The Book Critic's Bodyguard Read online

  The Book Critic’s Bodyguard

  © Copyright Michele Ciuzwo 2018

  This book, and anything else I might do with my life, is for my daughter.

  1

  Katherine Burt’s eyes were already open when her alarm buzzed, its only real impact on her that she would now have to move to silence it. Golden sunlight streamed through the windows of her Manhattan apartment, illuminating the room with a celestial glow as the sun rose over the busy skyline. It was a beautiful Monday morning, and Kate wanted no part of it. With a groan, she rolled over and pulled her pillow over her head.

  Under the soft weight of the down she sighed, and closed her eyes. It wasn’t dark enough under her pillow, even with her eyes squeezed shut. The grating steadiness of the alarm’s bzzzzzzz worked its way under the pillow with her, and comforted her. This day wants to be beautiful? It seemed to say indignantly. Today can screw right off. It can’t be perfect with me ringing nonstop, can it? I’d like to see it try.

  “Stupid, gorgeous day,” Kate muttered into her mattress. She threw the pillow aside, and got up, slamming her palm onto the alarm, hitting “Snooze” or “Off” or some damn thing that made it blessedly quiet. If she wanted to be miserable, she was damn well going to do it alone and in silence, without a soundtrack.

  Peering into the mirror over her bathroom sink, she leaned forward, studying her face intently. She looked the same as she always did. Kate briefly allowed herself to wonder what she might have looked like if things had gone differently a year ago, and on reflex looked down at her bare ring finger. She shook her head, clearing the thought from her mind. Stepping into the shower, Kate mentally went over the agenda for the day, trying to keep her mind busy.

  Make some coffee. Check my e-mail. Head to the office, get some work done. Meet with O’Bannon. Brunch with Holly, can’t forget about that. She smiled. All else aside, she would enjoy spending some time with her best friend. Holly wouldn’t let her get too somber, but she wouldn’t have to pretend to be okay, either.

  And it’s book club night, too. Kate cheered up even more at that thought. She had started the club herself three years ago, and it was one of the brightest parts of her week. The meeting wasn’t until six o’clock. If she wanted to, she could duck out of work a little early and visit Aiden’s grave, maybe put some flowers on it. It had been a long time since she had been there…if Kate was being honest with herself, she hadn’t been there since the funeral. It would be doable today, even with the book club

  I’ll try. I might not have time, though. I’ve gotta get this place cleaned up and ready for tonight. I’ll try, but if there’s not enough time there’s just not enough time. But I’ll try.

  Forcing the thoughts from her mind, Kate shampooed her hair in silence, and stared blankly into the misty swirls of steam. She didn’t want to think about it anymore.

  Kate felt better after her shower. Mornings were always the hardest part of the day, when she was forced to confront the reality of waking up to face another day without Aiden, but after a shower and some coffee, things got easier. She worked on the crossword while sipping her daily cup of French Roast, and puzzled over three down. Seven letters, the great one. It wasn’t often that she got stumped on crossword hints, at least not for long, but this one was confounding her. She thought it might have something to do with sports; she had never been good with the sports clues. Setting it aside for the moment with a sigh of frustration, Kate checked her watch.

  Her closet was crowded, and Kate grumbled in annoyance as she sifted through the hangers, trying to find something suitable. God, what is with all these insane patterns and colors? She wondered, not for the first time. I’ve gotta purge. If I wouldn’t wear it to the office, I don’t need it. Blacks and grays are good, the rest of this nonsense is just ridiculous. Kate flipped impatiently through her options, through clothes that had once been her favorites. Too blue. Too flowy. Too retro. Too-

  She stopped abruptly.

  A garment bag hung on a hook in the back of the closet, nakedly exposed from Kate’s violent rampage through the hangers. Her breath caught in her throat, and she swallowed hard. Moving very deliberately, the woman the literary world knew for her keen insight, sharp wit, and unwavering self-confidence pushed the clothes back in front of the bag, blocking it again from view. She didn’t need to look inside; she knew what was in there.

  It was the wedding dress she was supposed to have worn exactly one year ago.

  ***

  Kate had barely settled into her office when her new assistant popped her head in.

  “Ms. Burt, I didn’t see you come in. Got a minute?” Cynthia asked, her eyes swimming behind her enormous glasses.

  “Well, I did just get in. I haven’t even sat down yet. Why?” Kate tried not to let her annoyance show in her voice, but judging by the way the wiry redhead flinched at Kate’s words, it didn’t work. Kate felt a pang of guilt at the kicked puppy expression on Cynthia’s face, but averted her gaze instead of apologizing. Even after only a few months, her assistant had reset the bar for lowered expectations. Plus, she was so damn weird. Kate had overheard some of the other assistants gossiping about Cynthia in the break room, and more than a few of the whispers had alluded to a flask in Cynthia’s desk. Kate wasn’t sure if there was any truth to the rumors, but there certainly was something off about the woman.

  Cynthia cast her eyes down and held out a dry cleaning bag with Kate’s favorite jacket inside. Her refusal to meet Kate’s gaze meant she was a good two feet off in her estimation of where exactly Kate sat, so with a sigh Kate stood and reached over for it. She caught a whiff of some strange odor, but she couldn’t be sure if it was extremely cheap bourbon, or extremely cheap perfume.

  “I um, I picked this up for you.”

  “Thanks,” Kate replied evenly. “I actually needed this four days ago. But better late than never, I guess.” She snapped her fingers as a thought occurred to her. “Oh, did you order the donuts for the book club tonight?”

  “Not yet, but, um, I’ll do that right away.”

  “Seriously, Cynthia. I need some refreshments for the meeting. Get it done, please.”

  “Okey dokey.” Cynthia started to leave, then turned back. “And, um, Mr. O’Bannon just wants you to come down to his office when you get a chance. But I’ll let him know you’re busy right now. I’m really sorry to bother you. I’ll get the jacket ordered right away,” Cynthia slid out the door, eyes still fixed on the floor.

  Kate sighed. “Donuts! Not a jacket! And you can tell him I’ll be right there!” She called after the retreating assistant. “Or not. You’re already gone. I’ll just tell him when I get there. Okay. Thanks for being a team player.”

  Opening up her e-mail, Kate began her daily routine of cycling through the various correspondence. A few manuscripts, some promotional offers from publishing houses, a notice about staff ID badges, the usual. Then a particular subject line caught her eye:

  YOU BITCH

  “What the hell?” Kate muttered to herself. She frowned at the vaguely familiar e-mail address. “J.P. Anderson? How did I know that name?” Clicking the link, she skimmed the three short sentences with unaffected tedium.

  You bitch. You’re nothing but a miserable, no-talent old cow. Rot in hell.

  Kate rolled her eyes. This was a new one. She’d never gotten hate mail, before. Thinking back to her review of J.P. Anderson’s work, she wasn’t surprised at all. His novel had been a mess, and she had rightfully called it out as such.

  “Cross that one off the quasi-celebrity bucket list,” she stood and smoothed out her black skirt, preparing herself for the meeting with O’Bannon. E-mails, meetings…it was just another day.

&nbs
p; ***

  “What the hell?” Kate asked. “Is my assistant shedding?” She plucked a red hair from her jacket and dropped it to the editor’s carpet. Like the rest of the office, the carpet was mismatched and smelled faintly of smoke. Jack refused to change it out, claiming the smell reminded him of “the old days.” Never mind the fact that in “the old days,” when smoking in buildings was still permitted, Jack still hadn’t partaken in that particular ritual.

  A man heavily invested in the success of the paper under his control, and less so his fourth marriage, Jack O’Bannon was a portly man who talked a million miles a minute (usually over his conversational hostage) and referred to most of his writers as “kid.” Kate liked to think he would never do that with her, because she was such a valuable asset to the publication, but the truth was she only suspected he referred to her by name. Jack talked so quickly it was impossible to distinguish “Kate” from “kid.”

  “Maybe!” Jack said absently. “Who the hell knows? I can’t even remember which assistant is mine anymore, let alone everybody else’s. You know why I called you in here?”

  “I suppose it’s-”

  “Wrong.” Jack cut her off. “You’re doing a fantastic job lately and I want to make sure you keep doing whatever it is you’re doing so you don’t lose this edge.”

  Kate smiled, pleased but confused. “Edge? What exactly have I been doing lately?”

  Jack threw back his head and laughed. “What have you been doing? Are you kidding me? You know what they’re calling you now? You aren’t ‘Queen of the Scene’ anymore, Kate! You’re ‘Queen of Mean!’ Your reviews are more popular than ever!”

  Kate stared at Jack. “’Queen of Mean?’” she asked incredulously. “That’s…that’s not the point of my column at all, Jack. I’m not trying to be mean, I just…” She shrugged. “I’m just trying to give an honest review. That’s what I’ve always done.”

  Jack scoffed. “Yeah, well you used to only pick books you liked. It was more like Oprah’s book club than anything else. And yeah, don’t get me wrong, every book you put your stamp of approval on became a bestseller, sure. And that’s great. But this new angle you’re taking is phenomenal for your popularity. People love a bitch!”

  That word made Kate cringe, and instantly brought the strange e-mail she had received that morning to the forefront of her mind. “Not everyone,” she murmured. “Jack, I got hate mail today. Do you think that’s why? Because I’ve been so hard on some books-”

  “Hate mail today?” Jack stared at her, and broke out into another guffaw. “Come on, you gotta be kidding me. You’ve been getting loads of hate mail for a year!”

  “What?!”

  “Oh yeah. The newspaper gets more hate mail about you than anything else. It could practically be its own department. So what? A buncha angry writers don’t have anything better to do than send out pissy letters because you hurt their feelings? Gimme a break. Who cares?”

  Kate stared at Jack in disbelief. “I care!” She proclaimed. And she did care. Queen of Mean? She never intended to revamp her image like that, and she certainly hadn’t intended to become known for tearing apart authors or their work. “Jack, I became a book reviewer because I love books, I love stories! I don’t want to be known for being a heartless monster. I’ve gotta fix this.”

  Jack’s brow furrowed. “Whoa, slow down, Kate. I didn’t force you into changing your brand like this, but now that it’s done, I can’t just let you go changing it back all willy-nilly. Like I said, your column is more popular than ever.”

  “Yes, because people hate me!” Kate exclaimed in frustration. “Jack, no one is going to want to send me their books if they’re afraid I’m going to decimate them in front of the whole country!”

  “Ah,” Jack waved a hand dismissively. “We’ll worry about that when it happens. But for now, we’re still getting tons of manuscripts sent over! Everyone wants to be the writer to impress you! This is a great thing, Kate. You’re gonna have to roll with it.”

  Kate slumped back in her seat, mystified. She had initially written off the e-mail as a freak occurrence, but knowing that the “bitch” had apparently been deserved made it sting much more. Forget that, she thought. Jack’s right. If some people can’t handle a little fire, they should stay out of the kitchen.

  “Queen of Mean, huh?” She said wryly. “If they can’t handle the heat, they can stay out of my column.”

  Jack threw back his head and bellowed laughter. “Exactly, kid. Exactly!” That time he most definitely called her ‘kid,’ but Kate found herself with not a shit to give.

  2

  Holly was a short woman bursting with energy. She moved like a whirlwind of bubbly good cheer, eyes constantly alight with radiance under her mop of unruly curls. Kate saw her crossing the street and waved at her friend from the café patio. She hid a smile behind her hand as she watched Holly circle the fenced in eating area with confusion, trying to find a way in.

  “You’ve gotta go inside,” she called to Holly, motioning to the restaurant. “Then come out here!”

  Holly waved off the advice. Kate shook her head and grinned as Holly awkwardly stepped over the knee high fence. She chuckled when Holly fell once over the side, and popped back up, bumping her head into a waiter’s tray. Kate watched, tears running from her eyes as she choked back her laughter when Holly tried apologetically to assist the waiter, and accidentally stepped on his foot. The waiter waved her off with a forced smile, obviously wanting to avoid any further interaction.

  “Oh, come on now,” Holly protested as she plopped herself into the seat across from Kate, who was trying in vain to contain her snorts of mirth. “He didn’t drop it!”

  “No thanks to you!” Kate shook her head. Holly’s antics never failed to amuse her, and God knew she needed it that particular day.

  Holly scoffed. “Well, how hard would it be to make a little fence door? That’s just poor engineering, is what that is.”

  The waiter approached the table. “Good morning, ladies,” he greeted them, stone-faced. “My name is Michael, and I’ll be your server today.”

  “Hi, Michael,” Holly chirped. “Sorry again about the-” she gestured vaguely “You know. Foot thing.”

  Michael didn’t smile. “It’s quite all right, ma’am. Can I get you anything to drink to start?”

  Once he had left, Kate leaned forward. “Oooh, he’s pissed for sure. He called you ‘ma’am.’ Didn’t even bother with a ‘Miss’. You’re getting your breakfast with a side of spit, no doubt about it.”

  Holly giggled, then grew serious. “You know…I kinda wanted to talk to you about that.”

  “About Michael punishing you for assaulting him?”

  “What? No. Ok, I want to reiterate: he did not drop the tray. So right there, I feel like spitting in my food would be an overreaction-” Holly shook her head. “Wait, no. Not that. I wanted to talk to you about the…uh, uncharacteristic way you’ve been behaving lately. Lately-ish, I guess.”

  Kate rolled her eyes. “Are you referencing my new title as Queen of Mean?” She asked sarcastically.

  “Oh, good!” Holly sounded relieved. “So you know, then. I mean, I wouldn’t go so far as to give you a title of bitchy royalty, but that’s fine. You’ve been pretty scary. I thought by now you might have found your footing again, you know? But you just seem to be getting worse.” Her tone softened. “And I know Aiden would have wanted me to say something. You can’t mourn my brother forever, Kate. It’s been eighteen months.”

  Kate looked down at the table. She hadn’t shed a tear for Aiden since his funeral, hadn’t shed a tear for anything since then, really, but she kept her eyes down just in case. The last thing she wanted was for Holly to see even a hint of tears in her eyes and think she couldn’t handle herself.

  “I know. I appreciate it, Holly, I do.” She sighed and blinked back her sadness. “It’s just hard when things keep coming up, you know? He died, and then just when I was starting to get over i
t, the wedding date came around. And it was like getting punched in the gut all over again. And then it was his birthday, and then my birthday, then my first Christmas without him, and Valentine’s Day, and…”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Suddenly here we are, on what should have been our first anniversary. I saw my wedding dress hanging up today and it brought it all back, like he died yesterday. We were together since we were sixteen, Holly. I don’t know how to just throw away an entire life and build a new one. There’s so much history behind every little thing. Inside jokes about filing our taxes, and dumb little traditions we had for every holiday. Even the Fourth of July.” Kate’s eyes grew distant. “All those wonderful things that brought me joy died with him.”

  Holly reached across the table and put her hand on top of Kate’s, squeezing gently. It alarmed her to see her friend like this. “Hey,” she said softly. “You’ve got so much of life left. You can’t just go through it waiting for it to end; you’ve gotta enjoy it.”

  Kate looked at her friend with frank sadness. “How?” she asked. “The best of it is over.”

  Holly shook her head. “I promise you, that isn’t true. You have to let yourself live it, though, or you might as well have died with him.”

  Michael brought the women their drinks, and they waited in silence until he left.

  “How do I move on, Holly? Honestly, how? Tell me and I’d be glad to, believe me. It’s not like I enjoy wallowing in misery,” Kate said, perhaps too harshly.

  Holly reacted to Kate’s sharp tongue the way she always did, which was not at all. “Well, what about donating your wedding dress like we talked about?” She suggested gently. “That way it isn’t staring you in the face every day, and it will make some woman who needs it very happy. Something good from the bad, you know? Balance.”

  Kate looked away. “It isn’t staring me in the face, it’s in the far back of the closet. But,” she held up a hand to silence Holly when she began to protest. “I get what you’re saying. I could do that, yes. It’s a start, right?” She forced a smile and shook her head. “Anyway, what’s new with you? How’s everything?”