For Katie
"We're not quite sure what to do with the manuscript, Mr. Carmody. This isn't something we usually work on."
The woman on the other end of the Zoom call was Katie Marinelli -- in her late 20s, dark-complexioned with not too serious brown eyes, not quite full lips with a cherry red sort of color on them, and long, dark brown hair to her shoulders. She was wearing a beige yoga top kind of thing; her virtual background was a popular Fort Worth coffee shop.
"Please, call me Jeff," I said. "I don't do a lot of corporate work any more, but if Ted Thompson recommended you, it's certainly worth talking about."
The Zoom box shifted to a man about the same age. Larry Bleiberg's background was the company logo, an elliptical design with M-B Marketing in the middle. "Super, Mr. Carmody....."
"Jeff? Please?"
Bleiber, who had black curly hair, a full face, and green eyes, laughed. "OK. Jeff. We just don't usually work with men with your experience or credits."
A Zoom shift. Katie was leaning into the screen. I liked her intensity, the way she looked at me, the intelligence and the possibilities in her eyes. She had small breasts, and her nipples were hard and it seemed like they were showing through her top.
"We need to turn this manuscript, all 250,000 words, into a 60,000-word book," she said. "The author" -- and she mentioned one of the most important men in Texas -- "can't really write. At all."
Zoom shift. "And we have to turn the project around in a week," said Bleiberg. "So that's why we reached out to you.... Jeff."
All of us laughed. "Email me the manuscript," I said. "I'll look at this afternoon, and we can have a Zoom call tomorrow. Does that work?"
Something beeped, and Bleiberg picked up his phone, then blanked his screen.
"I hope that's not one of Larry's exes," said Katie. "He's my best friend and I've known him forever, but his taste in men is even worse than mine. And we really need to get this book turned around."
Bleiberg's screen came back. "I heard that, Katie," and he was smiling. "But at least I have the good sense to throw my exes out of the house, unlike some of us."
A Zoom shift. Katie blushed. A lot. But she didn't lose her composure. "So who was the call then?"
A Zoom shift. "It was the woman with the Mineral Wells historic hotel project. They want me out there for the rest of the week. So you'll have to work with Jeff on this by yourself."
A Zoom shift. "Of course," said Katie. "Read, and then we'll talk."
•
It was late. I was at my desk with a glass of wine staring at the manuscript on my computer screen. Katie was right. One of the most important men in Texas couldn't write a lick -- he was both pompous and self-effacing, which I didn't think was possible. His anecdotes and examples didn't make any sense. And his grammar was even worse than his spelling, which was bad enough. And there were 250,000 words of it.
OK, I said to myself. You're a big-time writer. You've won awards. Now how are you going to fix this thing?
And then my Zoom squeaked.
I clicked to accept the call, and Katie's face came on. "I'm not bothering you, Jeff, am I?" She looked like she had been crying -- there was pain in her eyes where the intelligence had been in the morning. There was no virtual background this time -- just the wall in a dark room, where the only light came from her laptop screen.
"Of course not," I said. "But I thought we were going to talk about the book tomorrow. I'm still plodding through it. You're right -- it is a mess."
"Oh the book, yeah," she said. "Actually, can I ask you a favor? I normally talk to Larry when I'm feeling like this, but he's out with the client in Mineral Wells. So can I talk to you and feel sorry for myself?"
"Of course you can, " I said. "Tell old Mr. Carmody all about it."
That made her laugh. "You're not so old," she said, "no matter what Larry says. And I like those blue eyes and those gray streaks mixed with the brown in your beard and hair. You remind me of my writing teacher at TCU. I always thought he was hot. And you didn't once try to talk over me today, which most men your age do when we have a meeting."
This time, I laughed. "You flatter me, young lady. Thank you." I reached for the wine glass, emptied it.
"I could have used some of that tonight," said Katie. "A lot of it. A pass out drunk lot of it. Is that sounding sorry enough?"
"I know that feeling," I said. "No need to apologize."
"You know, today, when Larry said that thing about my ex? He's not my ex. He's my boyfriend, and he's asleep in the bedroom. And Larry is right about one thing. At least he throws his boyfriends out when they act like a shit. But not me. I'm just take-it-and-lump-it Katie."
I didn't say anything. Silence and patience seemed like the best response. Which it was.
"So tonight, he knows I have a lot of work, but he just does what he always does -- gets high, comes over and starts to paw me while I'm trying to work, and then fucks me. And then falls asleep. How much fun is that?"
"Not much," I said. "One would think he would treat someone as smart and funny as you with a little more passion."
"And one would be wrong. Would you treat a woman like that, Jeff?"
"Of course not. Especially a woman like you -- if I am allowed to say that and still maintain our professional relationship."
"Oh, you are, you are. Do you know how long it has been since he told me I was pretty? Or sexy? It's just get high, fuck Katie, and fall asleep. And Katie just goes along with it."
She stopped, looked at me. She bit her index finger, brushed her hair back from her eye. "So I am pretty, aren't I? And sexy?"
"Kitten," I said, "that goes without saying, but I would enjoy saying it over and over -- incredibly sexy and pretty. I noticed that the first time you talked to me today."
"Really?" And her face brightened. "Kitten. I like that. He hasn't called me anything but Katie in years. And I thought maybe you did notice me like that, from the way you looked at me. You have marvelous blue eyes to look into. But my tits aren't too small, are they? He keeps telling me my tits are too small."
"My God, no," I said. "When you leaned over today, and I saw your hard nipples, I was quite pleased, Kitten."
Her eyes were alive again, and she leaned over. "Like this?" and she slid a hand under her yoga top and pinched the nipple, sighed, and her face flushed. I was breathless, on the edge of my seat, my eyes moving up and down her body.
"My God, Kitten," I said, and I knew she saw my hand go down to my lap. I was wearing sweat pants, and the more I watched her and what she was doing, the harder my cock felt in my hand.
I took a very deep breath, moved my hand back to my desk. She saw that and licked her lips and her intensity was past erotic.
"How are we going to keep a professional relationship if you do things like that to me, Kitten?"
"I don't know, Daddy," and she licked her lips again and slid her hand to other nipple. "You tell me."
And then a voice, from somewhere in the house: "Fuck, Katie. Where did you go? You're still not working are you?"