mouthpiece with her hand.
“I’m sorry, Miss Fiore,” she said, “but Mr. Harte says he doesn’t have a ten
o’clock appointment.”
“That’s impossible,” Casey said. “It’s written right here in my
book.” She opened the briefcase she’d bought on sale at Filene’s and took out
her leather-bound appointment book and opened it to a blank page. “It’s right
here. I—oh, damn.” She closed her eyes. “I did it again.”
Rob, who had been unhurriedly studying the Warhol print on the
wall over the couch, scowled at her. “You didn’t,” he said.
“Oh, Rob,” she wailed, “I did.” Turning to the receptionist, she
said, “I have the wrong day. I’m so embarrassed.”
The receptionist looked from Casey to Rob and then back. “What
day were you supposed to be here?”
“You dragged me all the way down here on the wrong day?” Rob
said. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “Jesus, woman, can’t you
ever keep anything straight?”
“I’m sorry!” she hissed. “Do you think you could keep it down?
I’m embarrassed enough as it is!”
The receptionist, still holding the phone, gave him a nasty look
that spoke volumes. “Hang on,” she told Casey. “Maybe there’s something I can
do for you.” There was another quick, whispered conversation, then she
smiled. “If you’d like to sit down, Mr. Harte will be with you in a minute.”
“Thank you so much,” Casey said. She cast a quick glance at Rob,
who had returned, scowling, to the Warhol. Leaning toward the girl, she
whispered, “You saved my life. When that man gets angry, he’s a beast. An
absolute animal.”
The receptionist sent a frosty look at Rob’s back. A door opened,
and a wiry, dark-haired man emerged. “Casey Fiore?” he said.
She offered her hand. “Mr. Harte,” she said. “I’m Casey Fiore.
And this is my business partner, Rob MacKenzie.”
The two men shook hands, and Rocky Harte ushered them into his
office and shut the door. He perched on the edge of a battered walnut desk and
picked up a Styrofoam coffee cup. Turning it in his hand, he said, “I don’t
know who the hell you two are, or why you’re here, but I appreciate a good
bluff as well as the next guy.” His gaze left the coffee cup and fell on Rob,
then on Casey. “That’s why instead of having you thrown out I’m giving you
exactly five minutes to tell me what you want.” He checked his watch.
“Starting right now.”
It was all the opening she needed. From the briefcase, she pulled
out a white-jacketed 45 record. “This,” she said, “is why we’re here.”
They spent nearly an hour with Rocky Harte, leaving with his
promise of two weeks of airplay, more if there was enough demand. Stomach
churning, Casey left Rob waiting for the elevator and dashed for the nearest
washroom and threw up.
And then they hit the next station on her list.
***
Like most children, Benny Juarez was tougher than he looked. He
bounced back from chemo with amazing resiliency, surprising everyone when the
doctors declared that his cancer appeared to be in remission. Casey obtained
special permission from Dr. Harris to take him out for an afternoon, and they
spent it at the zoo, where Benny stared in open-mouthed amazement at the
monkeys and the llamas and the elephants.
But his favorite animal, by far, was the peacock. When the flashy
bird strutted across his pen, his brilliantly-colored tail feathers splayed for
the benefit of the peahen, Benny squealed with delight. It was all Casey could
do to drag him away when it was time to leave. In the gift shop, she bought
him a single peacock feather that he clutched in his grubby little hand as
though it might disappear if he loosened his hold.
Danny met them for dinner at McDonald’s. He offered Benny his
hand and said solemnly, “So this is my competition. It’s nice to meet you,
Benny.” Benny
“I’m sorry, Miss Fiore,” she said, “but Mr. Harte says he doesn’t have a ten
o’clock appointment.”
“That’s impossible,” Casey said. “It’s written right here in my
book.” She opened the briefcase she’d bought on sale at Filene’s and took out
her leather-bound appointment book and opened it to a blank page. “It’s right
here. I—oh, damn.” She closed her eyes. “I did it again.”
Rob, who had been unhurriedly studying the Warhol print on the
wall over the couch, scowled at her. “You didn’t,” he said.
“Oh, Rob,” she wailed, “I did.” Turning to the receptionist, she
said, “I have the wrong day. I’m so embarrassed.”
The receptionist looked from Casey to Rob and then back. “What
day were you supposed to be here?”
“You dragged me all the way down here on the wrong day?” Rob
said. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “Jesus, woman, can’t you
ever keep anything straight?”
“I’m sorry!” she hissed. “Do you think you could keep it down?
I’m embarrassed enough as it is!”
The receptionist, still holding the phone, gave him a nasty look
that spoke volumes. “Hang on,” she told Casey. “Maybe there’s something I can
do for you.” There was another quick, whispered conversation, then she
smiled. “If you’d like to sit down, Mr. Harte will be with you in a minute.”
“Thank you so much,” Casey said. She cast a quick glance at Rob,
who had returned, scowling, to the Warhol. Leaning toward the girl, she
whispered, “You saved my life. When that man gets angry, he’s a beast. An
absolute animal.”
The receptionist sent a frosty look at Rob’s back. A door opened,
and a wiry, dark-haired man emerged. “Casey Fiore?” he said.
She offered her hand. “Mr. Harte,” she said. “I’m Casey Fiore.
And this is my business partner, Rob MacKenzie.”
The two men shook hands, and Rocky Harte ushered them into his
office and shut the door. He perched on the edge of a battered walnut desk and
picked up a Styrofoam coffee cup. Turning it in his hand, he said, “I don’t
know who the hell you two are, or why you’re here, but I appreciate a good
bluff as well as the next guy.” His gaze left the coffee cup and fell on Rob,
then on Casey. “That’s why instead of having you thrown out I’m giving you
exactly five minutes to tell me what you want.” He checked his watch.
“Starting right now.”
It was all the opening she needed. From the briefcase, she pulled
out a white-jacketed 45 record. “This,” she said, “is why we’re here.”
They spent nearly an hour with Rocky Harte, leaving with his
promise of two weeks of airplay, more if there was enough demand. Stomach
churning, Casey left Rob waiting for the elevator and dashed for the nearest
washroom and threw up.
And then they hit the next station on her list.
***
Like most children, Benny Juarez was tougher than he looked. He
bounced back from chemo with amazing resiliency, surprising everyone when the
doctors declared that his cancer appeared to be in remission. Casey obtained
special permission from Dr. Harris to take him out for an afternoon, and they
spent it at the zoo, where Benny stared in open-mouthed amazement at the
monkeys and the llamas and the elephants.
But his favorite animal, by far, was the peacock. When the flashy
bird strutted across his pen, his brilliantly-colored tail feathers splayed for
the benefit of the peahen, Benny squealed with delight. It was all Casey could
do to drag him away when it was time to leave. In the gift shop, she bought
him a single peacock feather that he clutched in his grubby little hand as
though it might disappear if he loosened his hold.
Danny met them for dinner at McDonald’s. He offered Benny his
hand and said solemnly, “So this is my competition. It’s nice to meet you,
Benny.” Benny
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