The Art Factory

By Barrie Maguire

A “Mad Men” for the Greeting Card Industry
At age 43, newly-hired Jack Concannon has his eyes opened once he joins Heartland Greetings, known to it’s three-hundred-plus artists as “The Art Factory.” He is sent on a research trip to NYC along with several Heartland staff artists. They include Mary Beth, a pretty, twenty-three year old painter of “bunnies and duckies” who’s stuck with an unhappy marriage, and Squeek, a single, sexy, thirty-five year old “gypsy temptress” who’s idea of fun is to sneak sexual imagery into her best-selling floral cards.
Mary Beth falls in love. Squeek decides to go after Jack with no holds barred. The aftershocks will seriously jeopardize Jack’s new career, Mary Beth’s marriage, and Squeek’s firm conviction that the way to a man's heart is through his you know what.
All this is set in a uniquely fascinating world: three-hundred artists packed into the seventh and eighth floors of the Heartland Greetings headquarters, a young, mostly female sub-culture within a male dominated corporate juggernaut. You’ll be there at Committee and see how the sausage is made: watch artwork run a gauntlet of nit-picks and laughable changes which are not at all laughable to the artists fighting to keep their art and egos intact. You'll see how love affairs are made and corporate rules are broken at artist costume parties and after-work pubs. But you’ll also brawl in a country road house, take a surprise long-distance trip to the Teton mountains, and watch an angry redneck husband, armed and dangerous, bent on revenge.

You’ll probably fall in love, too.

“The Art Factory” is a page turner, fun to read, a look into a fascinating world you didn’t even know existed. But after all the laughing, and all the loving, you’ll reach a point where you’re afraid to turn the page.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barrie Maguire
• Release date: Apr 9, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301316083

Barrie Maguire

Barrie Maguire, a graduate of Notre Dame, spent 15 years in advertising at N.W.Ayer in Philadelphia, New York and Chicago. He joined Hallmark Cards in 1976 where he eventually became Director of Creative Services. Since leaving Hallmark in 1985 he has been an editorial illustrator and has illustrated and/or co-authored many humor books, including Custody of Dad and The 77 Habits of Highly Ineffective People. His essays have appeared in newspapers all across North America and his website, NewsArt.com, syndicates his op-ed art, and that of eleven other artists, around the world. He also is an avid painter of Ireland and his work can be found at maguiregallery.com, a website that features the artwork of his family.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Way back in the twentieth century, long before emails, texts, Twitter and Facebook, there was the Greeting Card.

In 1979, when this story begins, greeting cards carried almost the full weight of society’s urge to be social: to love, to flirt, to tickle, to console. A greeting card was certainly the best way to reach out and touch someone, whether they were far away or just across the table.

Whatever you were feeling, somewhere in a greeting card rack you could find a card that nailed it—the perfect sentiment, the perfect image. Those cards could make you giggle, choke up, reflect, even laugh out loud (long before LOL).

Greeting cards were never thrown away. Die-cut, folded, and foil-stamped, they were magnificent little gems of artwork, instant family heirlooms—and besides, you didn’t throw away a gift! You put it on the mantelpiece or the dresser or taped it to the mirror and after awhile you stored it away in a scrapbook or a box in the closet.

But buried deep inside those greeting cards was the blood, sweat and tears of talented artists and writers, who created their art, then carried it through a gauntlet of corporate approval where each card (and artist’s ego) was poked, pinched, tweaked, revised and revised again, all in the pursuit of customer satisfaction.

In a large greeting card company, such as Heartland Greetings of St. Louis, there were two distinct cultures. The first culture was the one you’d expect in any multi-million dollar International corporation: an orderly, motivated, disciplined, profit-oriented eye on the prize; the second culture was found only on the seventh and eighth floors of the Heartland headquarters building; that’s where the artists and writers lived, more than three hundred sensitive souls clustered together, mostly women, mostly young, all of them plucked from the country’s top art schools and universities, chosen because they displayed exceptional talent, and rewarded with the best gift a young artist could possibly imagine, a job.

In the inevitable clash of these two cultures lies The Art Factory.

PART ONE

JACK

Chapter 1

There’s an old saying in the greeting card business: steal from one and it’s plagiarism, steal from two and it’s research. Just six weeks into his new career with greeting card giant Heartland Greetings, Jack Concannon was on his first research trip. The trip, as it happened, was back in New York City, where he had worked for many years at one of the largest ad agencies in the country, and after that at one of the smallest, his own shop.

Now here he was, a week before Christmas, standing in a cluttered little alternative card shop on Columbus Avenue, the air filled with the sounds of the Bee Gees and the spicy-sweet smell of incense. Jack was not quite sure what he should be looking for, not quite sure why he was even there.

He took a peek at the exotic creature standing a few feet away down the narrow aisle. She looked up and caught him watching her and a mischievous grin spread across her face. She handed a greeting card to him, Here’s one you won’t find in the employee card shop.

Jack took the card from her. She waited for his reaction.

On the front of the card was a stylized airbrush painting of a woman’s face and the words: "Let’s go someplace where we can sit down and get to know each other."

Jack opened the card: Your face or mine?

He grinned foolishly, not sure what the appropriate reaction should be in this situation.

She laughed, Just once I’d like to bring a card like that into Committee.

Jack still couldn’t think of a damn thing to say and he was relieved when, with a flash of black eyes, Squeek Carerro turned away to resume her browsing. He studied her out of the corner of his eye. She had artist written all over her; her clothes looked as if she had grabbed them blindfolded from a thrift shop, colors and patterns that should not have worked together but somehow did. And her shoulder-length jet-black hair was as undisciplined and wonderful as her clothes.

He had been fascinated and more than a little intimidated by Squeek from the moment he’d been introduced to her at Heartland. Still, she’d felt a little bit familiar, reminding him of many women he’d known in the advertising business—brash, sarcastic, un-awed by men. Eastern erotic. Not at all like the sweet, pretty, Midwestern girls that populated the seventh and eighth floors at Heartland Greetings.

From across the card shop a musical voice called out, Hey Squeeker, y’all ‘bout ready?

Tommy Tomble stood over by the checkout counter, his blond perm backlit into a glowing halo around an impish face. Squeek flashed him a grin and a nod, and she and Jack made their way through the narrow aisles towards the register.

Behind the counter stood a slim energetic woman with streaked gray hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. She handed Tommy his change as Squeek and Jack walked up.

Tommy flashed them his sunny Memphis smile, I’ll be out on the sidewalk.

Squeek plopped her large tapestry purse up on the counter and began digging through it looking for her wallet. The woman picked up the small stack of greeting cards from the counter and began ringing them up.

Muttering under her breath Squeek started pulling handfuls of items out of the purse and plunking them down onto the counter. Out came lipsticks and notepads and necklaces and scarves and among them, her plastic-encased Heartland Greetings ID badge.

The woman twisted her head sideways to read the badge. She straightened up, clutching the greeting cards protectively against her chest, You’re all from Heartland Greetings.

Squeek looked up, her face expressionless, Yes, and opened up a small turquoise wallet.

The woman’s eyes darted toward Jack.

Jack smiled at her.

Get out of here. The woman spoke directly to Jack, in a cold, flat voice.

Just take it easy, honey, Squeek said to the woman and began restuffing her purse.

Jack was grinning expectantly, not getting the joke.

The woman turned back to Squeek, and jabbed her finger toward the door.

Jack’s smile faded, What’s wrong?

She turned back to face him. What’s wrong? You’re a bunch of spies, that’s what’s wrong. She pointed to the door again, Now get out!

Don’t be silly, Jack said, We’re not…

Jack, Squeek interrupted, a sour look on her face, forget it, let’s go.

The woman had turned bright red.

Jack said, What the hell is going on?

You know damn well what’s going on, she shouted at him, you people, coming in here to steal ideas from me, put me out of business.

That’s crazy, Jack said.

Squeek closed her purse and snapped at the woman, Don’t bust a gut, honey, we’re leaving.

She looked up at Jack, Come on.

Get out of my shop, the woman was practically screaming, and don’t you come in here again. She started to come around from behind the counter.

Jack felt Squeek yanking on his arm. They ducked out onto the sidewalk where Tommy waited. The woman appeared in the doorway behind them, fumbling with the doorstop, Stay away from my shop! she shouted, then spun around and let the door swing shut.

Tommy grinned at Jack, Welcome to the Social Expression Industry.

Fifteen minutes later the three climbed out of a taxi in front of their mid-town hotel. They went inside and across the crowded lobby spotted two fellow Heartland artists. Jack knew one of them, Sandy McIlheny, the preppy senior art supervisor, and had seen the other one, a nice-looking young blond, in the halls of Heartland, but hadn’t yet met her. Sandy spotted them and waved and Squeek signaled five minutes, as they headed for the elevators.

As they waited in the elevator lobby, Jack said, Well this has been an exciting day to say the least.

Squeek laughed and Tommy said, "I guess when you come to New York you gotta expect to be mugged.

The doors opened and Jack let Squeek and Tommy get on ahead of him. Inside, the three stood silently as the elevator rose. At the fourth floor Jack got off, I’ve got to call back to St. Louis. I’ll see you downstairs in a couple of minutes.

The doors closed again and the elevator continued upward. Squeek looked over at Tommy and grinned, So did you have any luck?

Tommy nodded with a grin of his own. Yes I got a good look in the men’s room at lunch.

Squeek laughed, So what’s the verdict?

Tommy giggled, I’d say… medium to medium-large.

Tommy, you come in so handy sometimes.

When Squeek and Tommy returned to the lobby it was filling rapidly and waiters in maroon jackets hurried about delivering cocktails. Sandy had commandeered a small Victorian parlor setting: two high-back chairs and a small sofa surrounding an elegant little coffee table.

Squeek took a seat on the sofa next to the pretty blonde, Mary Beth Herrmann, while Tommy plopped down in one of the chairs. This place is filling up, he said, I told you this was a hot hotel.

The fourth member of the group, Sandy, a plump attractive woman with a black pageboy haircut and an open, friendly face smiled at Tommy. Where’s the big cheese?

Tommy smirked, He’s upstairs taking a cold shower.

They all laughed and Sandy said, Why?

He had a rough introduction to the greeting card business. Jerking his thumb towards Squeek, he said, First, the gypsy temptress was handing him raunchy cards all day.

I don’t know where you get the nerve, Mary Beth grinned admiringly.

Squeek said, I’m just playing with him. He’s cute, I like skinny men. She gave Mary Beth a pat on the knee, Of course, he’ll forget I exist the minute he sets eyes on you, even if he is old enough to be your father. Me, I scare the hell out of him.

Tommy said, Do you gals want to hear the rest of Jack Concannon’s big day or not?

Sorry, grinned Sandy, what else happened?

Well, he was assaulted by a card shop owner up on Columbus Avenue.

Mary Beth’s mouth fell open, What do you mean?

Tommy said, We went into a little card shop on the west side, the place was a gold mine, but when the woman who owned the place found out we were from Heartland she started ranting at Squeek and Jack.

At Jack? Sandy grinned broadly.

He didn’t know what the hell was going on, Squeek said. This lady is screaming at him about Heartland sending spies to copy her products and run her out of business.

A wide-eyed Mary Beth said, Why would she say that?

Squeek gave her a look. Mother Heartland isn’t exactly loved in the alternative card shops, you know. After all, what the lady said is true: we come here, get ideas from the little companies, copy them, and put them in our card shops.

Mary Beth protested, Well, we don’t just copy them.

Dream on, honey, said Squeek.

Here he comes. Tommy reached behind him and dragged a chair over to the group as Jack Concannon came across the lobby carrying his topcoat over one arm.

Squeek introduced Mary Beth who smiled demurely at Jack, It’s nice to meet you.

Jack extended his hand, I’ve seen your work, it’s nice to finally meet you. He noticed that she wore a wedding ring and this surprised him, she didn’t look old enough.

The five of them had rehashed the events of the day for almost an hour when Sandy announced, "Well, The Elephant Man calls, we need to get to get moving if we want to eat first."

Squeek turned to Jack, You’re missing a great play. It’s gonna win all the awards. I bet you could get a ticket at the door.

No thanks, he smiled, I’m going to take it easy, maybe do a little Christmas shopping.

Squeek turned to Mary Beth, How about you? Last chance.

Believe me I’d love to, Mary Beth rolled her eyes, but I promised to go see a friend from the Art Institute. I’ve been putting it off all week. She’s in grad school at NYU.

Squeek, Tommy and Sandy were on their feet now, and after arrangements had been made for the next morning’s rendezvous, the three play-goers headed off for the elevators leaving Jack and Mary Beth alone.

Jack leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment. He turned to Mary Beth, smiled and said, I’m falling asleep, I need to get some air. When do you meet your friend? Got time for a little walk?

The question caught Mary Beth off guard, Well, I don’t know. She wrinkled her nose and looked at her watch, I’m supposed to call her at seven-thirty to tell her when I’m coming over.

Jack said, Do you have twenty minutes, half-hour maybe? What do you say?

Well, she looked at her watch again, oh sure, why not? She smiled, I’ll have to run up and get my coat.

Good, we’ll just take a walk up Fifth Avenue a ways, catch a little Christmas spirit, he said, I’ll wait for you here.

She stood, adjusted her skirt, and smiled. Back in a minute.

Jack picked the cherry out of his glass and popped it into his mouth. He watched Mary Beth as she began to thread her way across the lobby towards the elevators. She was certainly dressed for the city in a stylish beige wool suit, and her dark blond hair was pulled back in a French twist and held in place by a tortoise-shell comb. Still, she seemed out of place in this crowded room, this crowded city. A little too childlike. Even her name, Mary Beth. Somebody’s little girl all grown up and dressed up and sent off to work in the world of adults. Yet, as she walked away from him, Jack could see that Mary Beth Herrmann was no child.

Chapter 2

Bucky Herrmann had trapped his first mink four years before deep in the Mark Twain National Forest south of St. Louis. He’d been trapping a frozen stream and had come across a path in the snow that told him a female was in the area, so he’d made a trail set for her. When he’d returned the next day the trap held a beautiful dark brown female. Within the week he’d caught two more and was hooked on trapping mink.

His old man had laughed at him, There aren’t enough mink in Missouri to make a fur coat for a muskrat. That was all Bucky needed to hear. From that day on, whenever he was in the forest he always kept an eye out for signs. When he did come across mink territory, he kept the news to himself, trapping that location until there were no more signs of the animals.

The temperature had been mild for December all across the middle of the country, and this grey afternoon found Bucky attired in olive-drab rubber waders and a faded red hunting jacket he hadn’t even bothered to button up. He was crouched in the shallow waters of a feeder creek that led into a deeper stream. When it came to trapping mink, he was partial to the tunnel set and he had piled up rocks to form a little tunnel-like chamber six inches around and about two feet long in the shallow water along the bank. The top half of the tunnel stuck out of the water so that the pan of the trap would be under about an inch and a half of water, the depth was crucial because of the mink’s short legs. To help make sure that the water level would be constant, he’d located the set on the downstream side of an inside turn where, even in the unlikely event of a winter rainfall, any fast moving current would flow past leaving a pocket of quiet water for the tunnel. Reaching up onto the bank, he picked up clumps of sod he had gathered earlier and patted them into place, making the tunnel as natural looking as possible.

Don’t know why I go to all this trouble, he chuckled to himself, minks are so goddamn stupid, they absolutely can in no way resist a tunnel, any tunnel. Hell, he’d even made successful tunnel sets out of drainpipes.

He secured two No.12 coil spring traps at both ends of the set; once he’d caught doubles with a single tunnel. Stupid fuckers. To both traps he had attached chains long enough to allow the animal to reach deep water and drown. A good long chain also reduced the chance of a wounded animal destroying the tunnel. He squirted a liberal dose of mink dope on the clods of dry grass that covered the tunnel and smoothed away his handprints from the sandy bank. He stood up, and checked carefully for any other signs that he’d been there. Satisfied, he waded several yards downstream before stepping up onto the bank.

He took in a long satisfying breath of chilly air; it had been a good day, he’d set eight traps in all. Looking back upstream at his handiwork, he said out loud, Well, come and get it, ladies.

Jack drew a deep breath of cold air into his lungs, held it there for a moment savoring it, then exhaled, sending a humid cloud of steam into the crisp December evening. He wondered how air so polluted could taste so good.

He and Mary Beth were walking slowly up Fifth Avenue. The sidewalk was jammed with Christmas shoppers, the avenue a dazzle of lights and sounds. He glanced sideways at Mary Beth; she had that awestruck look out-of-towners always wore in New York at Christmas time.

Suddenly a matronly southbound woman with a full head of steam and a full-length mink coat slammed into Jack’s shoulder, spinning him around. Asshole! the woman snarled loudly, then disappeared into the crowd.

Jack turned to Mary Beth, laughing. I wonder what she meant by that?

They stepped back into the flow, moving uptown, past bell-ringing Santas and shouting sidewalk vendors. From the lavishly decorated stores, Christmas music poured out, one song overlaying the next as they passed, and above everything the New York City street chorus of honking horns, rumbling buses, and distant sirens. When they reached 53rd Street, Jack took Mary Beth by the elbow and guided her across Fifth Avenue and up 53rd.

There’s a nice little bar up here. Do you have time for a drink?

Mary Beth looked at her watch, then up at Jack, Yes.

They crossed the street in the middle of the block and ducked under a green awning and through a dark paneled door into the cheery warmth of an English pub.

Oh, this is neat, she said, as Jack helped her off with her coat. Mary Beth gazed around the small room; it was dark and cozy, the air filled with the aroma of mulled wine that simmered on a hot plate at one end of the mahogany bar. There were fifteen or twenty others there, and over the buzz of laughter and conversation, Ella Fitzgerald was singing I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas. A man at the bar moved over a seat so that there would be two bar stools for the newcomers. Mary Beth thanked him and eased herself up onto the stool as Jack watched her in the mirrored panels of the back bar. A few of the patrons turned to look at her and Jack could see that, with that vitality that cold weather gives a woman’s face, Mary Beth was stunning.

What are you going to have? she asked.

Well, I always say, ‘When in Manhattan, drink a Manhattan.’ He laughed, In fact I say it when I’m in St. Louis too. He brushed a clump of hair off his forehead and rubbed his red cheeks.

Mary Beth tilted her head, What’s in it?

Whiskey and sweet vermouth, Jack said, it’s a very sweet drink but it’s kind of strong. How about if I order one and you can taste it.

No, what the heck, I’ll take the plunge.

The bartender appeared and Jack ordered two Manhattans, straight up.

I like this place, said Mary Beth. Did you come here a lot when you lived here?

Well, not a lot. But I always liked the feeling in here, not too noisy, not too quiet.

How long did you work in New York?

Almost four years. For a while, I worked for one of the biggest agencies in town, in the world, for that matter. Then I opened my own agency. It was a little smaller, he grinned, three people.

The bartender returned with their drinks and Mary Beth shook her head, Gosh, they’re so beautiful.

Jack smiled, I know. I think that’s one reason I drink them. The v-shaped glass on that thin stem, the color, the way the cherry is magnified by the glass, they’re a visual treat.

Mary Beth cautiously lifted her glass, which was filled to the brim.

A toast, said Jack, raising his glass to hers. To happiness.

She smiled back at him, Okay, to happiness.

She took a sip and carefully put the glass back down. Wow, that is delicious…but I can tell it’s strong.

Glad you like it. You are now officially hooked. He laughed, And it’s my fault.

I officially forgive you.

Jack noticed for the first time that Mary Beth had a spattering of very pale freckles across her nose. Jesus, he thought, she’s great looking. Also married, he reminded himself, and only a few years older than Suzie.

Mary Beth said, You have children, right? Jack nodded.

She said, Tell me about your children. If you want to…

Sure, he smiled, and took a sip of his drink. I’ve got two kids, Suzie is fifteen and Andy is nine. They live with their mother in Philadelphia. Suzie’s an artist, although not in the greeting card sense, she’d be more of a colorist or fabric designer type. I can’t see her painting bunnies.

I paint bunnies, said Mary Beth, smiling.

I know you do, and your work is just gorgeous. Really.

You used to work in advertising?

That’s right.

So why did you come to Heartland?

Well, things were not going so well. The job with the big agency turned into a nightmare and I could never make enough money in my own shop.

He shrugged, And then Clark Parsons called me—Clark and I worked together in Philly years ago. He gave me quite a sales pitch so I went out to St. Louis to have a look. And the rest is history. He grinned.

She said, When you said the job was a nightmare, what’d you mean?

Jack smiled, Oh, I had a problem with my boss. He took a sip of his drink, He was a real jerk. Of course, he’d probably say I was the jerk.

You don’t seem like a jerk, Mary Beth smiled.

He shrugged, Well, company politics drove me nuts. And I have this habit of losing my cool every now and then. I’ve always had a little trouble ‘networking upward’ as they say. He laughed, So I decided to get out of politics and I started my own shop.

Mary Beth’s eyes were glued to his.

Jack said, I loved being my own boss, and I liked the few clients I had, I just never could figure out how to make any money at it. When Clark called about a Heartland job I decided a regular paycheck would be nice again.

Getting back into politics, huh? she smiled.

Yeah, I guess so, he laughed. Although I expect the politics will be a little less crazy in a Midwestern greeting card company.

Mary Beth rolled her eyes and smiled at him, What do you think so far?

Jack smiled back, I guess it’s a little early to say, but so far so good.

He finished his drink and said, How are you doing on time?

Mary Beth looked at her watch, Omigosh, I’ve got to call her. I’ll be right back. She hopped off the bar stool and hurried over to the pay phone that hung on the wall.

The bartender appeared, Two more?

No, we’re leaving, Jack answered. He slid off the barstool, separated the tip from the pile of bills on the bar and pocketed the rest.

A smiling Mary Beth returned.

Did you get her? Jack asked.

Yes. She beamed up at him, I told her I wasn’t coming.

Chapter 3

The dirty brown pickup truck lurched and pulled itself up the rutted Jeep trail until it broke out of the trees a few yards from the paved road. Swinging out onto the highway, Bucky turned the truck north towards St. Louis.

To Bucky, this week had been like a vacation; Mary Beth gone to New York and him having a whole week without her frowning at him and moping around the place every night and making little hints about him finding work. Hell, there was damn little construction work around in the winter, and it wasn’t like he slept all day. He did a hell of a lot of hunting and trapping and fishing, he brought in catfish and venison sometimes for Mary Beth to cook up, and when he caught a mink he could get damn near thirty-five dollars for the pelt.

Shit, Mary Beth had become a pain in the ass, ragging at him all the time, dressing like a goddamn lawyer, looking down her nose at him for not wanting to spend all day cooped up inside some factory or gas station for half of what she’s getting paid to do those goddamned little cartoons.

As the pickup swung left onto Route 110, Bucky leaned into the turn and gunned the truck quickly up to sixty. He was a handsome man and he knew it. He kept his mustache and hair short and even the roughness of his skin, the residue of childhood acne, somehow added to his good looks. His crowning glory were his eyes, intense pale blue eyes that had been making women squirm ever since he’d hit puberty; He claimed he could make a woman’s nipples hard just by looking at her. Well, it had worked on Bet, and the one good thing about her was her looks. Anyone of those boys at Pierre’s would give a left nut to be in his place. It made him a little horny thinking about her coming back from New York, being curled up in his bed again every night when he got home. Bet was a different woman in the middle of the night, no bitching about him not working or being out so late. When it came to sex, Bet was so grateful for it that she’d do just about anything for him.

Bucky had a theory about girls and wives, and among his cronies he was famous for it. The difference between ‘tang and wives, he’d say, "is that with ‘tang you gotta take good care of ‘em in bed, always leave ‘em weak and satisfied. That way word gets around and you got tang lined up ten deep waiting their turn.

But wives, he’d say, now, wives are different. With wives, can’t give ‘em too much or they’ll go fat and lazy on you. You got to keep ‘em good and horny, always leave ‘em a little short, that way they’ll always be ready when you need ‘em.

As a beaming Mary Beth eased herself back onto the barstool, Jack signaled to the bartender, We’re going to have two more after all, but on the rocks this time. And can I see the bar menu?

Turning back to her he explained, The ice’ll dilute it a little, and we should get something to nibble on.

Okay with me, Mary Beth picked up one of the small menu cards the bartender placed before them.

The two studied the menu while the bartender mixed the drinks. On Jack’s recommendation, they ordered the shrimp basket and two salads.

After the drinks were served and the menus taken away, Mary Beth lifted her glass, My turn to toast.

She laughed, Wait a minute, I don’t know what to say. I’ll think of something. After a moment she said, Okay. Here’s to new friends.

I’ll drink to that.

She took a second sip before putting the glass back down, So what about Heartland has been the biggest surprise?

He shrugged, I don’t know. No one thing.

Mary Beth grinned and tilted her head, Not even all the pretty girls? She giggled and brought her hand to her mouth.

I’ve noticed them, I’m not that old. Jack laughed and took a sip of his drink.

I didn’t think you were.

What about you? he asked. What’s your story?

Not much to tell. She took a sip and shrugged her shoulders.

Where did you go to school? he asked.

The Art Institute in Kansas City. But I’m from near St. Louis, from Festus.

"Oh yeah, I remember him on Gunsmoke." Jack chuckled.

Mary Beth looked puzzled and Jack said, "You probably never heard of Gunsmoke. How old are you?"

Mary Beth teased, How old are you? Jack could see the alcohol was getting to her. He was feeling it himself.

Forty-three, he answered.

She tilted her head again, Twenty-three.

Jack grinned and shook his head. Gesturing at her wedding ring, he said, And a child bride, I see.

Actually, I’ve been married almost two years. Her smile faded.

What’s your husband do?

Mary Beth screwed up her face, Nothing.

Jack raised his eyebrows.

Actually, he works in construction, a carpenter. She shrugged, He just doesn’t do it very much. He’s too busy hunting and fishing.

The shrimp arrived, effectively ending the discussion on Mary Beth’s husband.

For several minutes they were quiet as there was an initial rush at the food and Jack was grateful they were both getting something in their stomachs besides alcohol. He laughed, I guess I was hungrier that I thought I was.

When the shrimp was pretty much gone, Mary Beth took a long drink of water then picked the cherry out of her Manhattan glass, put it between her teeth and popped the stem free.

Desert.

Jack chuckled.

Mary Beth turned toward Jack, Can I ask you about your marriage? she said. I know you’re divorced, but were you married long?

Jack smiled, Sixteen years.

Sixteen years, that’s a long time.

Jack felt defensive. Well, that includes the years we were separated.

He smiled, "Sarah, my ex-wife, and I have always gotten along pretty good considering. Even when we split up we stayed close, kind of shared the parenting.

How old were your kids when you split up? She waved off her own question, I’m really sticking my nose in, you don’t have to answer all these questions if you don’t want to.

I don’t mind, Jack smiled, Andy was four and Suzie was ten.

It must have been hard to leave them, she said.

It was, he paused, but I always lived nearby and I saw them almost every day. Until the big opportunity came along in New York and… He stopped and looked out over the room. I don’t know, sometimes I think that was a big mistake. Once I got that far away from them—I still saw them every weekend—but it was different. And now, look at me, living in St. Louis. He shook his head.

Mary Beth’s eyes misted over, That’s so sad. That must have been a tough decision to move away.

That’s for sure. He looked away, I still don’t know if it was the right decision. I love my kids, and they’re in good hands with Sarah, but… He looked back at Mary Beth and shrugged, I’ve been at Heartland close to two months, and I’ve only seen them twice. I shot down there Tuesday night to see Andy’s hockey game. Not much of a visit. It’s turning out to be harder than I thought it would be to fly back East or have them fly out. I talk to them every couple days

Mary Beth said, I shouldn’t ask so many questions.

Jack smiled, No, it’s okay. Really. They’re both doing fine. We’re still close. We just need to find a routine that works for everyone. They’re coming out to St. Louis this summer for two weeks. That’ll be fun.

Neither spoke for a moment, then Jack smiled and said, But enough about me, what about you?

Mary Beth didn’t answer, she just stared out across the room. Then, in a voice so quiet that Jack could barely hear, she said, My marriage stinks.

What? He leaned forward.

My marriage was a great big mistake.

Jack dropped his head, Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.

Mary Beth turned sad eyes to him. She shook her head as she spoke. I married the only boyfriend I ever had. Can you believe it? We started dating in ninth grade. God.

Jack said nothing.

Mary Beth shrugged her shoulders and looked over at herself in the mirror behind the bar. She brought a hand up and pushed a loose wisp of hair back behind her ear. She turned to Jack and gave him a sad little smile, At least we don’t have kids.

Jack said, You said he doesn’t work much?

He doesn’t get much work, especially in the winter. The effects of the alcohol showed in her voice. I support us with my job. He doesn’t try real hard to get work.

Jack couldn’t think of anything to say.

She drained her drink. He’s so defensive. He says I look down on him for not having a job, which of course I do, but what does he expect? He’s never home. She made herself smile, God, I can’t believe I’m telling you this.

Jack felt an urge to comfort her and before he knew what he was doing he had put an arm around her shoulder and given her an awkward hug. It’s all right, he said. Embarrassed now, he straightened up.

She seemed not to have even noticed, she lifted her glass and let an ice cube slide into her mouth.

He doesn’t kiss me anymore, she said it matter of factly. He doesn’t even kiss me. But he sure expects me to…" She fell silent.

I’m sorry. Jack shrugged and smiled, In my case Sarah and I said nice things to each other, we kissed little polite kisses, we slept in the same bed every night. At least she slept. I sure didn’t. Somehow I’d finally get to sleep and the next morning I’d wake up and start over hoping that ‘tonight would be the night.’ He smiled briefly. I never liked those ‘tonight’s the night’ jokes.

Is that the reason you split up? Mary Beth asked.

That was a big part of it. Jack paused. She was having affairs too.

Oh, God. Mary Beth nodded her head repeatedly, I know Bucky cheats on me.

Jesus, Jack reached out and put his hand on her arm, that’s lousy.

Mary Beth looked to be on the verge of saying more but she was saved by the arrival of the bartender, Two more?

Jack said, No, no, no. We’re done.

They hardly spoke on the way back to the hotel, glad for the noise and confusion of the crowded sidewalks, glad for the chance to think. The forbidden images that insinuated themselves into Jack’s thoughts both thrilled and offended him. He mustn’t give in to them, she was too young, and married. But, oh God, the thought of it! From her silence he knew that she was asking herself the same questions. By the time they reentered the relative quiet of the hotel lobby, the sexual tension between them was tangible.

They stopped near the elevators, to give themselves time to think. So, he asked, are you going right up? His words reverberated in the thick silence that now enveloped them; his thoughts, embarrassing and scandalous, hung in the air between them, and he knew that she could see them.

Yes, she said.

Me too. Jack managed.

They stepped into the elevator and the doors slowly closed.

Mary Beth stood close to him, eyes downcast, her shoulder touching the sleeve of his coat.

The elevator began to climb.

She shrugged and made herself smile. I drank too much.

Jack dismissed the statement with a slight wave of his fingertips, Well, I never thought I’d be telling the intimate details of my private life to a total stranger.

Mary Beth looked up at him and smiled cautiously, I never thought I would either.

Jack smiled, It was the Manhattans.

Mary Beth said, Maybe.

With a gentle lurch the elevator came to a halt on the fourth floor and the doors slid quietly open.

Jack stepped halfway off and pushed his shoulder against the doors to hold them open.

She took a step toward him, and he leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. To his surprise, she turned her face and Jack felt the unexpected softness of her lips.

They held the kiss for a moment, then she stepped back and said softly, Goodnight.

Goodnight. Jack felt a crushing disappointment.

The elevator door lurched against Jack’s shoulder and Mary Beth found the button that held the doors open. Reluctantly Jack backed off the elevator and for a moment they stood facing each other until she released the button and the doors slowly began to close.

Mary Beth leaned with them so that she could continue to see his face, and just before she lost sight of him, she called out, What room are you in?

Jack shouted through the closed doors, Four-eleven!

As Jack unlocked the door to his room he heard the telephone ring. He shoved against the door and pushed it open. The phone rang again.

He hurried across the room and picked it up on the third ring, Yes?

Should I come down?

Yes.

Should I?

Yes.

Do you mean that?

Yes. Come down.

Okay. I’ll be there in a few minutes.

Jack hung up the phone and sat on the bed. He could feel his heart pounding.

He grabbed the shirt and pants that lay on the other bed and carried them to the closet, opened his suitcase, flung them inside, and closed it again. He looked around the room; his bed had been turned down and a small packet of chocolate wrapped in green foil lay on the pillow.

Standing by the bed he fought the excitement rising within him; I should not be doing this, I can’t believe this.

Was that the door? He froze, motionless, listening, but no one knocked. He sat down on the bed to wait.

He took off his watch and laid it on the bed table, seven minutes had passed since her call. He looked toward the silent door, any minute now. He took a long deep breath to calm himself. My God, can this be happening? He leaned back and closed his eyes and tried to imagine what she would look like naked. The image of her wedding ring