“I want to be a writer.”
“What kindof writer?”
“I’d love to write for a magazine like Reader’s Digest, orThe New York Timeswould be the dream, but my lack of experience makes it tough.”
“My cousin is an associate editor for NBC and she loves it, but it took her years before she got the job.” Megan rounded the corner near the basketball courts, hoping they would be empty. “What about writing books, has that never appealed to you?”
“The editing process appeals to me; my dream job would probably be editor-in-chief for a magazine or publishing company. I have written a few short stories, but I prefer to write articles.”
“Well, if you want it enough, you’ll make ita reality.”
“Very philosophical.”
“Not quite Gandhi.” Megan laughed.
“Are you almost there?”
She stood directly outside the gates to the court. One solitary child, roughly twelve years old, attempted a long-range jump shot that rattled the rim.
“I am, there is only one kid playing. I can dealwith that.”
“Do you want me to come andremove him?”
“Nah, I’ll just embarrass him with a quick 1 on 1. He’llsoon leave.”
“I likeyour style.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll have a think about Thursday and maybe let you know tomorrow?”
“That sounds great, I’m looking forward to it.”
“Me too. Enjoy yourbasketball.”
“Thanks. Bye, Ashley.”
“Goodbye, Megan.”
There was an unexpected comfort in talking to Ashley, Megan realised. After two phone conversations, she had barely scratched the surface, and the insight gained into Ashley Stewart’s life was minimal. The prospect of meeting her face to face again brought a wave of anxiety, but she was hopeful of a spark if the first encounter was anything to go by.
Suddenly, the prospect of being in New York longer than planned brought enormous anticipation.
4
Ashley
Thursday morning arrived; the vast and cloudless blue sky had remained clear for the fourth day in a row. The temperature had dropped to 85 degrees, still too hot for some, but it was bearable due to the gentle breeze.
Ashley scrutinised herself in the mirror of her en-suite bathroom. Her eyes looked tired. Her shift the night before had been due to finish at eleven, but in true fashion, the pre-midnight rush kept her until close to one in the morning. On the plus side, the tip jar in her bedside table was growing considerably; she almost had enough money to afford the new laptop she so desperately needed. The sun had blessed Ashley with a radiant glow; two mornings basking in Central Park was all it took. She pulled her hair back into a bun, leaving some rogue parts to fall out at the front for a more relaxed look.
The smell of roasted coffee lured her to the kitchen and, without delay, Madison handed her a beige coffee mug, boilingto the brim.
“I need this,thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Did yousleep okay?”
“Average, you?”
