Tears collected behind her eyelids and threatened to erupt as Amy stepped out of the elevator into the lobby at the TODAY publishing office.

Crash! 

She missed her footing and tumbled to her knees on the crowded sidewalk outdoors. Her briefcase landed beside her, popped open, and exploded papers. Embarrassed, she gathered as many pages as she could, dodging legs of the passing crowd. Struggling to her feet, with the untidy collection of papers in her hand, she discovered ruined hose and bloody knees, the final insult for her wasted visit.

A murky cloud seemed to envelope her as she thought of her foiled attempt to submit her work at TODAY magazine.

She complained aloud as she limped toward home. "How dare they advertise for manuscripts when they won't let anyone in to submit material." She'd given herself three months to get a toehold in the writing field and one month was almost gone.

Several people stared at her curiously. Straightening her shoulders, she replaced her frown with a forced smile and strode forward.

A memory of her discarded wedding plans slipped into her thoughts. Her fiancé had called her "irresponsible" when she quit her teaching job and moved from St. Louis to New York. Scant regret for the loss of the contemptible Chuck slithered through her. She had once thought he could charm the diamonds off a diamond-backed rattlesnake.

It didn't matter what Chuck thought--or her mother, who badgered her with phone calls and begged her to come home at least once a week. She could forgive her mother knowing she nagged out of love. But she couldn't forgive Chuck.

He had given her an ultimatum, and Amy, realizing how controlling he was, returned her engagement ring. He was out of her life forever. Thank goodness she hadn't had her wedding gown altered, so she could return it.

Convinced of her talent, she was determined to achieve success as a writer.

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Shortly after Amy's accident, a young man in a business suit opened the door of the TODAY magazine offices. He spied some papers caught under the door, scooped them up, and glanced at them as he rode the elevator.

When he reached his office, he threw the papers on his secretary's desk and said, "Find the rest of this and get back to me as soon as you can, Elsa."

When Elsa stopped at her boss' office at five o'clock to say good night, he asked, "Did you find that article for me?"

"The receptionist told me she remembered two possible women.  She gave me two business cards, not sure which one I wanted. She said she had turned them both away and told them to call for appointments. The cards were her only records. I tried the two phone numbers, but neither answered. I'll try again tomorrow."

"Give me the cards, and I'll try later tonight."

Elsa retrieved the cards for him and left, muttering about the gossip--how Mr. Wethers' breakup with the fashion editor must be true--he was working late again.

Later, Jim Wethers, curious about the phone numbers, tapped the two cards against his desk. "It's almost six-thirty. Maybe I can reach someone at home now."

He punched the phone number for Delta Higgins first. She answered immediately.

"Hullo."

"Hello, Mrs. Higgins. Did you visit the offices of TODAY magazine recently?" he asked.

"I sure did. I tried to see the poetry editor today, but that jailer of a receptionist wouldn't let me past her desk. Who wants to know?"

Slight pause. "I'm sorry. I think I've dialed a wrong number," he said.

"I'll try Amy Victor now. She has to be the one I'm looking for. The article was beautifully written, but it certainly wasn't poetry," he thought as he pressed the buttons.

No answer. He sat down at his desk which was smothered under piles of papers, hoping to fill the lonely evening ahead.

♥♥♥♥♥♥

To Be A Writer -2 (Continue)