Whatever Comes

“Are all the women who marched along with our hero like Wanda?” He went over to the bulletin board and viewed along the lines of similar pictures.

“A shuddering number of them. His IQ must range between forty and fifty.”

“He’s a fine musician.”

Mab agreed. “There are many flawed people God compensated with a brilliance in some talent.”

Wally gave up on the pictures on the board to look at Mab. “How many more do you have to see?”

“Three.”

Then he asked, “Have you tried the computer yet?”

“Don’t push.”

“You’re the last holdout.” Wally reminded her. “It will change your life.”

“If God had intended me to fly, he would have given me wings.”

Wally chided, “That’s the argument for planes—this is a computer.”

“Don’t irritate me.”

“You’ve been that way lately, with no help from anybody.” Wally was kind. “If I didn’t know you for a basic man hater, I’d think you had an unrequited passion for Sean Morant.”

“Good grief.” She looked up at Wally with wide eyes of shock.

Wally observed, “You’re paranoid when it comes to machines—and men.”

“I’ll grant the machine half.”

“It’s just that you don’t understand either one.”

Mab gestured. “Of course I understand men. They are simple, basic creatures.”

“We’re human.” Wally admitted that.

“Very.”

Wally inquired thoughtfully, “Did you ever get any help with this problem?”

“I don’t have any problem! I am content to live alone, I don’t need a man to take care of me, I can support myself. The only problem I have with men is they don’t understand why I don’t want to hop into bed with them.”

He grinned. “Again, I’m glad I’m already safely married to Chris.”

“Me, too. If you weren’t you’d probably be depressingly like all the rest.”

“Simon Quint, too?”

“No,” she retorted. “I find our publisher a perfectly rational human being.”

* * *

As Amabel compiled the Sean Morant interviews, she noticed there was one characteristic all the women had mentioned. Sean Morant was kind. Amabel put that into her report, which was very cleverly written. She was subtle. She implied he was a womanizer who kindly spread his attentions as widely as he could.

The rows of pictures from Amabel’s bulletin board were used for the magazine cover. All those row on row, almost identical pictures of Sean Morant walking with different women—except for the last, bottom, right-hand corner. There the picture showed a similar shot of Sean, but next to him was a female shadow and on the feminine outline was written: Who’s next?

With that cover, the article inside the magazine was superfluous. The cover said it all.

* * *

When the time came, Jamie had a preview copy and he called Mab. “Shame on you. Do you think our boy will be pleased?”

“He should have given me the interview.”

Thoughtfully Jamie chided her, “This is a cheap shot, my love—you singled out one small segment of his life, and you exploited him. That’s too bad.” Jamie tsked, enjoying himself.

Mab didn’t laugh. “He can give me the interview, and I will correct any mis...conceptions. I interviewed all those women, and it was a bloody bore, they were that alike, but I wrote exactly what they said. That is an honest report.”

Jamie’s voice was soft. “You are heartless, love, I feel very sad about you. Why don’t you come with me to Big Sur? I believe I can still save you.”

“Lay off.”

“I have to get on before I can lay off.”

“Jamie, you are a bore.”

“Ah, but I’m not vicious.”

Mab retorted, “That article was not vicious. It was only the facts.”

Jamie agreed, “Chosen, and applied with great care and skill. You do know you will now have difficulty in getting interviews? Stars have felt safe with you. Now they will wonder.”

“You are exaggerating and you know it. You enjoy needling people. No one has any cause to worry about an interview with me.” Mab was very serious. “I’m sorry the truth is distasteful to Mr. Morant. He should choose his company more carefully.”

“He will. He will.”

* * *

In the wealth of news constantly being printed, the article and cover picture of Sean Morant was no big deal. It wasn’t received with cries of delight or outrage beyond those intimately concerned. Among those, interested reactions to the article were varied. Her publisher, Simon Quint, called from New York and said in his parsimonious way, “I was surprised by the article. The cover was brilliant. You should have left it at that. But the man is deeper and wider and more complex than you made him appear.”

Wally said it was one of her poorer jobs and she shouldn’t put it in the portfolio.

Her mother wouldn’t speak to her at all.

But her father eyed her solemnly and chided, “You really weren’t very kind to that man. If I didn’t know your professionalism, I’d find myself wondering if you’re fighting a secret, jealous passion for the man.”

“Passion!” All Mab could do was sputter over how ridiculous that was!