Not His Type (2 page)

Cathy hadn’t started her career as a literary agent.
Armed with a B.S. and a B.A. in business management
from Yale, Cathy entered the work force as a paralegal. She
was ten times smarter than the lawyers she worked for and
they knew it. It was Cathy who researched the case law,
wrote briefs and did everything short of appearing in court.
It was an uptight existence. She gave becoming a lawyer
serious consideration but she was a divorced mother of
twins with mounting bills and major headaches.

To relieve stress Cathy would bake all kinds of goodies,
using her great grandmother’s recipes from the Caribbean
and her grandmother’s Southern recipes. On a lark, Anna
told her to write a cookbook and the thought appealed to
her. She gathered all the recipes, put together a book
proposal and marketing plan. Then she pitched to every
agent she could, including E.D. Smith. He decided to take
a chance on her and together they got her book published
successfully. In fact, they worked so well together E.D.
suggested they become partners. Cathy had leaped at the
chance to leave law behind. That was ten years earlier.
Today the Chambers-Smith Agency represented 30 authors
with a staff of two junior associates, two assistants and one
office manager. E.D was the senior partner and Cathy the
managing partner. Although sounding glamorous, the life
of a literary agent took a lot of work and flexibility.
Sometimes it called for Cathy to be a referee, a therapist or
a hard line negotiator. Other days she was a sweet talking
dealmaker, a challenging editor or a cheerleader.
Nevertheless, it was a job she relished doing, most of the
time.

The house quiet, Cathy took her briefcase downstairs.
As she placed her briefcase on the table she checked the
time. It was still early so she had a little time to watch
Good
Morning America
in peace and get her thoughts together
before heading into the city. Just as she got comfortable her
cell phone rang.

“Wishful thinking,” she muttered, then took a deep
breath before she hit the talk button.
“Hello?”
“Cathy.” It was the unmistakable voice of Jan Peters,
Steven Anderson’s editor.
“Good morning, Jan. How’s it going?” She braced for
the answer.
“Not bad but it could be better. Have you heard from
Steven?”
“I spoke to him last week. Is there a problem?”
“I’m still waiting for him to complete the revisions on
his current project.”
Cathy rubbed her forehead. “When I talked to him last
week he said he was working on the final touches.”
“Really? I haven’t been able to reach him at all.”
“I’ll find out what’s happening and have him get in
touch with you.”
“Thanks, Cathy. I’ve been trying to get in touch with
him for the past week. I finally figured that I was better off
calling you.”
“I understand. I’ll take care of it.”
“Thanks a million, Cathy.”
“Not a problem,” she lied.
Cathy groaned as she searched through the
programmed numbers on her phone. Steven Anderson was
of her prima donna authors. He hated to be edited in any
way. Cathy knew she had a fight ahead of her.
She got his machine. “This is Steven. I’m not available.
Leave a message.”
“This is your agent, Steven. I just spoke to your editor.
Please get your manuscript to Jan as soon as possible and
that includes the third chapter as you agreed to do it. I’ll be
in the city office this morning if you need to get in touch
with me.”
She closed the phone.
Each of his three books had been with a different editor.
He had already gone through two deadline extensions to
finish this manuscript.
If Steven gives me one more ounce of
trouble I will kick his uppity butt ‘til hell wouldn’t have it
again,
she resolved.
One day I’m going to get a life. At least I’d
be worked up about a man I’m actually sleeping with
, she
thought as she un-muted the television.
Cathy watched the metropolitan news scroll on the
bottom of the screen for the sports results.
Yankees 3
Oakland 2. Yes!
Anna had it right: She had watched the
game and knew the final score but seeing it again just reinforced her Yankee smugness.
Being a Yankee fan had been a tradition in the
Chambers family since the days of Babe Ruth. Cathy’s
paternal great grandfather used to take her grandmother to
see Ruth and Gehrig play back in the days when you could
bring your wife and daughter for a quarter. The tickets had
been a bit more expensive for Cathy’s dad but Yankee
Stadium was the only place she could be a normal teenager.
No one knew she didn’t celebrate birthdays, Christmas or
holidays. At the stadium Cathy blended in with the crowd.
In every other area of her life religious dictates made her
stand out like a sore thumb.
Secretly she had wished her father would stand up to
her mother so she and Anna could have a normal life, but
as long as her mother could point to him as an adulterer, he
was hard pressed to do anything but make sure he paid
child support and alimony on time if he wanted to keep the
peace.
Eventually Cathy and Anna rebelled in the only way
they knew how: They got married young. Cathy thought it
would deliver her from her mother and her religion’s
controlling ways. As it turned out, her deliverance was
scored by dueling banjos. Her husband cheated and left her
to care for her twin babies, Alexander and Andrew, alone.
She got divorced but stayed amongst the faithful for a while
before disassociating herself in favor of giving her sons a
chance at a normal life with all those things that had been
taken away from her life, including real dating.
By the time Cathy got around to her love life after the
divorce, she was 29 years old going on 16. With no dating
experience she thought she’d hit the jackpot when she met
Paul at one of her first real social functions as a single
woman. They dated for seven years before she caught him
in the act with one of his students. It had broken her heart.
As the sports report wrapped up, Cathy rummaged
through her bag for her train ticket. Her cell rang.
“Hello?”
“Mom?” the voice screeched.
“Alex? Is that you?”
“Yeah, Mom.”
“You have a cold or just a sore throat?”
“My throat is sore, Mom.”
“I can hear that. What have you done for it?”
“Nothing yet. That’s why I called.”
Cathy stopped herself from laughing. At 6’3 and 6’2,
respectively, her baby boys were quite grown. “You called
me because you have a sore throat?”
He cleared his throat. “Yes.”
“You realize I am over 400 miles away on Long Island,
right?”
“I know, Mom. What can I take?”
“I told you to pack the sore throat medicine.”
“What sore throat medicine?”
“The one I’ve been giving you for the past four years
every time you got a sore throat.”
“Oh right. I forgot.”
“Don’t they have a place where you can buy something
on campus?”
“Yeah.”
“Ask your brother to get it for you before he goes to his
next class. Okay?”
“Yeah, Mom.”
“In the meantime, have some tea with lemon and
honey. Don’t forget to gargle.”
“Okay. Did you see the game last night, Mom?”
“Of course I did.”
“Marcus Fox is the man,” he boasted.
“You’d better believe it.”
“You know, Mom, I didn’t think I’d find you at home.”
She looked at the clock. “I am going to the city a little
later today. I have a business lunch and a staff meeting.”
“Sounds like a busy day, Mom.”
“It looks that way.”
“All right, Mom. I’ll let you go. I have to see if Andrew
can pick up the medicine.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll talk to you later, Mom.”
“Okay, but don’t forget to take something for your
throat so you don’t miss too many classes.”
“I won’t. Talk to you later, Mom.”
“Okay.”
She un-muted the television again.
At the end of her relationship with Paul nearly three
years earlier, Cathy had decided she didn’t have the time or
energy to devote to dating. The only man in her life now
usually took her on a rollercoaster ride of highs and lows for
six months before leaving her to pine away until it was
spring again. That man was shortstop extraordinaire,
Marcus Fox.
Marcus, the go to guy for the Yankees, was a convenient
crush for Cathy. He personified all she could want in a
man: He was good looking, smart, a gifted athlete and best
of all, unattainable. After all, she’d been up to the plate once
with her husband and once with Paul. Win or lose, it was
the perfect relationship.

Marcus’ stomach made it hard to concentrate during
the business meeting. It had taken his agent several weeks
and God knows how many phone calls, emails and faxes to
set up this endorsement deal for the car dealership. Marcus
certainly didn’t want to blow it but he hadn’t eaten since
seven that morning. He glanced at the highlighted numbers
on the proposal.
Who would have guessed that a kid from the
suburbs of Michigan would have a payday like this?
he
thought. He was also fully aware that with the addition of
more zeros, he’d come under greater scrutiny. While
Marcus welcomed the money, he wasn’t crazy about the
surcharge, the loss of his privacy. He started to fidget at the
thought.

Ben Bradford knew that look all too well. His favorite
and his only client was restless, so he made a move to wrap
up the meeting. A spectacled, tall, distinguished looking,
athletic WASP with salt and pepper hair, Ben was more like
a favorite uncle than sports agent.

Ben stood up with his hand out. “All right, gentlemen.
I think we’ve covered everything.”
Abe Bryant shook Ben’s hand. “I’m glad we got this
worked out. I’ll have my attorney’s office fax over the final
papers to your guy and if everything checks out we’ll
messenger the contracts over.”
“Sounds good to me.” Ben smiled and turned to
Marcus. “What do you think, Marcus?”
Marcus, who was staring blankly out the living room
window, snapped into action. “I think it’s good.” He shook
Abe’s hand and escorted him to the door.
Both Ben and Abe looked a bit discombobulated at
how quickly Abe was being ushered out. Ben recovered the
moment. “I know you have another meeting so we appreciate your taking the time to see us personally.”
“Not a problem. I was happy to do it.” He turned to
Marcus. “Good luck at the game.”
“Thanks.”
Once Abe was out of the door Ben turned to Marcus.
“My God, Marcus, you practically gave the man the bum’s
rush.” He smiled. “He did just offer you a pretty big
payday.”
Marcus slipped into his sports jacket. “I’m sorry, but
man, I’m starving.” He patted his stomach as if to quell the
beast.
“You want to order something in?”
“No. I’m in the mood for a nice steak.” Looking in the
mirror, Marcus straightened his jacket. It fitted him as if
someone had poured fabric over his broad shoulders and
down to his trim waist. He looked razor sharp and he knew
it.
“How about Keen’s?” Ben asked.
Marcus grinned. “Now you’re talking. You’re also
buying, right?” he teased Ben.
“I’m not the one with all the zeros in my paycheck,”
Ben joked.
Marcus put his arm around Ben. “I guess I could spot
you this one time.”
The two men laughed as they left the apartment to wait
for the elevator.
After stepping on, Ben pressed the button for the main
floor. The elevator stopped two floors down and a lovely,
lanky brunette got on. She batted her eyes at Marcus.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Fox,” she practically purred.
Marcus smiled. “Good afternoon.”
“Looks like things are heating up today. Wouldn’t you
say, Mr. Fox?” she asked.
“It certainly does,” Marcus answered, ready to play her
game.
“It will cool down soon enough, though,” Ben said,
injecting himself into the conversation. Marcus got the
hint.
For all his triumphs on the field, Marcus Fox hadn’t had
much success with relationships. Some people thought it
was due to all his high profile choices, while others said it
was the race factor.
Marcus’s mother was Irish and his father African
American. Naturally Marcus had his father’s skin tone.
Most people, especially African Americans, identified him
as black. Therefore, he’d taken a lot of heat for not dating
black women exclusively. Occasionally he got some hate
mail chastising him about it.
When they arrived on the main floor, Ben pulled
Marcus back to let the brunette get a head start.
“What did you do that for?” Marcus complained.
Ben looked at him knowingly. “You know why I did it.”
Marcus dismissed the thought. “It was just a couple of
letters, Ben. No big deal.”
“Well, you’ll have to excuse me if I take it more seriously than you do. I don’t take threatening letters lightly
and you shouldn’t either. There are some crazy folks out
there.”
“I know. Still, I don’t want to live in fear about my
choices. If I date a woman it’s not because she’s white or
black, it’s because there is something about her that attracts
me. ”
“I know the heart wants what it wants. You should still
be careful.”
Marcus patted Ben on the back. “I’ll take it under
advisement. Right now I have to call for the car.”
“The car’s here.” Ben pointed to the front entrance.
“Cool. When did you do that?”
“That’s my little secret.” Ben laughed.

There was something about being in New York that
despite the heat put a little pep in Cathy’s step. She had a
rhythm as she walked through Penn Station. A person
seeing her might think she was walking the fashion runways
to the beat of the Bee Gees’ “Staying Alive” or the intro to
Beyonce’s “Crazy in Love”. Cathy was as confident as she’d
ever been in her life with her size 16/18 body.

Cathy stepped off the escalator near Herald Square and
continued her strut before she stopped to look at her reflection in the window of Macy’s. Turning her body slightly,
she made sure the v-neck shirt dress revealed a hint of her
size 40 DD cleavage in just the right way. With her breasts
she made quite an impression when she entered a room.
She gave herself one last check. Everything as it should be,
she continued her booty-licious assault on 34th street.

A welcome rush of cool air greeted Cathy as she arrived
at Keen’s around twelve forty-five. Though she’d enjoyed
her walk, she didn’t feel much like waiting around to get a
table and Keen’s was crowded. Lucky for her she didn’t have
a long wait.