Page 2 of Christmas at the Ranch
“Melody Minnow isn’t an author,” Samantha growled. “She’s an Instagram star who can barely splice three coherent sentences together.”
“It doesn’t matter. Her Instagram has four hundred thousand followers and they buy her books. We need to keep your image out there.” Charlie studied Samantha’s sweatpants and faded T-shirt. “And nineties grunge isn’t going to cut it with your readers.”
“These are new sweatpants, I bought them online,” Samantha said. “And wait until you read the latest Sloane Parker. Sloane rappels through the Guatemalan jungle wearing stiletto heels that even I was jealous of.”
This didn’t sway Charlie. “Please, Samantha. I’m your editor. It’s not just your job on the line, it’s mine too.”
Charlie had been her older brother Jake’s college roommate and she had known him since she was sixteen. While Samantha was in high school, Jake often brought Charlie home to their parents’ house in New Jersey on long weekends and spring break. Samantha had loved to write stories since she was a child, and she was flattered when Charlie asked her to look over his English essays. After Charlie and Jake graduated from college, Samantha was the first to congratulate Charlie when he got a job as an editorial assistant at a publishing house.
Four years ago, Samantha was at the lowest point in her lifeand Charlie rescued her. She had a job at a PR firm in the city and a serious boyfriend, and lived in a loft in the East Village with a roommate. But then she was laid off, and soon after, her boyfriend, Roger, moved to California. Her roommate got engaged and left her with a rent that quickly depleted her savings.
She was about to move back to her parents’ house in New Jersey when Charlie suggested she write a novel. Samantha thought he was crazy; just because she kept the stack of notebooks with all her childhood stories in a drawer under her bed didn’t mean that she could write a three-hundred-page novel. But that night she was drowning her sorrows in a James Bond marathon and wondered why the woman always had to be the love interest or the sexy villain. Why couldn’t there be a female James Bond who wore designer gowns, knew sixteen different ways to fix a martini, and also happened to be the most sought-after secret agent in the western hemisphere? When Samantha went to bed that night, Sloane Parker appeared to her fully formed, right down to her mass of auburn hair and almond-shaped hazel eyes, and was equally comfortable wearing stiletto heels as she was combat boots.
Charlie introduced her to a well-respected agent who sold the manuscript to the imprint where Charlie was an editor. The first Sloane Parker book sold 100,000 copies. Charlie was a thoughtful editor and they made a great team. With the money she made, Samantha was able to afford a new laptop and a one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn. Writing the books was easy: she loved researching exotic locations online and inventing male characters who resembled aGQmagazine model with a heart of gold. But keeping up the social media persona the marketing department invented was harder. Samantha had an unhealthy fear of almost everythingand it seemed to be getting worse. She was terrified of large insects and hated flying. She couldn’t eat at a salad bar without worrying she contracted an intestinal disease. But she also didn’t want to let Charlie down.
Samantha knew how publishing worked: Charlie had been promoted four times during his career, and his latest position as senior editor was somewhat dependent on her. If his star author failed to make theNew York TimesBest Sellers list again, then Charlie’s own job was in danger. He was one of her best friends and she owed her career to him.
“I would, but what about Socks?” she asked Charlie. “I doubt I could find a dog sitter at Christmas and Arthur is allergic to dogs.”
“I already thought about that,” Charlie responded. “Emily and I will take him to Vermont. Emily’s parents have two dogs with their own doghouse. The dogs even get their own Christmas dinner: beef tips and doggy Christmas pudding for dessert.”
“You know I hate to drive in icy conditions,” Samantha tried again. “It would be difficult to get a car service without advance notice. They’re all booked ferrying people to holiday parties or the airport. And Arthur’s country house is almost two hours out of the city. You know how Uber inflates their rates over the holidays. It would cost a fortune.”
Samantha hadn’t been to Arthur’s house in Connecticut but she had heard about it. It sat on two acres, with tennis courts and an indoor swimming pool.
“There’s a car waiting downstairs, paid for by the company.” He smiled broadly. “All you have to do is pack a bag, sit back, and relax.”
Samantha stood on one foot the way she sometimes did whenshe was trying to think of a new plot point. But no excuses came to mind. Charlie looked so hopeful, like Socks when he was eyeing take-out chicken she bought for dinner.
“A whole week.” She wrinkled her forehead. “Can I come home early for good behavior?”
“You might actually enjoy yourself. Arthur is a wonderful host and he always has interesting guests,” he offered. “Not to mention you’re a twenty-seven-year-old woman living in New York and you haven’t had a date in months. You’re not going to meet someone tapping away on your laptop.”
“Why aren’t you and Emily going?” Samantha asked. “You are my editor.”
“We weren’t invited.” Charlie shrugged. “The house party is even smaller than his party last year at the Rainbow Room. You and some of Arthur’s personal friends and a few other guests. A critic forThe New York Timeswill be there and buyers from the biggest bookstore chains. It’s a real honor for you to receive an invitation,” he prompted. “You can’t turn it down.”
“All right, you win,” Samantha sighed. “You don’t have to wait. I’m capable of carrying a bag down to the street.”
“Of course I’ll wait. I’m a gentleman.” Charlie leaned against the cushions. “And I don’t want to learn that you paid off the driver to leave. Take all the time you need.”
Samantha had barely settled into the back of the town car when her phone rang. She took it out of her purse and saw an unfamiliar number.
“Samantha? It’s your mother,” a familiar voice said over the line. “I’m calling from the international phone your dad bought for thetrip. We’re in Amsterdam. Today we’re going to visit the Christmas markets and tonight we’re seeing the largest performance ofSwan Lakein the world. Tomorrow we leave for Vienna to see the Christmas concert at the Schönbrunn Palace. I’m so glad we took this trip: the best eight European capitals to see at Christmas. I forgot to give you the itinerary. I’ll send it from my phone. I had no idea you could send e-mails from your phone. The ticket lady at JFK Airport showed me how, it’s so convenient!”
Before their recent retirement, Samantha’s parents had both been teachers. During Samantha’s childhood, they always celebrated Christmas at home. Samantha had loved the family traditions: Driving to the Christmas tree lot on Christmas Eve and picking out the perfect tree. Waking up on Christmas morning to Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” playing in the living room and the smell of maple syrup and pancakes wafting from the kitchen. Her father putting on whatever clothes he received as gifts: the reindeer sweater her mother knitted from a pattern coupled with the striped tie she and Jake bought with their pooled allowance.
Jake got married five years ago and moved to California. Every year, his wife’s family rented a house in Palm Springs for December. Even Samantha’s parents could see why Jake and Andrea preferred spending the month zipping around in a golf cart and sipping iced tea in the shade of their casita. Now Samantha and her family celebrated Christmas and Thanksgiving together during the same week in November, and her parents decided Christmastime was the perfect opportunity to visit the places on their retirement bucket list. Each year, they invited Samantha to join them but she refused. At first, it was because she and Roger were together and he had to spend part of Christmas with his own family. Since Roger had left and Samantha’s fear of flying began, she was content cozying up inher apartment with Socks for company and a steady stream of Hallmark movies playing on her computer.
“It sounds wonderful.” Samantha reclined against the headrest. It was snowing and she couldn’t see out of the car’s tinted windows. The driver had put on Christmas music and there was hot cocoa in the cup holder.
“I wish you had joined us. I feel guilty leaving you alone at Christmas,” Samantha’s mother added.
“I’m fine,” Samantha answered. “I’m actually headed to Connecticut. Arthur Wentworth is having a house party and he invited me.”
“That’s wonderful news.” Her mother’s voice brightened. “I’m sure there will be some young people there. Maybe you’ll meet someone…”
“Not you too,” Samantha groaned. “I don’t need a man, I’m happy on my own.”
