Offhand, I've known a lot of them who were pretty unhappy about their parents being broken up. That's one reason I try not to think of my father with Betty. I sort of wish they would get together, but then it would be so much worse if it didn't work out. It might make her drop out of my life for good."

"Oh, I think she cares too much about you for that." Forgetting herself, Annette reached up and patted his back sympathetically, a gesture that, while not at all forward, was so uncharacteristic of her that it startled the boy. Suddenly despondent over the lugubrious turn the conversation had taken, he shook himself. He had not done so to free himself from Annette's touch, but she interpreted it that way and pulled her hand back hastily. Quickly, she looked for another topic to cover her humiliation. "So, your interest in baseball, did you get that from your father?"

"No, but it's something we turned out to have in common. He loves the game as much as me."

"My grandfather's a big baseball fan. I've spent a lot of summer vacations at his house on Cape Cod, and occasionally he'll drive me up to go to games at Fenway Park. That's how I ended up being a Red Sox fan."

Danny groaned. "Red Sox? Oh no, and here I was just starting to think we could be friends."

Happily prattling on about their shared interest in the sport, they entered the subway. The young pitcher was now enjoying himself so much that he decided to accompany Annette down to her platform and linger with her until her train came. She was smiling and laughing freely at last, yet for once her escort was barely aware of how her smile exposed the mouthful of metal that had always repulsed him before.

As they chatted, Danny saw out of the corner of his eye four rowdy, sloppily dressed young men in their twenties approach. They were making their way down the platform, joking loudly, shoving each other playfully and jostling others in the crowd. Still, he barely paid them notice until they drew even with him and Annette. As they passed, one of them slapped another hard on the back, knocking him against the slender girl as she stood facing Danny. The impact made her stumble backwards toward the track just behind her. Immediately her arms flew out, flailing, her eyes wild with terror, as she teetered at the edge of the platform, struggling to keep her balance.

"Oops, sorry," said the fellow who had pushed her, sparing her a brief, lazy glance but doing nothing to pull her back to safety. Alarmed, Danny pressed forward, and as he did the tunnel filled with the sudden roar of a looming train, rushing at them in the darkness. Young Meade reached out, grabbed both of Annette's hands and yanked her violently into his arms, away from the danger. As the train sped past and drew to a stop, he held her folded against his chest and felt her quaking, still flooded with residual fear. Suddenly he was conscious of his own heart beating fiercely. For a moment, they stood locked together until their pulses slowed and their breathing returned to normal.

Disturbed by her unsettling closeness and puzzled at his own reaction, Danny backed off to arm's length and gave his companion a peremptory once-over with his eyes. "There, you're fine, you'll be all right now," he announced gruffly. "I gotta go." Abruptly he turned and strode towards the escalator. In the swirl of emotions that now engulfed her, Annette became vaguely aware that the train had pulled away without her on board. With stolid resignation, she swiveled to face the tracks and stood awaiting its successor, alone again, the way she was used to being.

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Seated at her familiar desk in her old office, Betty felt a hand lightly tapping her shoulder.

"Hey, there, sleepyhead, you've nodded off," came Daniel's gentle voice through the fog of her exhaustion. "Why don't you call it a night?"

Betty surveyed the data sheets spread out before her unread, and felt tears start to coat her cheeks. "Oh no, oh no," she despaired, "I needed that time."

"Betty, if you're this tired, then it's better that you give in to it. Go home, get a lot of sleep, and you'll wake up ready to conquer the world in the morning. Think how much more you can get done then if you're well rested."

"But I won't get back this day I lost. And I just feel so scattered, I can't seem to absorb anything I read. Daniel, this isn't like me. What if I lose my magazine because I walk into that meeting unprepared? What if I make a giant ass of myself? This could be my one and only chance to not be an assistant forever. I can't stop thinking of all the ways I could screw up."

Her former boss, her friend, gripped her shoulders, raised her to her feet and, taking her place in the chair, pulled her down into his lap. Too fatigued to be startled, she let herself curl up comfortably there, her head resting in the crook of his neck while he soothed her, running his hand over her hair as one might pet a kitten. "Okay," he said. "Let's do a little visualization exercise. It's zero hour. You walk into the Boardroom and the Directors are seated all around the table. You see your laptop set up with your PowerPoint presentation, because you went in and loaded it ahead of time. Are you confident that Annette will have done a good job, that she's given you professional quality visuals?"

"Yes, I'm not worried about that." Chalk one up for Annette, thought Daniel to himself. I think I'm liking that girl. "So you walk in and right away you trip and stumble against the chair of one of the Directors."

"This is supposed to make me feel better?"

"Betty, you know and I know that sooner or later there's a good chance you're going to do something clumsy, so let's get it out of the way right now. And then, hey, if it doesn't happen after all, you're ahead of the game."

"So I've fallen flat on my face, what now?"

"Well, let's hope it isn't quite that extreme. But anyway, it breaks the ice. The Directors get to laugh together at your expense a bit, but not cruelly. Remember—they know you're new to this. At least with some of them, it probably buys you a little sympathy. It may even lead Horace Van Rine to jump gallantly to your aid. He's an old world gentleman, and if you can get him to step up early for you, he'll probably become your champion for the rest of the meeting."

"I remember him. He's always seemed nice."

"So you start your speech and bring up the first 'slide.' Of course, you've sequenced them in an order that places most of the parts you know best up at the front. That way, you can work through the early portion of the talk feeling fairly confident. Slide after slide goes by, and you're just skating along, snapping out the facts, making your case. Now your audience is with you. They're beginning to be impressed."

"Yay!" Betty cheered weakly.

"Uh-oh, now you're getting into the parts you haven't memorized so well. You sense the information and the ideas are slipping away from you. . . . But guess what? You don't care!"

"Why not?"

"Because you don't need to remember. It's all there on the 'slides'! All you have to do is read and point."

"Oh, yeah. I can do that." Daniel was relieved to feel her beginning to relax beneath his touch.

"So, the lecture part of your presentation is over now, and what do you know? You passed with flying colors. Next comes the tricky part—question-and-answer time. How will you handle what they throw at you?"

"I'm not sure."

"Well, I am. You're going to be fine."

"Why are you so sure?"

"Because I'm clearing my calendar for tomorrow to help you get ready, and in the afternoon we're going to drill. By then I'll have a pretty good idea of what's in your talk, and what kinds of things they're likely to ask. We can role-play until the situation seems so familiar, you'll be hard to knock off your game."

"But, Daniel, all the work you have piled on your desk. Can you take the time?"

"Don't know. I'll have to ask my boss. But wait, I am the boss! Boss, please, can I have a day off? Sure, Daniel, my boy, go help Betty. You owe her."

"But suppose you don't ask me the right things? You could get it wrong. They could throw me some curves."

"Aha, that's where your secret weapon comes in."

"And what's that?"

"Claire Meade, your Co-Editor. My mother's an old hand at managing the Board. If she sees you about to start floundering, she can step in and field some of the questions for you."

Betty pulled herself up and looked him in the eye, her forehead creased with concern. "But won't that make me look incompetent?"

"Because she speaks up? No, Betty. It's not just that they won't be surprised to hear from her. They'll expect it. They wouldn't like it if she didn't play a role, because for now she's part of the equation."

Daniel felt the bundle in his arms relax back against him again, reassured. "So what's next?" she asked.

"Look, the Board's applauding. And, wait, what's this? They're pushing back their chairs—oh, wow, it's a standing ovation. It's unanimous! Betty Suarez is now officially the Editor of the trendiest, most talked-about, most popular food magazine to come on the market this decade!"

"Good. That's the best part."

"No, the best part is what comes next. You and I go celebrate. Oh, I guess we have to bring a few others along with us. After all, you didn't accomplish this all by yourself. People wanted to be part of Cuisine, and they pitched in because they believe in you. So now will be your chance to thank them and toast them. But pretty soon, most of them will have someplace else to go and take off. And others will get the hint and simply fade away. And the few hangers-on who are left, well, we'll just duck out on them. Because I have to get you alone to tell you how proud of you I am. And because—finally—the time has come for us to have that talk we've been putting off. . . . Hey, what's this?" Unexpectedly, Daniel felt Betty shaking, and soon large, gulping sobs began to rack her whole body. "Betty! What's wrong?"

"Oh, Daniel. You've made me believe I can do this. Thank you, thank you." Her arms were around his neck now, holding on tight. "Thank you so much."

"Okay, okay, calm down. Let's get your things here packed up, and then go on down to the lobby. I'm going to call Arthur to come meet us there and run you home."

"But what about you?"

"I'm coming back up here for awhile. I've got a few things to wind up tonight, so I can spend tomorrow playing midwife to Meade Publications' newest, grandest production."