A Winter Dream(24)

“A small Denver agency. Jacobson.”

“Jacobson. That’s your last name.”

“My father was the founder.”

“Family business,” he said. “Why did you leave?”

I thought over how much I wanted to tell him. “The pond was too small.”

“I understand,” he said. “Big fish need room to swim. Did you have any management experience at Jacobson?”

“Some. It was a small firm, but I was over two other copywriters.”

“Good. Because I’m putting you over the BankOne creative team. I want you to inspire them. Right after I fire Leonard.”





CHAPTER


Thirteen


Today was a good day, which gives me hope that there might be others. I don’t know if this is the beginning of a new season or the tenuous, tranquil eye of the hurricane.

Joseph Jacobson’s Diary





Friday night I had a dream about April. I don’t remember anything about it, just that she was in it. It had to have been something good, though, because for the first time since I left Colorado I woke without dread, which might not be the same thing as waking happy, but under the circumstances, I’d take it.

I checked my watch. Eight o’clock. I showered, using the last of the paper towels to dry myself. Then I dressed, put on my parka and walked down the street to Mr. G’s.

The diner was crowded and the line of people waiting to be seated stretched out the door.

Turning sideways, I slid past everyone and walked inside. The place was nearly as frantic as the New York Stock Exchange. There were four waitresses at work, including April, who was standing behind the counter making a cappuccino. She smiled when she saw me. “Good morning. You made it.”

“You doubted me?”

“No,” she said, then slightly cocked her head. “Maybe.”

“You’re really busy. Are we still on for today or do you have to work?”

“We’re always busy on Saturday mornings, but I’m off. I was just helping out until you came. Have you had breakfast?”

“No.”

“Good. I’ll get you something.” She handed me a menu. “Have a seat at the bar. I’ll be right back to get your order.”

I took the menu and sat down at the only available seat in the diner. I pondered my choices while April delivered coffees to a table.

“Anything look good?” she asked.

“It all does,” I said. “What do you recommend?”

“The feta omelet is my personal favorite. But only if you like feta.”

“Sold,” I said.

She took my menu and walked back to the kitchen. She returned a moment later. “It will only be a few minutes.” She leaned forward on the counter. “So I have a full day planned for us. It’s going to take a bit of walking. I hope it’s not too cold for you.”

“I’m used to cold,” I said.

“Of course,” she replied. “Denver. But I think it’s a different kind of cold here. Denver is pretty dry, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Here, the dampness just cuts through you. I’m still not used to it. That’s why I brought my big coat. And my mittens.”

“Me too,” I said. “Not my mittens. Just the coat. Do people still wear mittens?”

“I do,” she said. “I knit them myself.”

“You are a rare woman,” I said. She laughed. “So, I’m betting lunch that you really don’t know all the people you have hanging on the wall.”

“Bring it on,” she said.

“Okay, who is that?” I said, pointing to a color photo of a woman.

“Dorothy Hamill. Olympic ice-skater.”

I pointed to another woman, a picture in black and white. “And her?”

“Kim Novak. I think she was an actress.”

“She was in Hitchcock’s Vertigo with Jimmy Stewart.”

“Hitchcock?” she said.

“Alfred Hitchcock,” I said. “You know, the director of The Birds. Psycho. North by Northwest.”

She just shrugged. “Never heard of him.”

I looked at her quizzically. “Really?”

“I told you I’m not much into movies,” she said, taking a step back. “I’ll check on our breakfast.”

She returned from the kitchen a moment later carrying a tray loaded with plates. She gave me my omelet with a side of hash browns, and a cup of coffee. She set her own meal, a cinnamon roll and a cup of cocoa, on the counter in front of her, then leaned against the counter to eat.

“I’m a sugar freak,” she confessed, cutting into the cinnamon roll with a fork. “I’m glad I’m not diabetic. I’d kill myself on those peach gummy candies.”