was really spinning stories. “I don’t think so,” I said. “I’ve known Hubert for seventeen years. If he hasn’t fallen in love with me yet, it’s not going to suddenly happen now.”
“Miss Lola Watson,” she chided. “You just got through telling me he’s one of your very best friends. And what do you think a husband is, but a best friend? That’s the trouble with you girls nowadays. You’re so caught up thinking about what you want that you don’t even see what you have. Do you want to be married, or don’t you?”
She had more to say on the subject, I had no doubt of that, but luckily for me the phone rang at that moment. It was Mrs. Kinkaid’s daughter calling with a child-related crisis. I listened as Mrs. K. changed lanes as easily as the lead car at the Indianapolis 500.
The rest of the morning we were busy—me with putting together a magazine and Mrs. Kinkaid with taking care of her personal finances via her checkbook, a task she could justify since officially she was waiting for two different people to call her back.
My strategy for replacing Drew’s missing articles included updating a similar story that had run last year and inserting a personal piece on the same topic. That was the joy of Parenting Today —we had our annual birthday party issue, summer vacation issue, back-to-school issue, et cetera, and so on. I’d taken to writing personal essays on these topics as backups in case I encountered a gap close to press time. Most of them were nostalgia pieces with a humorous bent. Sometimes I got positive feedback on these stories. Almost all the flattering comments came in the form of e-mails, which I printed and kept in a file folder for those days when I needed a boost.
By late afternoon I’d made great headway on my work while Mrs. Kinkaid kept busy laboriously sharpening pencils at her desk using one of those plastic handheld jobbies commonly used by grade-schoolers. We had an electric sharpener, but that required a trip across the room. Plus, Mrs. K. found the noise it made grating.
When the phone rang at four o’clock, she looked up. “Are you getting that?” she asked, continuing to rotate a pencil in even strokes. Even from my desk eight feet away I could smell the fresh wood shavings.
“Certainly.” God forbid we interrupt the pencil project. “ Parenting Today . Lola Watson speaking.”
“Lola, hey, it’s Piper.”
I scooted my chair so that my head would be partially obscured by my computer monitor, away from Mrs. Kinkaid’s curious gaze. “Hello, how can I help you?”
“It’s Piper.”
“If you wait, I can look that up.”
She laughed. “What’s the deal? Is Mrs. Kinkaid listening?”
“Yes, that is correct.” I wedged the phone between my ear and my shoulder and put my hands over my keyboard. “Would you mind repeating that information?” I tapped on a few keys.
“Oh, Lola, please. Just tell her you’re talking to a friend. Who cares? You said she takes personal calls all the time. And you’re the one in charge. It’s not like she’s the boss.”
I knew Piper was right, but there was a part of me that needed to maintain a show of professionalism. Just because Mrs. Kinkaid had the work ethic of Paris Hilton didn’t mean I needed to follow suit. “Could you spell that?”
Piper sighed. “OK then, we’ll play it your way. I’ll just tell you the reason I called, and you can call me tonight from home if you have any questions.”
“Yes?” I held my hands expectantly over my keyboard. I’d opened up a new document and was going to pretend to type whatever the caller said. That kind of thing bored Mrs. Kinkaid to distraction. With any luck she’d get up to fiddle with the radio station or water the plant. Once she started humming, I’d be able to talk freely.
“Remember my plan?” Piper said. “The one for getting back at Mindy?”
“Uh huh.” I dutifully typed, “Plan for getting back at Mindy.”
“Well, Brandon and I had
“Miss Lola Watson,” she chided. “You just got through telling me he’s one of your very best friends. And what do you think a husband is, but a best friend? That’s the trouble with you girls nowadays. You’re so caught up thinking about what you want that you don’t even see what you have. Do you want to be married, or don’t you?”
She had more to say on the subject, I had no doubt of that, but luckily for me the phone rang at that moment. It was Mrs. Kinkaid’s daughter calling with a child-related crisis. I listened as Mrs. K. changed lanes as easily as the lead car at the Indianapolis 500.
The rest of the morning we were busy—me with putting together a magazine and Mrs. Kinkaid with taking care of her personal finances via her checkbook, a task she could justify since officially she was waiting for two different people to call her back.
My strategy for replacing Drew’s missing articles included updating a similar story that had run last year and inserting a personal piece on the same topic. That was the joy of Parenting Today —we had our annual birthday party issue, summer vacation issue, back-to-school issue, et cetera, and so on. I’d taken to writing personal essays on these topics as backups in case I encountered a gap close to press time. Most of them were nostalgia pieces with a humorous bent. Sometimes I got positive feedback on these stories. Almost all the flattering comments came in the form of e-mails, which I printed and kept in a file folder for those days when I needed a boost.
By late afternoon I’d made great headway on my work while Mrs. Kinkaid kept busy laboriously sharpening pencils at her desk using one of those plastic handheld jobbies commonly used by grade-schoolers. We had an electric sharpener, but that required a trip across the room. Plus, Mrs. K. found the noise it made grating.
When the phone rang at four o’clock, she looked up. “Are you getting that?” she asked, continuing to rotate a pencil in even strokes. Even from my desk eight feet away I could smell the fresh wood shavings.
“Certainly.” God forbid we interrupt the pencil project. “ Parenting Today . Lola Watson speaking.”
“Lola, hey, it’s Piper.”
I scooted my chair so that my head would be partially obscured by my computer monitor, away from Mrs. Kinkaid’s curious gaze. “Hello, how can I help you?”
“It’s Piper.”
“If you wait, I can look that up.”
She laughed. “What’s the deal? Is Mrs. Kinkaid listening?”
“Yes, that is correct.” I wedged the phone between my ear and my shoulder and put my hands over my keyboard. “Would you mind repeating that information?” I tapped on a few keys.
“Oh, Lola, please. Just tell her you’re talking to a friend. Who cares? You said she takes personal calls all the time. And you’re the one in charge. It’s not like she’s the boss.”
I knew Piper was right, but there was a part of me that needed to maintain a show of professionalism. Just because Mrs. Kinkaid had the work ethic of Paris Hilton didn’t mean I needed to follow suit. “Could you spell that?”
Piper sighed. “OK then, we’ll play it your way. I’ll just tell you the reason I called, and you can call me tonight from home if you have any questions.”
“Yes?” I held my hands expectantly over my keyboard. I’d opened up a new document and was going to pretend to type whatever the caller said. That kind of thing bored Mrs. Kinkaid to distraction. With any luck she’d get up to fiddle with the radio station or water the plant. Once she started humming, I’d be able to talk freely.
“Remember my plan?” Piper said. “The one for getting back at Mindy?”
“Uh huh.” I dutifully typed, “Plan for getting back at Mindy.”
“Well, Brandon and I had
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