Love in a Carry-On Bag Read Online Free Page B

her door. Erica ran her manicured finger across it like she did every morning for luck. Inside of her closet-like office books were shelved in every possible corner and since there was no window, she hung a black-and-white framed photo of a pebble being tossed in a calm lake. It served as her daily reminder that the director’s office with the view was within reach.
    “’Morning,” a watery voice called from behind her. Erica’s shoulders tensed when she turned and saw Goldie Gardner, newly appointed senior editor of B&B’s literary imprint, standing in her doorway. Work did not officially begin for another full hour and only Goldie would think this impromptu drop-in was appropriate. Erica hadn’t removed her coat, checked her voice messages, or pressed play on her get-the-morning-started CD. Hell, she hadn’t even poured a cup of coffee. But there stood Goldie with her limp hair, clutching a file folder to her chest, asking, “Do you have a review list ready for Arranged Proposals ?”
    She was referring to a debut memoir by Bollywood actress Chitra Jotwani. Karrington Press had published a similar memoir last year and the media hadn’t been interested in the runner-up, but Erica couldn’t say that to Goldie even though she longed to.
    “I need to do another round of calls. I can have an update to you by the end of the day,” Erica answered, opening her spiral notebook and writing it down.
    “Well, if you’re swamped, I can have my assistant make the calls,” Goldie flicked her bangs out of her narrow face, and as she did Erica caught a whiff of her grassy shampoo, making her sneeze.
    Goldie had only been with the company a few months, and after working on two other titles together, she was on Erica’s “avoid-this-editor list.” Publisher Genève Meyers-Sheppard had wooed Goldie from a competing house with a reportedly large salary. The deal had been “hot news” in all of the trade magazines and, as Grandma Queeny used to say, “The child is smelling her piss.” Goldie knew damn well that Erica wouldn’t let her editorial assistant make publicity calls, just as Goldie wouldn’t let Erica’s edit one of her books.
    “We’ll handle it,” she smiled tartly.
    “We really don’t mind.” Goldie leaned into the door frame. “This book is really important to me.”
    Every book was important to the editor who acquired it, and Erica’s job as the publicist was to sell it to the media as the next best thing, whether it was or not. The telephone rang.
    “I’ll have the list sent down to you later,” Erica replied. But when Goldie still didn’t move, Erica answered the call on speaker, in a final dismissive gesture.
    “Erica Shaw.”
    “HELLO, YOU HAVE A COLLECT CALL FROM ESSEX COUNTY FACILITY JAIL…” Erica clamored for the receiver.
    “Is that an author?” Goldie’s thin fingers hugged the floating heart necklace around her neck.
    “I’ll see you later,” Erica stared schoolyard style until Goldie backpedaled out of her office.
    “PRESS ONE TO ACCEPT THIS CALL.”
    The line clicked several times before she heard her mother’s voice crack. “Er-ri-ca. It’s Mom-ee.”
    “Where’re you?” she whispered, though it was painstakingly obvious.
    “The county. They ’rested us for shoplifting, but I ain’t do nothing.”
    A numbing sensation brushed over Erica. Experience told her that the “us” was her mother and her longtime friend Bonnie, and that they had absolutely been stealing. Bonnie had been the canker sore in their lives ever since Erica could remember and was always leading her mother into a pile of manure.
    “What do you want me to do?” she asked crossly.
    “Bail me out,” her mother cried, calling out a telephone number. “God as my witness, I’ma pay you back.”
    Her mother’s fingers were as sticky as a wad of chewing gum. Most of the time what she took was worthless: trinkets such as crossword puzzles, pot holders and key chains from the Dollar store.