Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
On Monday, Frannie finds herself in Henry’s dining room, continuously shuffling stacks of tip-ins into order while Henry signs ten thousand sheets for the Jaundice paperback.
She doesn’t know why he’s never gotten one of those paper joggers.
His publisher sends literally thousands of blank pages for him to sign, and somehow, it’s always Frannie who ends up organizing and straightening them.
She expected Henry to spend the day reading through the edits she sent him first thing when she got in. Instead, eight boxes of paper showed up at ten. It’s now three PM, she hasn’t seen Elsa, Michael, or Bridgette all day, and her arms are sore.
“Not sure I can do May fifteenth,” Henry says to his phone, which he’s got on speakerphone on top of another stack of pages. He taps the table.
Frannie puts down her set of pages and moves to her work laptop, waking the screen to look at his calendar. She meets his eyes and nods.
“Actually, May fifteenth works, yeah,” he says. “And if we shift the Parnassus event out by a week, that should be enough time to add the other two stops in Boston, right?”
“That should work,” Maribel says, her melodic voice filtering out of the phone.
One tour’s over, so now they’re planning the next one. Henry’s publisher, Mattock, is sending him on a full tour for the Jaundice paperback, since the hardcover is still on the New York Times bestseller list.
Frannie puts “Union Square B&N” into the calendar on May 15. At least she should get to go to that one.
“And how are you feeling about having Alexander as your Q&A partner for the southern leg?” Maribel asks.
Henry sighs and picks up the phone, switching it off speaker. He holds up a finger toward Frannie and pads back into the living room. Frannie grabs the next thick set of pages to tap them on the table. The repeated drumming will end up stuck in her head like a song.
“Well, this looks scintillating.”
Frannie looks up to find Elsa standing across from her, eyes scanning over the table.
“Truly riveting,” Frannie agrees, placing her straightened stack of tip-ins into the return box. At least Mattock will send over an intern to collect the boxes when they’re done. Small mercies.
“How you doing?” Elsa asks.
Frannie smiles and grabs the next stack. “Okay. Tired, a little sore. How’s the day been?”
Elsa walks around the far side of the table and over to where Frannie’s standing with her back to the Cecily Brown painting. She pulls out the chair next to Frannie and sits down, fingers reaching out to toy with the next stack of pages.
“Bridgette is mad that she can’t keep watching her Barbie movies.”
“I left the box in the office if you guys can find another TV,” Frannie says. “Didn’t want her to not have access, and I thought Henry might have questions if he found them here.”
“That’s sweet, thank you.”
Frannie nods, telling herself there’s no reason to feel warm and fuzzy just from a thank you.
“Michael says there’s a book he wants,” Elsa goes on, “but you guys are annoyingly camped out in here.”
Frannie laughs and glances toward the living room. No sign of Henry.
“It’s probably the big green one over there,” Frannie says, pointing to the table next to Henry’s rolltop, where she forgot to move the stack of Dakota Building and NYC architecture books she and Michael have been looking at together. Henry’s yet to notice.
Elsa glances over. “You’re still encouraging him.”
“I think it’s good practice to let kids read whatever they want to read,” Frannie says with an innocent shrug. “Who am I to tell him to stop learning?”
Elsa rolls her eyes. “Will he have you doing this all night?” she asks, gesturing to the table while Frannie pats her next stack of pages into submission.
“Probably,” Frannie says, glancing at the remaining boxes. Six more to go. If Henry signs straight through to Thursday, he might make it. If his hand doesn’t fall off first.
“Make sure you remind him of the time, and that you have to eat at some point,” Elsa says.
“I will,” Frannie promises.
Elsa narrows her eyes, glances toward the living room, and then sighs, shaking her head. “I finished A Lady for a Duke last night.”
“Oh, what did you think?” Frannie asks, eager for the subject change.
“I liked it a lot. Though the final act really ups the ante,” Elsa says, leaning her elbow on the table to rest her chin in her hand. “Surprise horse chase.”
“Yeah, it happens in a couple of queer historical romances.”
“Surprise horse chases, specifically?” Elsa asks, eyes crinkling in a smile.
Frannie laughs. “Some of them! But I meant left-hand turns that raise the stakes a lot. I don’t know why, but it’s kind of funny.”
“I wonder if it’s because—”
And then she’s gone. Frannie blinks, staring at her empty chair.
“Right, thanks,” Henry’s voice says, and then the man himself reappears. “We’ll get these done this week, and once I’ve iced my wrist and gone to PT to dip it in wax a few times, Frannie and I will dive into the edit.”
Frannie turns toward the head of the table and reaches out to slide Elsa’s chair back in.
“All right, bye, Maribel,” Henry says, finally clicking off the call. He heaves a great sigh and looks over at Frannie. “Success is exhausting, Frannie.”
“Yeah, your success is exhausting,” she agrees, smiling when he laughs, loud and tired.
“Let’s say a thousand more, then we break for dinner, and a thousand after? It’ll be a late one.”
What can she do but nod? Henry looks as beaten down as she feels, his flannel shirt crumpled, salt-and-pepper hair overlong and askew, two days of stubble on his face.
“All right, why don’t you tell me—” His phone rings and Henry lets out a string of extremely creative expletives. Frannie has to slap both hands over her mouth as he picks up.
“Yes, hi, Cheryl, what can I do for you?” he asks, shaking his head at Frannie. He sets the phone down on the next box of tip-ins a little too hard and jabs the speakerphone button.
“Wanted to see if you have time to talk about the translation options for Hellfire?”
“Nothing but time,” Henry says, grabbing his Sharpie and settling back to signing without missing a single beat of the complicated conversation about translation and foreign rights.
Frannie goes back to shuffling papers.
“Hi, Frannie!”
Frannie eases out of the staff elevator with her overflowing pull cart.
“Hey,” she says to Bridgette, attempting to smile even as she struggles to keep her grip on the broken paper bag in her other arm.
Usually, the walk up to the organic grocery store on Broadway to carry back Henry’s specialty order is just a nuisance outing.
But today, the bag she was carrying broke on the way back, and it’s about as big as her torso.
“Are you busy?” Bridgette asks.
Frannie rolls her eyes at Bridgette’s mischievous little smile. “Just a bit,” she grunts, heading down the hall toward Henry’s apartment.
“Wanna go see something once you put those down?”
Frannie sighs at the hope in her little voice. “I wish I could, but I’ve got to type up pages once I put these away,” Frannie says.
“But you were typing all morning!” Bridgette whines.
“I know. Maybe tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow you’ll have more boring stuff to do,” Bridgette says, pouting up at her.
“I’m sure I will,” Frannie can’t help but agree. “But maybe—”
“Bridgette.” Elsa appears at the door to Henry’s apartment, taking one look at Frannie and scoffing. “What, are you his maid now?”
Frannie rolls her eyes, fumbling to get the key into the lock.
Elsa plucks the bag from Frannie’s arms. Frannie smiles in thanks and unlocks the apartment, shouldering the door open to roll the little cart into the kitchen, Elsa and Bridgette following behind her.
“I told you we need to leave Frannie alone this week,” Elsa says, setting the bag on the counter.
“She needs a break,” Bridgette insists, her little face going from pouting to scrunched now.
“I just saw the sun,” Frannie protests, kneeling down to open Henry’s freezer and plop his favorite ice cream and a few Amy’s freezer meals inside.
“A real break,” Bridgette grumps.
“I agree,” Elsa says. “But just because we know better than Henry doesn’t mean Frannie can ignore her work.”
“He’s mean,” Bridgette huffs.
“Yes, he is,” Elsa agrees, giving Frannie a look.
Frannie ignores it, standing on her aching knees to put things into the fridge. At least his list included another flat of grapefruit Spindrifts.
“Can we at least go back upstairs with you?” Bridgette asks.
“Yeah, come on,” Frannie says, because Bridgette looking crestfallen does things to her chest she never gave her heart permission to feel. She smiles at Bridgette and grabs her cart. “You can hang with me in the office for the afternoon if you want,” she adds.
These drive-by visits, with Elsa corralling the kids away from Frannie, aren’t nearly the same as listening to them playing video games. Worse, the only times she’s seen Elsa in the last three days is when she’s come to drag the kids away.
“We’re not going to distract Frannie all day,” Elsa says as they leave Henry’s apartment and head down the hall toward the stairs. “Michael’s at the Tasons’ place. They’re out, and they have a big TV. We can watch your Barbie movies.”
“But I want to listen to Frannie’s music,” Bridgette says, stomping her feet.
The lights flicker a little and Elsa sighs. “I’ll have Frannie send the playlist to my email, all right?” Frannie stops moving. Elsa turns to look at her. “What?”
“You have an email address?” Frannie asks.
Elsa tilts her head. “Yes?”
“How?” Frannie asks, utterly bemused. And how has it not come up before?
“I’ve been a ghost for over sixty years. You really think I never created an account?”
“But where do you—How do you—Who do you …” Frannie stumbles out.