SA 01 - To the Ends of the Earth _ The Danvers Touch - Elizabeth Lowell by Elizabeth Lowell

Author:Elizabeth Lowell
Language: bg
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-05-13T18:10:13+00:00

THIRTEEN

PUSHING AWAY from the desk, Cat stood, stretched, and kneaded the small of her back. The bills were in different pigeonholes now. That, some small jobs from Dave’s Lifetime Memories, and a hip that ached from iron shots were all she had to show for the morning.

She was tired, bone-tired, but she ignored exhaustion without even realizing what she was doing. She had learned that hard work was the price of freedom.

Besides, the checks always came. Eventually.

With a sigh Cat sat down at the typewriter, pulled over the box marked “Owed to Me,” and began writing the biweekly round of dunning letters. As soon as she finished with them, she should call the custom color printers and find out if the first batch of prints for the L.A. show was ready.

If the prints were in, she would have to pick them up, assuming they passed her inspection. If they didn’t pass, she would spend time arguing about cropping and color register. If the prints were good, she would pay for them with her credit card, if it wasn’t maxed out.

Then she should take the prints immediately to the framers and spend more time—and credit—trying out various combinations of mats and frames.

Part of Cat hoped that the prints weren’t ready. Part of her knew they had better be. She simply must get everything in shape for the Swift and Sons gallery showing.

But even if the prints weren’t ready, it didn’t let her off the hook in terms of office work. There were all those slides to sort, query letters to write, slides to index and file, slides to duplicate. Slides, slides, and more slides.

Cat muffled a yawn and thought longingly of a nap. It would take only a moment to shift the boxes of slides off the low couch and make room for herself. She could lie beneath the open windows and listen to the surf thunder and dissolve on the beach.

Today the sound was unusually deep, almost hypnotic. A southern storm was churning off of Baja California, sending tropical clouds and ten-foot breakers up to Laguna Beach.

For a few minutes Cat closed her eyes and let the powerful, unhurried thunder of the surf lull her. But she resisted the temptation to stretch out on the couch. She was having enough trouble sleeping at night without taking a nap during the day.

Besides, when she was working she wasn’t thinking about Travis “Hell-on-Women” Danvers.

After a last look at the couch, Cat reached for another piece of paper, rolled it into the typewriter, and began writing to yet another Dear Sir who hadn’t found the time to pay her.

It was five o’clock before Cat remembered lunch. Only the thought of having to write down “peanut butter and crackers” for Dr. Stone drove her to the kitchen upstairs. She looked in the refrigerator, hesitated, then decided on a cheese-and-whatever omelet. Tonight whatever turned out to be limp scallions and two dubious mushrooms. She assembled the ingredients, then cooked and ate the omelet without enthusiasm.

Fuel, not food.

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