LaVyrle Spencer - Forsaking All Others

N ORTH Star Agency, answered the voice on the phone.

Allison Scott crossed her ankles, rested a heel on her desk, and leaned back in her ancient, creaking swivel chair. I need the sexiest man youve ever seen and I need him right now, she said, smiling.

Hey, who doesnt? came the glib reply. Allison, is that you?

Yes, Mattie, its me, and I mean it. I need the man to end all men. Hes got to be handsome, honed, with hair the color of waving wheat, blue eyesbut I could get by with browna jaw like Dick Tracys and a nose like the hand of a sundial, a body like

Hey, hey, hey! Hold on there, girl. What are you using him for anyway, a screen test?

Not quite. A book cover.

A what!

A book cover. Allisons voice became exhilarated. I got the offer about a month ago, and I said Id see what I thought after reading the book. It came in yesterdays mail, and I took it home last night, read it from cover to cover, and decided to give it a try. I just called New York andoh, Mattie, this could be the break Ive been waiting for. Theyll be sending a contract within the week. Now all I need from you is Mister Right for the cover.

Let me get his vital stats on paper and look through the files and see what I can come up with. Okay, shoot.

Allisons feet hit the floor as she reached for the manuscript, flipped to the right page, and followed the words with her finger. Blond, blue eyed, virile, handsome, about twenty-five years old, six feet, sinewy... God, Mattie, can you believe they really believe men who look like that are worth anything? Allison slapped the manuscript closed in disgust.

Matties voice came back critically. Were you hired as a book critic or cover artist?

All right, I deserved that. Its really none of my business what these star-struck authors put between the covers. This is a chance Ive been waiting for, and if they want me to give them a picture thatll convince the readers people fall in love at first sight and live happily ever after, thats what Ill give em. You just send me the raw material and watch me!

Okay. So describe the woman.

Ah, lets see... Again a slender finger scanned a page. Oh, here it is. Early twenties, ginger-colored hair, blue eyes, tall, willowy. And listen, Mattie, hair color is important, seems the readers tend to notice if its wrong, so shoulder length and ginger, right?

Ginger it is. Let me see what I can dig up, and Ill get the photos over to you in tomorrows mail.

Okay, Mattie, I appreciate it.

Hey, Allison?

Yeah?

A brief silence hummed before Mattie asked guardedly, Is he back yet?

Allison Scotts back wilted. Her elbow dropped to the desk, and she rubbed her forehead as if to ease a sudden shooting pain. No, hes not. Im really not expecting him anymore, Mattie.

Have you heard from him?

Not a word.

Allison thought she could hear Mattie sigh. Im sorry I asked. Forgive me, huh?

Allison sighed herself. Mattie, its not your fault Jason Ederlie turned out to be a first-class bastard.

I know it, but I shouldnt have asked.

My skins gotten a lot tougher since he disappeared.

I know that, too. Thats what worries me.

What do you mean by that!

Mattie backed off at Allisons sharp tone. Nothing. Forget I said it, okay? The glossies will be in tomorrows mail.

The click at the other end of the line ended any further questions Allison might have posed, but her ebullient mood was gone, snuffed away at the mention of Jason Ederlies name. Pushing his memory aside, she swiveled abruptly, rocked to her feet, and thrust belligerent hands deep into the pockets of her khaki-colored jeans. Standing with feet spread, she stared out the ceiling-to-floor windows that overlooked downtown Minneapolis. The building was old and drafty but spacious and bright, thus well suited for a photography studio. At one time it had housed the offices of a flour-milling company that had long ago turned to carpets, subdued lighting, well-insulated walls, and piped-in music.

But as Allison stared out unseeingly, the only music she heard was that of aged water pipes overhead, the clang of the expanding metal in ancient radiators that heated the placebut never quite adequately, it seemed.

The January cold had condensed moisture on the north-facing panes. Now and then a rivulet streamed down and joined the drift of ice that had formed at the corners of the small panes. With the edge of a clenched fist Allison cleared the center of a square, but the view beyond remained foggy.

Her fist slid down the cold glass, then rapped hard against an icy frame.

Damn you, Jason, damn you! she exclaimed aloud. Her forehead fell to her arm and tears trickled down her cheek as she indulged in the memory of his face, his voice, his body, all those things she had learned to trust.

Abruptly her head jerked up and she tossed it defiantly, sending her hair flying back in a rusty swirl of obstinance. She dragged the back of one wrist across her nose, sniffed, dashed the errant tears from her eyes, and swallowed the lump of memory in her throat. Ill get over you, Jason Ederlie, if its the last thing I do! she promised the empty studio, the skyline, herself. Then Allison Scott turned back to the balm of work.

I T was a simple book, an uncomplicated story of a man and woman who meet on vacation on Sanibel Island, look at each other while sparks fly, make their way into each others arms within fifty pages, out of them by a hundred, right their misconceptions some fifty pages later, and regain bliss together as the book ends. Perhaps because the heros description matched that of Jason Ederlie, Allison had found herself lost in the pages. Maybe that, too, was the reason shed at first been reluctant to accept the contract to do the cover art, for without Jason to pose, something would be missing. But realizing what a boon it would mean to her career and her finances, shed accepted, even though it galled Allison that women readers sopped up such Cinderellaism as if it really happened.