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“A Filowhatever.”
“An organizing system in book form with tabs for daily appointments, tax records, notes, various lists and stuff. Wait, I’ll show it to you.”
A search of my handbag, overnight case, and Kate Spade duffel bag yielded nothing. I racked my brain trying to remember the last time I’d seen it, and then it hit me.
“Oh, Mama! I left my Filofax in Annabelle’s library. This is a disaster!”
“Jackie, Vietnam was a disaster. This is just bothersome,” she responded dryly. “Pick up the phone and call her. She can bring it to you tomorrow.”
I slumped onto the sofa and started rocking back and forth. “What if she reads it? Aw man, Annabelle will know all my personal business.”
“What kinda stuff did you write down in a book that anybody could get a hold of?”
“Everything, Mama,” I explained that Filofax had the dates my menstrual periods started and ended on the calendar sheets, nasty comments about various people in the industry on the diary pages, affirmations designed to help me keep my temper in check at the Monday editorial meetings, childish sketches of hearts with my name entwined with Victor’s in the middle of them, cleaner’s tickets, laundry receipts, recent cancelled checks, and . . . oh God in heaven, all my notes relating to the Moms Mabley project . . . the things I’d said about Annabelle’s husband!
By the time I finished, Mama was standing in the middle of the living room floor with her mouth hanging open. “I thought you had betta sense than this.”
“Mama, I have to call Annabelle right now so she can find it before the cleaning lady throws it away or something.” I headed for the phone.
“No! Don’t call her!”
“But, you just said . . .” I spluttered.
“If you call her on a Sunday afternoon, she’ll have time to find it and read it. Why don’t you give her a ring tomorrow morning before she leaves for work and tell her you’re droppin’ by to pick it up. She’ll be so busy runnin’ aroun’ gettin’ her li’l girl dressed and pullin’ her own self together for work that she won’t have time to wonder what’s in it.”
I bit my lip. What Mama said made sense. But how was I going to sleep, knowing that it was in the Murrays’ possession?
6
ANNABELLE AND THE FILOFAX
The next morning I was so determined not to let Annabelle know my Filofax was in her house that I didn’t even call ahead to let her know I was coming. The doorman in the lobby of Annabelle’s building called upstairs and then waved me on inside.
The door opened on the eighth floor and Annabelle was standing in her vestibule, waiting for me. She was wearing a navy blue pantsuit, a pearl necklace with matching earrings, and black pumps. Her face was flushed, the forehead creased in a frown, the eyes red-rimmed. It was clear that she had been weeping. Had she and Craig been fighting? She crossed her arms across her chest and fixed me with a what-the-hell-are-you-doing-here stare.
My voice came out squeaky. “Good morning, Annabelle. I’m sorry to bother you so early in the morning, but I just realized that I left my Filofax in your library on Saturday.”
She blinked twice. “Oh, is that all?”
What had she expected?
“Yes,” I chuckled insincerely. “I have no idea what my appointments are for the day. Isn’t it amazing how missing one item can louse up your whole schedule?”
“Wait right here,” she said shortly.
I waited, hoping that she wouldn’t mention my show of ire the last time we were together.
She was back with the book in less than a minute. “Here you are,” she said, thrusting it toward my chest. “Are you feeling better?”
What a dumb-assed question.
I seized the book, wondering if she had read it. “Yes, I’m very well this morning, thank you.”
Her eyes met mine and she smiled. “Good. I’m glad we’re friends again.”
Friends?
A long time ago, Paul and I had discussed quitting our jobs and opening our own publishing house. We had become discouraged when research indicated that we needed at least one million dollars to get the project off the ground. It was time for us to sit down and talk about it again. In the meantime, if Annabelle wanted to believe that I wasn’t pissed off to the bone, that was fine with me. I smiled back at her and got back into the elevator. Before the door closed, I waved and said, “See you at the office.”
