the stature of Robert McClore.
The photographers went away after the Larry King appearance, but the intrusion worried him, and he told his publishers he wasn’t going to do any publicity for the next few books. Not that he had to. His name, the covers that screamed his name in giant shiny orange letters, were publicity enough.
But these local events are different. He has lived in Highfield a long time, feels connected to the community, knows it is important to give something back. He has known other celebrities in neighboring towns, actors who helped rebuild theaters, musicians who sponsored music festivals, who are loved and appreciated by the towns in which they live.
He has known others, actors or actresses who live in the towns but don’t get involved, see themselves as separate from the rest. Better? Perhaps, he doesn’t know, but they don’t last as long, are written about disparagingly in the local papers, are not approached for fund-raising opportunities.
Robert has always tried to give back. He is a patron of the library, and regularly donates items to local charities—walk-on parts in the movies, dinner with Robert McClore, a complete signed set of first editions.
The owner of this bookstore is someone he has known for years, and Robert is aware that every independent bookstore owner is struggling these days. He is happy to help.
There is nothing flirtatious about Tracy’s behavior, yet it is absolutely clear that she is flirting with Robert McClore. Not by giggling, or flicking her hair, or making—heaven forbid—suggestive comments that would leave no one in any doubt, but by focusing intently on every word, by listening to what he is saying, and by asking intelligent questions, questions that clearly delight him.
“. . . you ought to come,” Kit overhears, as she heads back to interrupt the conversation, and she sees Tracy hand a business card—on recycled paper, of course—to a surprised Robert.
“I don’t think yoga’s quite my thing,” he laughs, embarrassed.
“You might be surprised,” Tracy says. “My most committed clients are always the most skeptical.”
“But not old men, I would think.”
“You’re not old,” Tracy says, without a hint of a smile. “But thinking that you are is certainly one way to hasten the aging process,” and she raises an eyebrow.
“Touché.” He smiles, tucking the card inside his book. “Perhaps I will see you again.”
Chapter Five
“W hat?”Tracy giggles as the four of them cross the car park to the car. “ What? ”
“You know what! ” Charlie nudges her. “You little flirt.”
“I was not!” she says indignantly as Kit shakes her head. “I was just being friendly.”
“Right,” drawls Edie, “that’s why you offered him—what was it I heard? A free yoga course? ”
“Actually, that was my business head talking. It’s always good for a business like this to have a celebrity clientele, and seeing that he’s the biggest celebrity in town, I thought it would be no bad thing.”
“Oh great. So now you’re using my boss. Thanks.”
“I’m not. Honestly. Okay, okay. You got me. I do think he’s attractive. Far more attractive in the flesh, actually. And that voice! Kit! It was heavenly! How can you stand to work for him without melting every time he speaks? ”
“How about, because he’s the same age as my father? Which isn’t just weird, it’s pretty disgusting.”
“Excuse me, ladies”—Edie clears her throat—“I’m eighty-three, and I can tell you Robert McClore isn’t old, he’s in the prime of his life.”
“Exactly. He’s not old, just older than us. Anyway, I love older men. He’s nowhere near as old as my father, and even if he were, you’d never draw a similarity. I’m starving. Where shall we go to eat? ”
Hacienda is more than just a Mexican restaurant: it’s a thriving bar with live music every weekend on the upper deck.
It’s an institution in Highfield, with people
The photographers went away after the Larry King appearance, but the intrusion worried him, and he told his publishers he wasn’t going to do any publicity for the next few books. Not that he had to. His name, the covers that screamed his name in giant shiny orange letters, were publicity enough.
But these local events are different. He has lived in Highfield a long time, feels connected to the community, knows it is important to give something back. He has known other celebrities in neighboring towns, actors who helped rebuild theaters, musicians who sponsored music festivals, who are loved and appreciated by the towns in which they live.
He has known others, actors or actresses who live in the towns but don’t get involved, see themselves as separate from the rest. Better? Perhaps, he doesn’t know, but they don’t last as long, are written about disparagingly in the local papers, are not approached for fund-raising opportunities.
Robert has always tried to give back. He is a patron of the library, and regularly donates items to local charities—walk-on parts in the movies, dinner with Robert McClore, a complete signed set of first editions.
The owner of this bookstore is someone he has known for years, and Robert is aware that every independent bookstore owner is struggling these days. He is happy to help.
There is nothing flirtatious about Tracy’s behavior, yet it is absolutely clear that she is flirting with Robert McClore. Not by giggling, or flicking her hair, or making—heaven forbid—suggestive comments that would leave no one in any doubt, but by focusing intently on every word, by listening to what he is saying, and by asking intelligent questions, questions that clearly delight him.
“. . . you ought to come,” Kit overhears, as she heads back to interrupt the conversation, and she sees Tracy hand a business card—on recycled paper, of course—to a surprised Robert.
“I don’t think yoga’s quite my thing,” he laughs, embarrassed.
“You might be surprised,” Tracy says. “My most committed clients are always the most skeptical.”
“But not old men, I would think.”
“You’re not old,” Tracy says, without a hint of a smile. “But thinking that you are is certainly one way to hasten the aging process,” and she raises an eyebrow.
“Touché.” He smiles, tucking the card inside his book. “Perhaps I will see you again.”
Chapter Five
“W hat?”Tracy giggles as the four of them cross the car park to the car. “ What? ”
“You know what! ” Charlie nudges her. “You little flirt.”
“I was not!” she says indignantly as Kit shakes her head. “I was just being friendly.”
“Right,” drawls Edie, “that’s why you offered him—what was it I heard? A free yoga course? ”
“Actually, that was my business head talking. It’s always good for a business like this to have a celebrity clientele, and seeing that he’s the biggest celebrity in town, I thought it would be no bad thing.”
“Oh great. So now you’re using my boss. Thanks.”
“I’m not. Honestly. Okay, okay. You got me. I do think he’s attractive. Far more attractive in the flesh, actually. And that voice! Kit! It was heavenly! How can you stand to work for him without melting every time he speaks? ”
“How about, because he’s the same age as my father? Which isn’t just weird, it’s pretty disgusting.”
“Excuse me, ladies”—Edie clears her throat—“I’m eighty-three, and I can tell you Robert McClore isn’t old, he’s in the prime of his life.”
“Exactly. He’s not old, just older than us. Anyway, I love older men. He’s nowhere near as old as my father, and even if he were, you’d never draw a similarity. I’m starving. Where shall we go to eat? ”
Hacienda is more than just a Mexican restaurant: it’s a thriving bar with live music every weekend on the upper deck.
It’s an institution in Highfield, with people
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