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“She’s not a porn star, Carter. She’s been a journalist and an editor.”
“Been?”
“She does some freelance work as a writer, but she’s turned her attention to helping people get organized and maximize their time and profits. People like you.”
“How do you know this Brooklyn person?” I ask.
“She’s a friend of Dixon’s.”
Dixon is Carter’s best buddy from college, Jack Dixon. Not the best endorsement for credibility in my book.
“Don’t hold Dixon against Brooklyn. She’s great.”
“Uh-huh.”
“She is. I met her a couple of times at his place. I promise. She’s terrific. I know you don’t like Jack. You have to admit he has some intelligent and interesting friends.”
“I don’t dislike Jack,” I reply. I don’t. “He is a bit—”
“He’s eccentric.”
“And messy,” I remind my friend. “How many jobs has Dixon had in the last two years? How many times have we fixed something in his garage?”
“Okay. I get it. But Brooklyn isn’t like that. She’s got it together. Trust me. She even helped Jack. I’ve never seen him so calm. Just talk to her. You don’t even have to meet her in person if you don’t like her,” Ali says. “Shoot her an email and tell her what you need.”
“I don’t need anything. You think I need something.”
“We both know you need a lot of things.”
I laugh. Touché. “Leave me this New York person’s information and I’ll think about it.”
“Brooklyn. Her name is Brooklyn.”
“Mm-hm.”
***
I’ve picked up Brooklyn’s business card a few times. I searched her profile online. I found a few articles she wrote for reputable papers. I located an interview with her about her new business. She sounds qualified. I look at the card on my desk again.Brooklyn Brady. Is that her actual name? Is that a stage name? I have a few authors and journalist friends who changed their name to have a special ring. I could never be bothered. Half the time people assume I’m a man when they see my name in print: Carter Riordan. I wonder if anyone ever looks at my picture on the back cover. Probably not. My stories carry their share of romance, but they’re billed as fantasy adventures. That’s still a realm dominated by men. Sometimes, I wonder if people assume I’m a man because I’ve written the word “cock,” shall we say, liberally. What else does one call it? Penis? That sounds like someone’s in sex education class. No one says “let me see your penis” in bed. A member? Never. As if you pay dues to belong to it. Listen, I have limited familiarity with the member called a penis. I hate to admit I take lots of my cues from what I read, and a fair bit of porn I’ve viewed over the years. Then again, I think most people find books and porn serve as their reliable sources when it comes to information about sex. That brings me back to Brooklyn Brady. I have to giggle. No one can tell me that doesn’t sound like the name of an adult film star. What could it hurt to send her an email? No commitment, just curiosity. For some unknown reason, I am curious. All right, Brooklyn. How can you help me?
***
HALLOWEEN
Ali and I have a Halloween tradition. It started the year my youngest nephew stopped trick or treating. We dress up as a pair of witches, vampires, or some other garden variety monster, decorate my front porch, and sit in the rocking chairs to pass out candy. When the bowl is empty, or the kids disappear, whichever comes first, we retreat inside and indulge in pumpkin martinis and horror flicks. I look forward to Halloween every year. I could do without the gory movies, but I’ve never met a martini I didn’t like. I will also take any opportunity to get into a costume. You could say little has changed for Ali and me since junior high, except that we both know we love girls and martinis. And we have bills to pay. A break in the evening entertainment provides Ali with an opening to question me. She’s been not so patiently waiting for this chance all night.
“I hear you took my advice,” Ali says.
Her triumphant tone makes me instantly regret my decision to contact Brooklyn. “I asked a few questions. She answered them.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Are you going to hire her?”
“I haven’t decided,” I reply.
“Why on earth not?”
