26 Days: A Love Story

Hotel.

1

THE BALLROOM IN NEW YORK CITY’S Plaza Hotel was one of the most opulent in the entire world. Many of the events held there were of prodigious importance and great significance; some marked the celebration of milestones and accomplishments, and some, perhaps most, were for entertainment. The ballroom’s magnificence was the perfect setting for the gathering that took place there on August 6, 2007.

The women were resplendent in their formal gowns. Most of them were beyond middle age and appeared regal with their expensive jewelry, buxom figures, and perfectly coifed hair.

Very few of the four hundred guests knew anyone else in the room, although they were all familiar with many of the names in the guestbook they signed at the door to the ballroom. They talked easily amongst themselves, more so than one would expect complete strangers to do. They all shared two characteristics: They were staunch political activists, and they were wealthy. These characteristics provided the basis for most of their conversations.

Among the guests were a prominent Hollywood actress; an equally noteworthy Hollywood actor; a three-time Tony Award-winning actor, and a Pulitzer Prize-winning author.

They had come together, some from far reaches of the country, to hear a speech by Senator Peter Markowitz. The groups had been hand-picked by Markowitz and were all strong supporters of the senator and his political agenda.

The usual cocktail hour preceding dinner was extended to an hour and a half to allow the senator time to shake as many hands as possible. Everyone in the room would support his campaign beyond the exorbitant dinner tab. The only question was by how much.

The Pulitzer Prize-winning author in the group was Nicholas Legitt; Nick to anyone who knew him. Whenever Nick introduced himself to someone and mentioned that he was a writer, everyone within earshot glanced over with interest. Fiction writers are popular guests at parties.

Many of the guests had read one or more of his novels and were happy to have the opportunity to meet the well-known author. One woman, who appeared to be at least 60, said she stood in line for thirty minutes at one of his book-signings just to get him to autograph his latest novel. Nick wondered why she didn’t just buy the bookstore instead of waiting in line.

At least ten people told him they wished they were writers. They’d wanted to be a writer all their life, they said, but could never find the time to devote to it. They assumed the only requisite needed to write a 350-page novel was enough time.

Certain women are drawn to writers who have written a romantic novel with a little intrigue thrown in. A peek under the covers didn’t hurt either. They believed that in order to write about romance, the author had to be a romantic, which Nick was.

A few of the people in the group knew his name, but only a handful had read any of his novels. The questions from his fellow guests came in quick succession.

Any Pulitzers?

One. It was a short story about a small town in Nebraska whose high school football team hadn’t won a game in two years. The story was really about the town’s people more than the football team.

How many best sellers?

"Nine. The book about the small town in Nebraska was number one on the New York Times best seller list for thirty-four weeks, a record at the time, and was on the list for over three years altogether. The other eight managed to make the number-one slot and remained on the list for quite a while."

Any movies?

One. The book that was on the Times list for so long."

What’s the story line?

It’s about two people who fall in love. What else would you expect a romantic novel to be about, he wanted to ask.

As Nick answered the questions being fired at him, everyone wondered, to themselves of course, why he had been included on the guest list. He was very personable and more interesting to talk to than anyone else in the room. His books had sold millions of copies, so the $2,000 ante wasn’t a burden. Yet, his personal wealth would be only loose change to the other guests.

Beyond that, he looked uncomfortable and out of place. The tux he rented didn’t fit quite right, and he looked uneasy in it. The haberdasher had convinced him that cowboy boots, even black ones, would be a poor choice to wear with a tuxedo. He had paid $180 for a pair of black patent-leather shoes but ended up wearing the cowboy boots anyway. Several people commented on them, presumably because they hadn’t seen cowboy boots worn with a tux before.

A buxom woman who controlled a national chain of over two thousand appliance stores asked if he was a speech writer for the senator or was writing a book about him.

No, I don’t work with the senator, Nick said. We’re good friends, best friends, I guess. We’ve known each other since we were 8, and we grew up together. We still stay in close contact. Some of the people were surprised. They assumed a senator’s best friends would be other politicians.

2

FOR DINNER, the guests sat in groups of six at round banquet tables. The seating was prearranged. Nick was sandwiched between a rotund lady well into her fifties and Cynthia Thornton, the CEO of Ecstasy Cosmetics. Like flipping on a light switch, it dawned on Nick why his buddy insisted he come to the fundraiser. Nick had purchased a pricy airline ticket; endured a five-hour flight; and paid a $2,000 entry fee for a blind date!

Cynthia was about 6 feet tall, taller than many of the men in the room, and she carried her height gracefully. She looked fit, even athletic. Her chestnut-colored hair hung down past her shoulders, with some draped in front and the rest flowing behind. The styling framed her face and presented a striking contrast to her fair skin. Her blue eyes sparkled, and she had a smile that would melt an iceberg. Her black gown with its deep-cut neckline accented her slim, curvaceous figure. She wore very little makeup; her beauty was natural, yet elegant. She could have been on the cover of any magazine and, in fact, had been, but for her business acumen, not for her beauty. She was one of the prettiest women Nick had ever seen.

Nick was 42 years old and had never been married, but he always thought if he did choose to marry someday, he’d want his bride to be a beautiful woman who had lots of money. He smiled at the thought as it popped out of his mind just as fast as it had popped in.

Cynthia was unassuming and quite at ease talking to a stranger. Her handshake said she was self-assured and capable of fighting her own battles. They engaged in small talk: the weather, what movies they liked and didn’t like, their favorite restaurants, typical things people talk about while they get acquainted. Nick was surprised that Cynthia never mentioned any of his books. She must read only nonfiction, he thought to himself. Ego can be a burden sometimes.

Cynthia controlled their conversation. Whenever Nick tried to add more substance, she deflected it back to the safe, predictable place where it had begun. Normally, Nick would have recognized the signs and moved on, yet there was something about Cynthia, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, that fascinated him. He was determined to find out what that intangible something was.

Cynthia, would you care to join me for a drink after this is over? Maybe we can get better acquainted. It’s too noisy and there’s too much commotion here to talk about important things, like why neither of us wants to be here.

How did you know I don’t want to be here? She had a twinkle in her eye. I didn’t realize it was that obvious. I’m afraid I’ll have to take a rain check, though. We have a Board of Directors meeting first thing in the morning, and I need to be on my toes. Maybe some other time. And by the way, it’s Cindy.

Damn! She was furious with herself for leaving the door open! I know better than to say rain check and maybe some other time. Now he’ll think I’m willing to meet him for a drink sometime. Nick was attractive, even quite handsome, and he had a rugged look about him. He was articulate and witty, and it might have been interesting to share a cocktail or two with him, had it not been for Cindy’s intense hatred of all men.

The fundraising gala ended with a speech from the senator that left everyone standing and cheering, something you wouldn’t expect from a group of sophisticated people. Cindy said good night and walked away without giving Nick a chance to return her parting gesture.

During the taxi ride back to his hotel, he tried to figure out the reason for Cindy’s indifferent attitude. For one thing, she was on the top rung of the ladder. Maybe she was a snob and didn’t want to associate with a writer. Maybe it was the cowboy boots. Maybe they didn’t have enough in common. He nodded his head up and down. That had to be the reason. Not enough in common.

3

THE SENATOR AND NICK talked on the phone at least once a month. Peter had a cell phone that was owned by Charlie Granderson, the third member of their clique that had existed since childhood. It allowed the senator privacy when he didn’t want to be on the record. Nick called his friend before breakfast the next morning.

Pete, this is Nick.

What’s up?

Tell me about the lady you tried to fix me up with. She treated me like I had the plague.

Fixing you up wasn’t my idea. It was Maggie’s. Honest. She’ll be pissed that you figured it out. But she did it for Cindy’s sake, not yours. She knows you’re eligible and never miss the opportunity to make friends with a pretty woman. She thinks Cindy needs a man in her life.

You’re telling me the future first lady tried to fix me up with a blind date? Come on.

I’m telling you. It was her idea.

Tell me what you know about Miss Iceberg.

She’s very prominent and commands a lot of respect in the business world: MBA from Stanford, several leadership and management seminars at Harvard, accounting degree from the University of Chicago, and a CPA designation. A ton of credentials.

"Time Magazine selected her as one of the 50 most influential women in the country. She was number 38 on the list, but being on the list at all was a big deal."

She’s worked at Ecstasy for a little over six years. Rumor has it she fucked herself into the CEO job, but I don’t believe it for a minute. She’s one of the most capable people I’ve ever known. She would be top dog whatever she chose to do. She’s damn tough, too. The word on the street is she’s a bitch to work for.

How come you know so much about her?

She worked on my staff for nine months when I was a Representative in Chicago. Maggie was working on my staff then, too, and they became acquainted, but nothing beyond that. Maggie’s pet project has always been the Special Olympics. She remembered Cindy, and because of the influence she would wield, Maggie asked her to be the National Chairperson for their fundraising drive. They’ve become reasonably good friends since then.

Is she divorced?

She’s never been married. Never been in a long-term relationship as far as anyone knows. Listen, I’ve got to run. I’m spending the day with the Prime Minister of Australia. Keep after Cindy. She’ll be worth the effort. Take my word for it.

The last time I took your word for it I ended up with a ’57 Chevy convertible that looked like it came from the salvage yard and didn’t run.

So you had to tinker with it a bit. Big fucking deal. The car’s worth big money now, right?

It damn well should be. I could have bought a new Jag with what I’ve invested in it. But it has gotten me a couple of dates, so I’ll give you that.

Look. Believe it or not, I’m busy. Forget the Chevy and take my word for it. Cindy would be a prize catch.

I’ll keep you posted. Say hi to the Prime Minister for me. They hung up but not before wishing each other well and extending a promise to be in touch again soon.

There were a lot of reasons to admire Peter Markowitz. He never forgot where he came from. His family and friends were as important to him now as they always had been. He had the rare ability to keep everything in perspective.

The two men were more than just friends. They were like brothers. That would never change.

But what would it be like when Peter became president? Would they ever be able to fish together again? It would be impossible, with 15 secret service agents, and an equal number of media people hanging around.

Would they have a chance to drink a few beers together and talk about the girls they screwed in college? There weren’t that many, and they told the same stories over and over but never tired of hearing them.

Presidents of the United States don’t frequent sports bars, nor do they eat hot wings while they drink beer from a pitcher and vocally root for the Denver Broncos. Nick grimaced at the thought of what their friendship would be like.

4

NICK TURNED ON HIS COMPUTER soon after talking to his buddy. One of the messages was from Maggie Markowitz.

Cindy’s private cell phone number is 221-448-5718. Give her a call. She’d like to hear from you. Good luck.

Nick searched Cindy’s name in the internet and was a bit surprised to find that she had a page in Wikipedia, but if she was as influential as Time Magazine claimed, then why wouldn’t she? He learned more about her from Wikipedia than he had from their dinner conversation.

She was born in 1967 and raised in Indianapolis. She attended Indiana University for her undergraduate degree, and had completed her MBA at Stanford. She earned a second bachelor’s degree in accounting and a CPA designation at the University of Chicago. There wasn’t anything there that Peter hadn’t already mentioned, except that she spoke French fluently.

In 1997 she was hired as Marketing Manager for Appliqué, a small cosmetics company with headquarters in Chicago. She was promoted to Vice President of Marketing two years later. In 2001, she left Applique to accept the position of Vice President of Marketing at Ecstasy Cosmetics. During the first year under her management, the company experienced a 4 percent increase in gross revenue. It was a major accomplishment for a company the size of Ecstasy, and had exceeded Wall Street’s projections significantly. Nick knew she must have received a substantial bonus. In January 2003, she was appointed CEO. At age 35, Cindy was the youngest CEO of any Fortune 500 company.

According to Wikipedia, she was reputed to have an IQ of 140, just short of genius category. She won a week-long tournament on the TV program Jeopardy when she was 18, and was awarded a $50,000 scholarship.

The last paragraph caught Nick by surprise. He went back and read it a second time. When she was 18 she had been kidnapped by two men and held hostage in a remote cabin. She was freed by two hunters who stopped at the cabin to ask directions. The two kidnappers were convicted of four different charges and sentenced to life in prison without parole.

Nick had no recollection of the kidnapping, even though it must have been on the TV newscasts and in the newspapers. It happened 22 years ago, when he was 20 years old. Back then, he wouldn’t have known about it unless it was on the sports page or ESPN. He searched the Internet and found two brief stories about the kidnapping, but they didn’t contain any more information than Wikipedia did.

Even though his experience with her was brief, she didn’t seem to fit the overall description Wikipedia presented. She didn’t act like a wealthy lady, and she wasn’t an intellectual snob. She didn’t wear her CEO position on her sleeve. She was as down-to-earth as anyone could be.

Nick called Cynthia that evening and was directed to her voicemail. Cynthia, excuse me, Cindy, this is Nick Legitt. We met at Senator Markowitz’s fundraiser last night. Would you care to meet me for a drink after work sometime? I’d like to get better acquainted. My cell phone number is 220-249-4820.

Three more attempts over the next two days were all diverted to her voicemail. She didn’t have the courtesy to return the calls, and he shrugged it off.

Nick worked with his publisher and editor for the next three days. He had a quasi-relationship with his publisher’s secretary that had been going on for four years, so he wasn’t without companionship whenever he was in town. After he enjoyed a delightful dinner with Abby and they spent the night together, any thoughts he had of Cindy vanished.

Cindy had thought about Nick once or twice after the fundraiser. She remembered how very handsome he was and how strong and rugged he looked. She wasn’t surprised that Nick had left several invitations to meet for a cocktail and get better acquainted. She left the door wide open when she said maybe some other time and I’ll have to take a rain check. She was angry with herself for not just saying no. It would have been easy without being rude. She’d done it many times. She erased his messages and scolded herself again for being so careless.

5

THE FLIGHT FROM LAGUARDIA to the Eagle County Airport in Colorado took all day. Nick had to change planes in St. Louis, and again in Denver. The three-hour layover in St. Louis was the worst part. ECA was a regional airport that accommodated just seven commuter flights a day. Layovers were the rule whenever you flew in or out of ECA.

In Nick’s mind there wasn’t any place on earth where time moved as slowly as it did while waiting in an airport, except perhaps on the plane itself. Maybe waiting to get a haircut, too

It didn’t matter how far in advance Nick purchased his ticket; his seat was always near the rear of the plane. On the flight from St. Louis to Denver, the person occupying the seat next to him was obese, and part of her crowded into Nick’s small, coveted space. He wondered what would have happened if he had been obese, too.

The aisles were narrow, and the leg room was sparse. The people waiting in line to use the restrooms had little regard for the passengers in the seats closest to the aisle. Many of them did what looked like a ritualistic dance while they waited for their turn to use the restroom.

Nick was trapped by the obese woman on one side, a long line of people on the other, and now the person in front of him decided it would be easier to knit if she reclined her seat.

He had thought more than once about writing a short story detailing his misadventures while flying. The only thing stopping him was being able to keep it short. But his intense desire to leave New York City made all the inconveniences tolerable.

Nick never discovered the charm of New York City. He’d been there too many times, to see his publisher, work with his editor, do book-signings, and appear on TV. Each time he dreaded the ordeal.

There were so many things that made New York City unpalatable, things that were foreign to him, things that were a stark contrast to his life in Colorado.

People weren’t rude, but they weren’t friendly, either. They all seemed to be in a hurry and seldom spoke to strangers. Even a casual good morning was ignored much of the time.

Clerks took their customer’s money with indifference and never said thank you. They didn’t care whether people spent their money in their store or not. They were focused on the New York Post tabloid, and it seemed as if taking your money was an imposition.

Nick missed the clean air back in Colorado, where the predictable afternoon thunder showers always left the air smelling sweet and fresh. When it rained in the city, it made the air more unpleasant.

Still, New York City wasn’t all bad. There were