That’s why she was one of the few Brenda always thought of when passes became available.
“Glad to hear you had a good time.” She tucked the correspondence she wanted under her arm. “Did you already send the writing clips?”
“Yes, ma’am. Already forwarded them to you.”
Freelance workers who wanted to work for the ER sent writing samples by email with links to their articles online. Nina checked the designated email account and compiled the links into one email, which she forwarded to Brenda once a week.
Brenda greeted other members of the staff on the way back to her office, a glass room on three sides, but with a window and exposed brick on the fourth. Red and purple verbena in pots on the window ledge soaked up the sunshine and looked out onto a busy roadway. Their citrus scent welcomed her when she entered.
She set her purse on the polished wooden desk as Nina appeared in the doorway of her office.
“Have you ever listened to their music?” Nina asked, still talking about the concert.
Brenda sat down and crossed her legs. “No, but I understand it’s very gritty.”
“It is, but they speak for those who have no voice, you know what I mean?”
The awe in her voice reminded Brenda of herself at that age—nineteen or twenty—before she understood celebrities were normal people, and before she knew she could have a job where she rubbed elbows with them on a regular basis. Stars who didn’t get caught up in their own hype or press were often embarrassed by the adulation heaped on them.
“Yes, I know what you mean,” she said. Unfortunately, she couldn’t chat. “I have a meeting at ten. Would you order snacks from the cafe and make sure coffee and tea are set up in the conference room?”
“Yes. Sure will.”
“Thanks.”
Brenda scanned her itinerary for the day. Before the meeting she had time to check emails, many of which were junk, but she had to sort through them just the same. This afternoon’s schedule was packed with more meetings and she had to review proofs of Ryan Seacrest’s home and select which to use for the next installment of the segment on celebrity design tips. She was sending out replies to emails when the phone rang.
“Brenda Morrison,” she said, mildly distracted by the words on the computer screen.
“Hi Bren.”
Her ears perked up. Her mother, Samantha, only used the nickname when she wanted something. Samantha almost always wanted something.
“What’s going on, Sam?” Years ago her mother had insisted Brenda and her sister call her by her first name. She’d had Brenda when she was young and thought it made her a cool, hip mother. She was always concerned about being cool and hip.
“Nothing. I just called to say hi.”
“You never call to say hi.”
“Well, I am this time.”
“Tell me what’s going on. You know I’m at work.”
A heavy sigh came through the line, which meant Samantha had something potentially earth-shattering to tell her. “I’m getting married.”
“ What ?”
“Calm down,” Samantha said.
Brenda pulled in three deep breaths and rested her forehead against her fist. “Please tell me you’re joking.” What she really wanted to ask was, who in their right mind would marry an aging wannabe actress who regularly wore clothing inappropriate for her age? “Wait a minute, don’t tell me it’s… him ?”
Samantha confirmed her fears. “Yes, it’s him, and hisname is Basil. Be happy for me, please. He’s really a wonderful man.”
Brenda lifted her head from her fist and twisted toward the window. She didn’t want the employees to read her facial expressions through the glass walls. “You’ve only known him three months,” she whispered fiercely. She hated sounding like a disapproving mother, but such was the nature of their relationship. Brenda was always the one to say that’s not appropriate , you can’t do that , or have you no shame?
Samantha had once been arrested for indecent exposure at the
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