every trainer, every-”
“No, no, for chrissake, Charlie. They're right if that's what you're doing. I meant
“And you don't think a racehorse can do that?”
“Hell no.” She sounded adamant, and at” his end he grinned.
“I guess that's why this one's your baby.”
“I'll take a look at what you've got tomorrow.”
“See you then, kid.”
“Give my love to Mellie, Charlie, and thanks for calling.” She hung up and looked around again and sighed, whispering to herself, “Oh, Tate-why?”
Bit by bit she unpacked her suitcase, dusted things off, tidied up, looked around, and tried to convince herself that this was her home. At ten o'clock she was grateful to climb into bed with a notepad and some memos from Harvey. She wanted to get a head start on what she had to do the next day. It was after twelve o'clock when she set down the notepad, turned off the light, and tried to go to sleep. In the end it took her another two hours, as she lay thinking of the ranch and waiting to hear the familiar sounds that never came.
20
Samantha's return to the office the next morning felt, to her, like a strange trip backward in time toward a point that seemed totally foreign, her desk and her office and her colleagues suddenly seemed like part of another life. She could barely imagine a time when she had spent ten hours a day there, when the workings of Crane, Harper, and Laub had preoccupied her every waking hour. Now the problems they dealt with seemed so childish, the clients they talked about so foolish and tyrannical, the concepts and the presentations and the ideas all seemed like child's play to her. She couldn't somehow bring herself to be truly frightened that they might lose a client, to care if someone were going to be angry, or the meeting might go awry. She listened with a serious expression all morning and when it was over, she felt as though she had wasted her time. Only Harvey Maxwell, the creative director, seemed vaguely to sense her feelings and he looked at her sharply after everyone else had left the conference room on the twenty-fourth floor.
“Well, Sam, how does it feel?” He eyed her closely, his brows knit, his pipe in his hand.
“Strange.” She had always tried to be honest with him.
“That's to be expected. You've been gone for a long time.”
She nodded slowly. “Longer than I should have been maybe.” She looked up at him, her eyes hooked into his. “It's hard to come back after such a long time. I feel-” She hesitated and then decided to say it. “As though I've left a big part of me there.”
He sighed, nodded, and attempted to relight his pipe. “I feel that too. Any special reason?” His eyes sought hers. “Anything I ought to know about? You fall in love with a cowboy, Sam, and plan to go back?” But he was asking her more than she wanted to tell him, so she only shook her head.
“Not really.”
“I'm not sure I like your answer, Sam.” He put down his pipe. “It's a little vague.”
But Sam spoke to him quietly. “I came back. You asked me to and I did, maybe that's all we both need to know for now. You let me go away at a time when I needed to do that desperately, much more than I realized at the time. And now you need me, so here I am. I'm here for as long as you need me. I won't run out on you, Harvey. I promise.” She smiled but Harvey Maxwell did not.
“But you think you might go back, Sam?”
“Maybe. I don't know what will happen.” And then with a small sigh she gathered up her things. “Why don't we just worry about our client right now? What do you think about my ranch themes for the commercials, a cowboy riding along in the twilight or at sunrise, with a herd of cattle behind him… a man mounted on a splendid horse, emerging from the landscape, yet at one with his surroundings-”
“Stop!” He held up a hand and grinned. “You'll make me buy the car. I like it. Work up some storyboards with Charlie and let's see if we can get this show on the road.”
The storyboards she worked up over the next three weeks with Charlie were the best that any of them had ever seen. What they had on their hands was not only a series of powerful commercials, they had another award- winning campaign. As Sam sat back in her chair after the first client meeting, she looked happy and proud.
“Well, kiddo, you did it.” Charlie threw his arms around her as they waited for Harvey to join them. He had walked the client out to the elevator while Sam and Charlie talked. “They loved it!”
“They should. Your artwork was stupendous, Charlie.”
“My pleasure.” He grinned and stroked his beard, and a moment later Harvey joined them, beaming for once and waving toward the boards set up around the room. There were four commercials they had presented, in the hopes of talking the client into one or two. The client had accepted all four.
“Well, children, did we make a successful presentation or did we make a successful presentation?” Harvey couldn't get the grin off his face and Samantha smiled back happily at him. It was one of the first times she had looked happy since she'd come back, but it felt good to be doing something constructive, and to have done it so well.
“When do we start?”
“They want to go into production on it immediately. How soon can you start, Sam? Do we have any locations lined up? Christ, you must know enough ranches to get things rolling. What about the one you've been living on for the last six months?”
“I'll call. But we're going to need three more. And I think”-she mused about it while gnawing her pencil-“I think we're going to want some entirely different locations. Each ranch should be different, special, set apart from the others. We don't just want repeats of the one we shot before.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“The Northwest, the Southwest, the Midwest, California… maybe even Hawaii… Argentina?”
“Oh, Jesus. I knew it. Well, figure it all out and work it into the budget. We still have to get that past them, but I don't really think we'll have a problem with it. Just do me a favor, start finding locations. It sounds like this may take a little time. And call your friend out at your ranch. At least that will give us one. If we have to, we can start there.” Sam nodded. She knew that this shoot, like countless others, was going to be entirely hers. Now that she was back, Harvey was already talking about retiring again, and she knew that he would leave all the location work to her.
“I may have to fly out and look at some places next week, Harvey. Sound okay to you?”
“That sounds fine.” He left them then, still with a broad smile on his face, and Samantha and Charlie went back to their offices, Samantha to her white-on-white office with chrome and glass desk, beige leather couch and chairs, and lithographs all coordinated in the same white and beige. Charlie's office looked more like an artsy-craftsy attic, cluttered and colorful and amusing, with odd-shaped boxes, huge plants, and funny signs. It looked exactly like an art director's office, one wall was white, one yellow, two were a deep heather blue, and the rug on the floor was dark brown. He had, of course, chosen his own decor. Sam's was part of the general scheme of the whole CHL office, all of it done in soft sand colors and cool textures with modern lines, and not a great deal of soul. But it was restful to work there. She never even saw the decor when she was working, and when she saw clients, she usually met them in one of the conference rooms, or at The Four Seasons for lunch.
She knew when she looked at her watch that it was the wrong time to call Caroline to ask if they could film there. At noon in California Caroline would be out in the hills with Bill and the other men. But she got out the list she had already glanced at that morning in anticipation and began to make phone calls to see what she could do. She knew damn well that she couldn't just pick up the phone and call ranches where she knew no one. She would have to fly out to the areas, then drive around and make her pitch to them in person, asking them if they would
