Bob at the Plaza Read Free

“Right now I find it hard to imagine we’ll ever see spring but sure, I’ll come to the concert. Just let me know when.” Waving his good-bye, he stepped carefully over the hard-packed snow, picked up his shovel, and headed home.
    I closed the door behind him, shivering in the blast of arctic air that had scampered into the kitchen behind me. Right about now, my ghost Bob would usually shimmer in for a visit between the work chunks of my day. I’d pour a second cup of coffee and listen to his babbling about some ridiculous topic, like the perils of wearing a white suit or how to use 5,000 hedgehogs. His visits refreshed me, like a dab of sherbet between courses at a fancy meal. Bob as ‘palate cleanser,’ I thought to myself as I poured another mug of coffee. Oooooooh, would he ever hate that idea! I sniggered and headed upstairs to the computer to begin my official work day.
    I had spent days analyzing the America Wins! requirements and then sifting through each company’s campaign data to find details that matched those requirements precisely. I’d phone-interviewed branch executives and campaign leaders and was now headed into the final stretch of creating two very strong entries. Although each submission was technically only three pages long, the written documentation to support those three pages would completely fill a three-inch binder.  
    I started assembling the heavy dummy binder for Amanda, my Arizona client, as dusk began to fall. As I juggled the unwieldy manuscript, I thought ruefully that I should be charging by the pound instead of by the hour. Although my final binder looked professional and tidy, the Topco Marketing Department would undoubtedly dress up the design a bit. Then Amanda would review and circulate it and get the CEO to sign off on the entry. Overall, though, I’d say this submission was 98-percent complete. A great start. I’d spend tomorrow morning double-checking everything, and then overnight a huge package to Arizona tomorrow afternoon.
    I powered down the computer and stretched, loosening up my stiff neck and shoulders, then noticed the time and scrambled to get ready for David and our Community Chorus evening.
    Fortunately, Stacey ran a blue jeans choir. Unless we were performing, we singers wore pretty much anything clothing-wise, from the occasional dressy suit to muddy overalls. So I fit right in. Freelance writing doesn’t require a very fancy wardrobe, but still, I liked to dress up a bit for a night out. So tonight I switched my home-alone sweatshirt for a black turtleneck covered by a bright-red cablestitch cardigan. Put on some mascara and lipstick, and ran a comb through my hair. My blond highlights had faded and, now that work seemed to be going well, I might be able to afford sprucing them up. How wonderful to be almost blond-ish again!
    Just as I ran downstairs to turn off the lights and lower the thermostat, David knocked at the front door on the upper level of the house. I grabbed my coat, sprinted back up the stairs, and made it to the door, breathless, as he started ringing the doorbell.
    “Hey,” I puffed, as I swung open the door.
    “It’s freezing out here,” he exclaimed, running his eyes over me as he stamped his feet. “Is that the warmest coat you’ve got?”
    “Yeah, but I’ve got a heavy scarf, too. See?” I twined the woolen scarf around my neck practically up to my eyeballs.  “It helps a lot,” I said in a muffled voice.
    “If you say so,” David said, grinning. “The truck’s all warmed up, so we should be okay. Ready to go?”
    “Sure.” I flicked the lock on the door. Now there was one habit I hadn’t been able to break. Even though I lived in the middle of nowhere and, in winter, could count the number of neighbors for miles on one hand, I still locked my doors. A preventive measure against possible ax murderers, you know.
    The heater in David’s truck hummed away, making the cab toasty warm.
    “This feels so good,” I